#you know Robb is with grey wind most of the time

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (sins)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Be aware of time jumps and how some events may not match the canon or its timeline.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The cold bites harder now, even in the Riverlands. Autumn is creeping closer, and Jaime Lannister feels every inch of it in the damp, miserable confines of the Stark camp. He sits on the rough wooden bench of his prison tent, his armor stripped, his hands bound by iron chains that rattle with every movement. The once-golden lion is tarnished now, his pride battered by weeks of captivity.

But it isn’t the cold or the humiliation that gnaws at him the most.

It’s you.

The thought of you lingers, unbidden, no matter how hard he tries to banish it. You’ve haunted his dreams since Winterfell—the way you stood by Bran’s bedside, the sorrow etched into your face. He’d told himself that time and distance would fade those feelings, that the guilt and longing would wither away like a flame denied air. Instead, they’ve grown, consuming him from within.

And now, as he sits in the heart of his enemy’s camp, surrounded by wolves, he swears he saw you earlier. It was just a fleeting glimpse—someone passing by the edge of the campfires, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak—but his heart had leapt at the sight. His mind betrayed him, conjuring the image of your face beneath the hood. He told himself it couldn’t be you. You would be in Winterfell, or wherever the Starks had scattered in their grief. You wouldn’t be here, amidst soldiers and war.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the thought.

The tent flap rustles, and Jaime looks up to see Robb Stark stride in, Grey Wind at his side. The direwolf’s presence is a constant reminder of his vulnerability; the beast’s yellow eyes seem to pierce through him, a predator sizing up its prey.

“Kingslayer,” Robb greets coldly, his voice steady and sharp. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t offer even the pretense of civility. He stands tall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his youth masked by the steel resolve in his eyes.

Jaime leans back against the post, smirking despite himself. “Your Grace,” he replies, his tone mocking as he inclines his head slightly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Robb ignores the jibe, his expression unyielding. “How many men does your father have? Where will he strike next?”

Jaime lets out a short, derisive laugh. “Straight to business, I see. I’d hoped for at least a proper interrogation—some chains, perhaps a few bruises.”

Robb doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady. “I don’t need chains to make you talk, Lannister. The fact that you’re here, bound and defeated, is enough proof of that.”

Jaime’s smirk falters for a moment. He shifts, the chains rattling, before leaning forward slightly. “You’re wasting your time, boy. Do you think I’d betray my father? My family? You’re a Stark; you should know better than that.”

Robb steps closer, his jaw tightening. “You call yourself a knight, yet you killed your king. You’re no man of honor. You’re a coward hiding behind a lion’s shield.”

The words hit their mark, but Jaime doesn’t let it show. Instead, he tilts his head, studying Robb. “Honor’s overrated,” he says lightly, though the edge in his voice betrays his inner turmoil. “It won’t bring your father back, will it?”

The animosity in the air thickens, Grey Wind letting out a low growl at Jaime’s words. Robb’s hand grips the hilt of his sword tighter, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Careful, Lannister,” Robb warns, his voice a low growl of its own.

Jaime meets his gaze, unflinching, though his mind is already elsewhere. He debates for a moment whether to ask, whether it will make him seem weak, but the words slip out before he can stop them.

“I saw her,” he says quietly, his tone lacking the usual mockery.

Robb’s brows furrow. “Who?”

“Your sister,” Jaime replies, his voice tightening. “Y/N.”

The name feels foreign on his tongue, too precious for someone like him to speak aloud.

Robb stiffens, his blue eyes narrowing. “You dare speak her name?”

Jaime doesn’t back down. “Is she here?”

Robb doesn’t answer immediately, his silence speaking volumes. Jaime’s chest tightens, the faint flicker of hope igniting despite himself.

“I thought I saw her,” Jaime continues, his voice softer now, the chains clinking faintly as he shifts forward. “In the camp. Tell me—was it her?”

Robb’s expression hardens. “What business do you have with my sister?”

“None,” Jaime admits, though the lie is bitter in his mouth. “I just… wondered.”

Robb steps closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t have the right to wonder, Kingslayer. My sister is none of your concern. She stays far away from men like you.”

Jaime doesn’t flinch, though the words sting more than he cares to admit. He forces a smirk onto his face, leaning back against the post once more. “Good. She’s better off that way.”

Robb watches him for a long moment, as if searching for some hidden motive. Finally, he turns, calling Grey Wind to his side.

“You’ll rot in this cage, Lannister,” Robb says over his shoulder as he strides toward the tent’s entrance. “And when the time comes, you’ll answer for everything you’ve done.”

The tent flap falls closed behind him, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts once more. He exhales slowly, the weight of the chains pressing into his wrists.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter if it was you or not. That he’s a fool for even caring.

But deep down, he knows the truth. Even in this cage, even in the shadow of death, his thoughts remain bound to you. A silent torment, far worse than the chains that bind him.

Jaime’s wrists ache from the constant pull of chains as he’s dragged along by Robb’s men. His boots sink into the damp earth with every step, the heavy mud clinging to him as if the North itself wants to swallow him whole. After weeks of captivity he feels more like a tethered dog than a lion, yanked along as the wolves move their camp to higher ground.

His head is lowered, his hair now dulled and dirtied, but a low growl makes him glance up. His heart stutters in his chest.

It’s him.

Winter, the pale direwolf, stands motionless at the edge of the camp, his silver-white coat shimmering in the faint sunlight. His icy blue eyes bore into him, unblinking, filled with a quiet menace. Jaime halts for a moment, his breath catching. He’d only seen him briefly at Winterfell, always at your side, a specter of your presence.

If Winter is here, then so are you.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a familiar figure emerges behind the wolf. His chest tightens at the sight of you—wrapped in a dark cloak, your hair loose, untouched by the grime of war that clings to everyone else. Your face is pale but calm, a stark contrast to the storm Jaime feels rising within himself.

And then Catelyn Stark appears.

She strides forward with purpose, her eyes blazing with fury as she spots him. You follow behind her, hesitant but present, and Jaime feels the weight of your gaze even if it doesn’t meet his directly.

The men dragging him stop as Lady Stark approaches, her voice sharp as the northern wind. “Hold him,” she orders, her tone brooking no argument. The guards immediately comply, gripping Jaime by the arms and halting his progress.

Catelyn steps closer, her jaw tight with barely-contained anger. “So,” she says, her voice low but seething, “this is where the Kingslayer finds himself. Dragged through the mud like the filth he is.”

Jaime lifts his head, forcing a smirk onto his face despite the anxiety coiling in his chest. “Lady Stark,” he greets, his tone mocking but hollow. “A pleasure, as always.”

Her hand twitches as if she’s tempted to strike him, but she holds back, her fury starting to resurfice. “You dare speak to me after all you’ve done?” she snaps. “After my son lies broken because of you?”

His smirk falters, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. He forces himself to hold her gaze, though his voice comes quieter this time. “I’ve already answered for that to your son. What more would you have me say?”

Catelyn takes another step forward, her expression hardening. “You could start by begging for your life, though even that wouldn’t be enough.”

Jaime shifts, the chains clinking faintly. “Begging doesn’t suit me. But if it would ease your grief, strike me down now.”

For a moment, her hand moves to her dagger, her knuckles white with tension. Jaime doesn’t flinch, meeting her glare with steady defiance. The silence between them stretches, thick and suffocating, until a soft voice breaks it.

“Mother.”

Your tone is quiet but firm, and it’s enough to make Catelyn pause. She turns her head slightly to look at you, her grip on her dagger loosening. Jaime’s eyes dart to you, his chest tightening as he takes in your expression—calm but guarded, your gaze flickering briefly to his before dropping away.

“He’s not worth it,” you say softly, though there’s an edge to your voice that Jaime doesn’t miss. “Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. Jaime swallows hard, forcing his expression into something unreadable. He should be grateful for your intervention, but your dismissal stings in a way he can’t quite explain.

Catelyn hesitates, her fury tempered by your presence. Finally, she exhales sharply, stepping back. “You’re right,” she says, though her voice is still tight with anger. “He isn’t worth it.”

She turns to the guards, her tone curt. “Take him away. Make sure he’s secure.”

The men nod, yanking Jaime forward once more. As he’s dragged past you, he risks a glance in your direction. You’re watching him now, your expression unreadable, though there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—disdain, perhaps, or pity.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. What could he possibly say? That he thinks of you more than he should? That your wolf haunts his dreams as much as you do? That he still carries the weight of Bran’s fall, that the deed has begun to feel like a noose around his neck?

Instead, he says nothing, allowing himself to be pulled back into the camp, his chains rattling against the ground.

That night, as he sits alone in his makeshift cage, Jaime’s thoughts refuse to quiet. Your voice echoes in his mind, soft but cutting: Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.

And maybe you’re right.

He presses his hands to his face, the cool iron of the shackles biting into his skin. For all his arrogance, for all his bravado, Jaime Lannister feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.

And through it all, he can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with anger, but with something far worse. Indifference.

For the first time, Jaime wonders if the cage he’s trapped in isn’t one of iron and chains but one of his own making—woven from lies, guilt, and the ghosts of what might have been.

The week crawls by in the cold, damp cage Jaime Lannister has come to know as his new home. Each day feels heavier than the last, the chains at his wrists a constant reminder of how far he has fallen: a prisoner of war, kept alive for reasons he can only guess.

He leans back against the wooden post, his head tilted upward as he watches the stars through a small gap in the tent’s fabric. It’s one of the few comforts he has—staring at the sky and pretending, for a moment, that he isn’t shackled like an animal.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts. They’re too quiet to belong to one of Robb’s guards. Jaime sits up straighter, his senses sharpening as the tent flap is pulled aside.

Lady Catelyn Stark steps inside, her face set in grim determination. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across her features, making her look even more formidable than usual. Behind her stands a tall, broad-shouldered woman clad in armor—her presence impossible to miss. Jaime recognizes her instantly: Brienne of Tarth.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Jaime says, his voice dry as he sits forward, his chains clinking faintly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit, Lady Stark?”

Catelyn doesn’t respond immediately. She steps closer, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. Brienne remains just inside the entrance, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, watching him like a hawk.

“I’ve come to make a bargain,” Catelyn says finally, her tone low but firm.

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A bargain? How intriguing. And here I thought you only kept me alive so your son could parade me through the Riverlands like a prize stag.”

Catelyn’s lips tighten, but she doesn’t rise to his bait. Instead, she steps even closer, standing just out of his reach. “My daughters,” she says, her voice heavy with emotion. “Sansa and Arya. They’re in King’s Landing, held by your family.”

Jaime leans back slightly, his smirk faltering. “Ah, so this is about them. And here I thought you’d come to finally finish me off.”

“I’ll do what I must to protect my children,” Catelyn snaps, her voice cutting through the cold air. “Even if it means dealing with you.”

Jaime studies her for a moment, his gaze flicking to Brienne before returning to Catelyn. “And what exactly do you propose, my lady?”

Catelyn straightens, her expression hardening. “You will go to King’s Landing. Brienne will escort you there. In exchange, you will ensure the safe return of my daughters.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then Jaime chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “You’re asking me to trust you? To believe that I’ll make it to King’s Landing in one piece with your she-knight as my escort?”

Brienne bristles at the insult, stepping forward, but Catelyn holds up a hand to stop her.

“I’m not asking,” Catelyn says coldly. “This is not a negotiation. I will not sit idly by while my daughters remain hostages to your family’s schemes. You’re going, Lannister—whether you like it or not.”

Jaime tilts his head, considering her words. “And what does your son, the King in the North, think of this… arrangement?”

Catelyn’s expression darkens. “Robb doesn’t know. And he won’t know.”

At that, Jaime’s smirk returns, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Ah, so this is treason. How delightfully unexpected from the honorable Lady Stark.”

Catelyn steps closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will have you hunted down and killed before you can utter a single word. Do you understand me, Lannister?”

Jaime meets her gaze, his smirk fading as the weight of her words sinks in. He can see the desperation in her eyes, the fierce determination of a mother willing to risk everything for her children. It’s a look he knows well—he’s seen it in Cersei’s eyes more times than he can count.

“Fine,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to play the dutiful knight. I’m not doing this for you, Lady Stark.”

“I don’t care why you do it,” Catelyn replies sharply. She turns to Brienne, nodding. “Release him.”

Brienne steps forward, her movements deliberate as she unlocks the chains binding Jaime’s wrists. He rubs them absently, the cool air biting at the raw skin beneath.

“Be warned, Lannister,” Brienne says, her voice steady but firm. “If you so much as think of trying to escape, I will kill you.”

Jaime smirks, his gaze flicking to her. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. I’ve heard you’re quite the swordswoman. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity to see that skill firsthand.”

Brienne doesn’t rise to his bait, stepping back as Catelyn moves toward the tent’s entrance. She glances back at Jaime, her expression unreadable.

“Pray that my daughters return safely,” she says quietly. “For your sake.”

With that, she leaves the tent, Brienne following close behind. Jaime watches them go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The chains may be gone, but the weight of what lies ahead feels heavier than ever.

The night is dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds as Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth slip through the edges of the Stark camp. The cold air bites at Jaime’s skin, but he keeps his discomfort to himself, his smirk firmly in place despite the ache in his muscles. The rattling of his chains has been replaced by the quiet shuffle of his boots on the damp earth, a small mercy he’s too proud to admit he appreciates.

Brienne leads the way, her broad shoulders hunched and her hand never far from the hilt of her sword. Jaime follows reluctantly, his steps slower than hers as if dragging his feet might somehow delay the inevitable.

“You’re remarkably quiet, Ser Brienne,” Jaime says after a while, his tone light but laced with mockery. “I’d almost forgotten you could speak. Do the Maiden herself guide your steps in this noble act of treason?”

Brienne doesn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she presses forward.

“Come now,” Jaime continues, his smirk widening. “We’re far enough from the camp. Surely you can share a word or two with your prisoner. Or do you fear the wolves might overhear us?”

She glances back at him briefly, her blue eyes cold. “You’d do well to keep your voice down, Kingslayer.”

“Oh, I see,” Jaime drawls, feigning understanding. “You’re brooding, aren’t you? Thinking of how your honor is tarnished, sneaking me away like a thief in the night. Do you think your dear Lady Stark would weep for you if she knew the shame you bear?”

“I’m doing this for her daughters,” Brienne snaps, her voice low but fierce. “Not for you. Don’t mistake my duty and oath for anything else.”

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Duty. Oath. Such a fine excuse for treachery.”

Before Brienne can respond, a low growl pierces the air, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Jaime freezes, his smirk slipping as he looks ahead.

From the shadows, Winter emerges, his pale fur gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The massive direwolf stands rigid, his icy blue eyes locked on Jaime with unmistakable menace. Behind him, a figure steps into view, cloaked and armed—a bow drawn and an arrow pointed directly at Jaime’s chest.

It’s you.

Jaime’s heart stutters in his chest, though he forces his expression to remain neutral. The sight of you, standing there with unwavering determination, is both captivating and terrifying.

“What are you doing, Brienne?” you ask, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the air like a northern wind. Your gaze flicks briefly to Jaime before returning to the woman beside him.

Brienne hesitates, her hand instinctively moving to her sword. “Lady Y/N… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, it looks exactly as it is,” you say coldly, your bow steady. “You’re sneaking him out of the camp. You’re committing treason against Robb.”

Brienne’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m following Lady Stark’s orders. She believes this man’s life can buy the safe return of your sisters.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. Jaime shifts slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but Winter’s growl deepens, silencing him instantly.

“Stay silent,” you say sharply, your eyes locking onto his. The force of your words, the raw authority in your tone, sends a shiver down his spine.

Jaime swallows hard, his usual bravado slipping as he watches the scene unfold. Brienne steps forward slightly, her hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“I understand your loyalty to your brother,” Brienne says carefully. “But this is about Sansa and Arya. Lady Stark gave me her trust, and I intend to fulfill her wishes. Let me pass.”

You don’t lower your bow, your gaze unwavering. “And if you fail? If this man escapes? What then? Do you think Robb will forgive you for putting his sisters’ lives in the hands of a Kingslayer?”

“He won’t escape,” Brienne says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’ll make sure of nothing,” you reply, your voice hard. “You might trust him to play along, but I don’t. I won’t risk it.”

The words sting more than Jaime expects, though he knows you’re right. If given the chance, he would run. He would escape this madness and return to his family, to the war he knows how to fight. But something about your gaze, the sheer intensity of it, roots him in place.

“I’m going with you,” you say finally, lowering your bow but keeping the arrow nocked. “It’s a long way to the capital, and I won’t trust a prisoner like him in the hands of one person. If he tries to escape, I’ll be there to stop him.”

Brienne hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Lady Y/N, you can’t—”

“I can,” you interrupt, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will. If my sisters’ lives depend on this, then I’ll see it through myself.”

Jaime exhales softly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “A family reunion on the road. How quaint.”

Winter growls again, silencing him once more. You glance at him, your expression colder than the northern winds.

“You’ll speak when spoken to, Lannister,” you say, your voice sharp. “If you even think of trying to escape, I’ll put an arrow through your knee and let the wolves finish the rest.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly despite himself. “Charming.”

You don’t respond, turning to Brienne instead. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

Brienne hesitates for a moment longer before nodding, her expression grim. The three of you begin to move, the sound of boots crunching against the frozen ground breaking the silence. Winter pads silently at your side, his presence a constant reminder of the line Jaime dares not cross.

As they walk, Jaime glances at you from the corner of his eye, his thoughts a chaotic mess. You’re closer now than you’ve been in months, but the gulf between you feels wider than ever.

And yet, he can’t deny the spark of something he doesn’t fully understand—something that terrifies him more than chains or swords ever could.

The night air clings to Jaime’s skin as they travel under the faint light of the moon, their footsteps muffled by the soft crunch of the dirt road. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of the trees and the steady padding of Winter, your ever-present shadow. Jaime walks between you and Brienne, his hands bound once more, though the chains are lighter than before.

He knows he should keep his mouth shut. Your warning earlier was clear enough, and Winter’s growls had been more than persuasive. But silence has never been Jaime’s strength, and the anxiety pressing down on him feels unbearable.

“So, Ser Brienne,” Jaime begins, his voice light, “how long have you been in Lady Stark’s service? Or are you simply a sword for hire with an impressive knack for loyalty?”

Brienne’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t answer.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Jaime presses, smirking faintly. “I suppose that’s fitting for a lady knight. Though I must admit, your… femininity is rather understated. Do the men in Tarth prefer their women to be more—what’s the word—formidable?”

Brienne halts abruptly, turning to face him. Her glare is as cutting as any blade, but before she can speak, you cut her off.

“Enough,” you say suddenly. You don’t look at him, your eyes fixed ahead, but the authority in your tone leaves no room for argument. “Keep walking, Lannister. And keep your mouth shut.”

Jaime raises his bound hands slightly in mock surrender. “As you wish, my lady,” he replies, though the grin tugging at his lips suggests otherwise.

The group resumes their journey, the silence settling in again like an unwelcome guest. Jaime bites his tongue for a few minutes, but the words bubbling inside him refuse to stay contained. He’s not even sure why he does it—whether it’s the need to distract himself, the desire to provoke a reaction from you, or some desperate attempt to find absolution for the weight he carries.

“So, Lady Y/N,” he begins, his tone softer now but still laced with mockery, “do you often accompany prisoners on secret midnight journeys? Or is this a special occasion?”

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as Winter moves silently at your side.

“I suppose it’s for your sisters,” Jaime continues, his smirk faltering slightly. “A noble cause, to be sure. Though I wonder, do you trust her?” He gestures toward Brienne with a tilt of his head. “Or are you here to make sure she doesn’t fail?”

Still, you remain silent, your steps steady and deliberate.

“I must admit,” Jaime says, his voice growing more pensive, “it’s strange, isn’t it? Traveling with someone like me after everything that’s happened. I wonder—do you think of him? Your brother? Of what happened to him?”

At that, you stop. Jaime nearly stumbles to a halt behind you, his breath catching as you turn to face him. Your eyes, so cold and unreadable, burn into him now with an intensity that makes even the lion feel small.

“Do I think of my brother?” you repeat, your voice low and steady, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “Every single day, Lannister. I think of how he fell, of how he might never wake because of you.”

Jaime swallows hard, his smirk finally slipping entirely.

“And do you know what I think of you?” you continue, stepping closer, your voice cutting through the night like a blade. “I think of how pathetic you are. A man who threw a child from a window to cover up his sins. A man so desperate to hide what he is that he nearly destroyed my family to do it.”

Your words strike harder than any blow ever could, and for once, Jaime is left speechless.

“You disgust me,” you say coldly, your voice shaking slightly with restrained fury. “And if you speak again, I’ll make sure Winter tears out your tongue. Do you understand me?”

Jaime forces himself to nod, though the weight of your words presses down on him like a mountain.

“Good,” you say simply, turning away from him and resuming your pace.

Winter lingers for a moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto Jaime as if daring him to try something. Then the direwolf follows you, his steps silent and deliberate.

Jaime exhales shakily, his thoughts spiraling as he begins walking again. Your words echo in his mind, each one carving deeper into the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury. He doesn’t know why he provoked you, why he pushed you to the point of breaking. Perhaps it was to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of his own failures.

But now, as the silence stretches on and your words linger like a brand, Jaime wonders if he’ll ever be free of the choices that brought him here.

The small camp is quiet, save for the crackling of the fire Brienne has managed to coax to life. The days of travel have been grueling, and Jaime feels every ache in his body, though he’d never admit it aloud. He sits with his back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, the chains digging faintly into his wrists. Brienne sits across from him, her eyes never leaving him for more than a moment.

The air smells of pine and damp earth, the kind of crispness that can only be found far from the corruption of cities. It would be almost peaceful if it weren’t for the weight of his own thoughts and the absence of you. You’d disappeared into the woods not long ago, your bow slung over your shoulder and Winter trotting at your side, leaving Jaime and Brienne behind to stew in the silence.

Jaime shifts slightly, his gaze flicking to the direction you’d gone, though the trees obscure any sign of you. He tells himself it’s simple curiosity, nothing more. Yet, even as he tries to convince himself, he knows it’s a lie. There’s something about you that pulls at him, an invisible tether he can’t sever no matter how much he tries.

“Stop it,” Brienne says abruptly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Jaime turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“You know what,” she replies, her tone firm but not unkind. She leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees as the firelight flickers across her face. “Stop watching her.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though there’s no real humor in it. “Am I not allowed to look at the person who’s been kind enough to threaten me with death every few hours?”

Brienne’s expression hardens. “It’s not just a look. You’ve been watching her since we left the Stark camp. Whatever you’re thinking—whatever you’re feeling—stop it. She deserves better than someone like you.”

The words sting, though Jaime doesn’t let it show. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening slightly. “Oh, I see. You’re her protector now, are you? The honorable Lady Brienne, guardian of Northern virtue.”

“I’m protecting her from you,” Brienne says, her voice low but cutting. “I’ve seen men like you before, Kingslayer. You think you can charm your way into anyone’s favor, but it won’t work here. Not with her.”

Jaime’s smirk falters, and for a moment, the weight of her words settles over him. He exhales softly, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.

“She hates me,” he says after a long pause, his voice quieter now.

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze steady as she studies him. “She has every reason to,” she says finally.

“I know,” Jaime replies, his tone almost bitter. He looks at the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. Every time I look at her, I see… I don’t know what I see. Something I’ll never have. Something I don’t deserve.”

Brienne’s expression softens slightly, though her resolve doesn’t waver. “Then leave her alone,” she says firmly. “She’s already lost enough because of you. Don’t make it worse.”

Jaime chuckles dryly, though the sound lacks any real mirth. “As if I could. She barely acknowledges my existence unless it’s to remind me of what I’ve done.”

“Good,” Brienne says simply. “Maybe that’s the only way you’ll understand the weight of your actions.”

The silence stretches between them again, heavy with unspoken truths. Jaime shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to his bound hands.

“She reminds me of someone,” he says suddenly, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Brienne raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt.

“My sister,” Jaime continues, his tone distant. “Not in looks, of course. They couldn’t be more different. But in… strength. That fire in her eyes, the way she carries herself. It’s maddening, really. It makes me want to—”

“To what?” Brienne presses, her voice sharp.

Jaime shakes his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “To believe I could be better. But we both know that’s not true.”

Brienne watches him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You’re not better. Not yet.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire as your footsteps approach from the trees. Winter trots ahead of you, his silver coat gleaming in the firelight as he pads over to sit beside you. You carry two rabbits in one hand, your bow slung over your shoulder, your face unreadable as you step into the clearing.

“Talking about me?” you ask, your voice calm but with a curious undertone.

“Nothing flattering, I assure you,” Jaime replies, his smirk returning faintly.

You glance at him briefly, your expression as cold as ever, before turning to Brienne. “Let’s get these rabbits cooking. We’ll need the strength for tomorrow.”

As you and Brienne begin preparing the meal, Jaime leans back against the tree again, his thoughts a tangled mess. He knows he should stop. Stop watching you, stop thinking about you, stop searching for something he’ll never find.

But as the firelight dances across your face, illuminating the resolve in your eyes, Jaime knows he’s already lost that battle.

[sorcerousundries]

Spoiled rotten

Being greywinds favourite

Warnings: everything’s fine AU

A/N: a lot of these scenarios are inspired by my dog

Robb was being replaced

He knew it plain and simple. He first started to notice it when he’d saunter into your shared chambers, eager to strip himself of his leathers and nestle under the furs with you while the fire crackled something fierce.

He had been thinking about it all day in fact. The only thing keeping him motivated while he pushed through seemingly endless council meetings and letter responses alike.

Yet when the time had finally come and he pulled the covers back he was not greeted with the empty space reserved just for him, instead a great big direwolf was cuddled into the space with your arms wrapped around him.

He swears he could even see him smirking as if taunting him.

To rub salt on the wound you even giggled at him as you told him “I have a new cuddling companion now” it’s like you wanted him dead.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After weeks of carefully planning greywinds mealtimes so that he’d be able to sneak under the covers before the wolf padded into your quarters as if he owned the place, Robb though that would be the end of the business.

How wrong he was.

The chances he was granted to be able to come visit you during the day were slim but not impossible, most days he was able to slip away and sit beside you while you read.

You would chat to him about anything; the topic of your book, the dream you had that night, what you had for lunch. Anything.

But after walking into the library and seeing greywind pressed at your back like a sentinel pillow, his victory was lost yet again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When night fell and the castle fell silent, the winds blowing strong outside. You could always count on Robb to keep you warm at night, aswell as the thick furs that sat heavy on the bed.

Yet when a chill started to curls round his shoulders and he tried to pull the covers up to shield himself from the cool air, the fur wouldn’t move.

No matter how much he yanked and tugged, the fur refused to move.

As he looked down to try and identify the source, he was greeted with the happily snoozing face of his canine companion, sprawled over your legs with his head happily resting in the dip of your waist.

That morning Robb woke up with a stiff neck as he gave in and shuffled down the bed in order to completely cover himself, neglecting his posture as his head was denied the privilege of resting on a pillow.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The evening air was crisp and cool, with the gentle crackle of the fire filling the room with warmth. You sat on a plush fur rug in front of the hearth, wrapped in a soft blanket, feeling the flickering flames dance across your skin. The atmosphere in the great hall of Winterfell was cozy, a welcome contrast to the chill outside.

Robb entered, shaking off the cold as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk air, and a smile broke across his face when he spotted you. “I thought I might find y’ here” he said, his voice warm and inviting thick with his Northern accent.

You smiled back, patting the space beside you.

Without hesitation, Robb settled down next to you, the soft fabric of his cloak brushing against your side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The heat radiating from the fire mixed with the warmth of his body, creating a perfect cocoon of comfort. resting his chin atop your head. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, soothing and strong.

As you nestled into his side, Grey Wind padded into the room, his fur a dark shadow against the flickering light. He sniffed the air for a moment before making his way over, his golden eyes bright with affection. With a soft whine, he settled down beside you, leaning against Robb's leg.

Robb had to resist rolling his eyes as your hand came down to scratch greywinds ears, running your fingers through his thick fur. “He always knows when we’re havin’ a moment.” He groans.

You sent Robb an incredulous look before giggling at the ridiculousness of the situation. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you settled deeper into his comforting hold, feeling safe and cherished. As you gazed up into his eyes, a playful spark ignited between you. You nudged your nose against his, a silent invitation that led to a soft, lingering kiss. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside Winterfell faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and affection.

But even that blissful moment was gently interrupted by Grey Wind’s piercing whine, a sound that sliced through the tranquility like a sudden gust of wind. You pulled away from Robb, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all.

“Alright, alright,” you coo , shaking your head as you leaned down to meet Grey Wind’s expectant gaze. His dark eyes shimmered with a mix of longing and playful annoyance, and you couldn’t help but smile. You pressed a kiss to his wet nose, the familiar gesture eliciting a soft huff from him, as if he were grumbling about being neglected.

With the fire crackling and Grey Wind’s soft breathing filling the room, you felt utterly content. The warmth of the hearth, the closeness of Robb, and the gentle presence of Grey Wind created a serene atmosphere. It was a simple moment, but in that cozy space, surrounded by the two beings you cherished most, Even Robb had to admit he wouldn’t actually mind being replaced.

[sehaedazokla]

robb stark and a witch reader

fem! reader terms and descriptions 

a/n: robb and witch reader you will always be my most beloved…

you have never cared much for human men and hold every intention to continue that tradition with robb stark. despite his own misgivings, robb wishes to offer you all the courtesies a gentleman can provide. not without a tense jaw and a tight hesitation to his body; he has asked your house for assistance and been sent a lady in return. as alluring as your peculiar and haunting beauty is, robb needs men. he is met with equal disappoint in your own eyes – you have been sent to assist the lord of winterfell, not his young heir. neither of you extends a hand in welcome, but robb at least plays the part of a gracious host. no warmth is to be found in your stunning visage.

you find him rather boorish, brutish, unseemly – likely incompetent, having never seen battle. save for the blue of his eyes, brighter and clearer than the sky above. he is offput by your strange customs and odd manner of speaking, alongside the obvious dislike for humans.

your suggestion for a blood pact to seal your allegiance, for example, gives robb pause. he convinces you a signed scroll shall suffice.

sensible and cold, your advice comes to robb in eerie whispers with unimpressed gazes. he discovers quickly you have knowledge of a great many things and does not dismiss your counsel even if he is wary. in the stressful months following his assumption of his father’s role of his absence, it is you whom he finds himself turning to.

when not directly advising robb, your tongue spins unsettling riddles and breaths of valyrian, often cast to robb when he says something you deem foolish. there is no softness in your presence, no need for it. it is practicality that you offer, and practicality that robb is requiring. 

he is left watching as you draw in the world at your whim. your penchant for shadow and flame, how light and dark alike seemed called to dance upon you. the winds of the godswood blow high and crisp as you walk beneath their branches, robb leading you to the weirwood tree his ancestors have prayed to for centuries. light breeze carrying your hair about your face as you are told warnings and wisdoms by voices long since lost to most human ears.

the strangest of strangers to him. unknown and foreign, as distant and cold and lovely as the moon.

save for when you gain the favor of his direwolf, taking long strolls through the castle with the creature at your side. you speak to him in valyrian, and robb cannot tell if grey wind understands your or not. robb is almost childishly jealous of the ease with which the wolf took to you – had all loyalty been discarded at the arrival of this witch?

and rickon and bran do not seem to fear you in the slightest. robb would find this is because you have given them no reason to. your general scorn for humans does not extend to the children, whom time and attention are given to whenever it is asked. you never seek out their company, but always provide it when you can, even if it means leaving robb in the middle of providing counsel.

and perhaps it is both of your innate instincts to parent and protect that you notice in each other as a surprisingly piece of common ground. pensive gazes watching after the other as you both engage with the young boys. robb knows without your saying that you are the eldest of your siblings as well. 

but your efficiency in that department is where your true talents lie. you bloom like nightshade in combat, your skill with a sword almost as terrifying as your eyes. many witches are natural healers, your nature is more destructive than that. you seem more creature than human when you fight. and when bran’s life is on the line and robb is forced to lower his sword, heart clenched and mind racing, he sees blood trickling from the eyes and nose and mouth of bran’s captor.

the man dies quickly, melting to his knees, choking on blood as it spills from his face in crimson rivulets. when robb whips his head to see you, he knows, but cannot prove it because you have collapsed to the ground, faint and then unconscious.

you would keep your oath no matter the price you paid, to serve and protect the starks. it is by your bedside that he waits with anxiously wringing hands, his thick brows drawn together while the maester tries and fails to discern what has befallen you. the fire in the hearth flickers lowly as the night drags on, each moment that you do not wake worsening robb’s concern. grey wind curls himself by the hearth, resting among the furs.

you wake with tired blinks and a hazy memory, the first words that come from your hoarse throat ask after the safety of robb’s young brother. robb is a turbulent wreck of emotions: relief at your waking, frustration at his reliance on you in a time of trouble, gratefulness for protecting bran, anger at your quickness to do something that seemingly put yourself in danger.

 when you stubbornly and coldly remind him of your promise to serve him, he grips the sheets of your bed in a tight ball as he leans towards you with pained and frustrated worry.

“your life is not mine. do not be so reckless, i order it of you.”

[axelsagewrites]

Hey there just m back again with a request where it’s cerisi and roberts daughter who’s married to Robb. Can it be it’s after the red wedding she survived and she spent her time hinting those who participated in the red wedding but she gets brutally killed and somehow like whoever did it brings her corpse to Cersi and her reaction and maybe Tyrion reacting to the news too as he was quite close to her

Robb Stark*Don't Die For Me

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon!F!Reader

Word count: 3638

Warnings: the red wedding, robb dying, cat dying, reader dying, description of war/injuries, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist Here

The gown was made from thick snow-white wool, trimmed with a soft grey wolf fur with streaks of black. Stag horns were embroidered along the cuffs, yellow gold fastenings holding it together. Lannister red hearts were hand stitched by Myrcella around the hem of the dress. It was warm and thick and span out like a dancer’s dress whenever you twirled.

People gasped when they saw you enter the gods wood, arms linked with your father as you approached your husband. Robb wore simpler clothes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders that he would soon drape over your frame.

Sansa watched the wedding doe eyed and Catelyn felt her eyes grow wet at the sight of her son, smiling down at his betrothed as they made their union promise. The king tried to look stoic, clearing his throat umpteen times to keep his tears back. Tyrion stood front row, much to your mother’s dismay and wearing the beaming smile you would have expected from a mother.

Your mother stood stoned face as she watched, smiling when looked at by anyone but you. she gave you a knowing look. “He will be your husband. Nothing more. He will share your bed, but you will have separate chambers. he will tell you how to act. You must listen when he is there. You must choose your battles and the most important ones will be what comes out between your legs,” her lessons rang in your ears when you had met Robb for the first time.

You knew she wanted to protect you the way she thought she needed to. To her Robb was a stranger, a threat, the captor of her daughter, the thief in the north, the unknown. What she did not know was the way Robb softly stroked his fingers over your cheeks when he held you or how he rubbed his hands over yours to warm them.

She didn’t notice how he would let you walk in front and was happy to follow behind. She didn’t notice how grey wind went to protect you when someone stepped out of line. She didn’t notice the lingering glances or the way his hands held yours a moment too long once the dance had stopped. She didn’t notice. She didn’t want to hope.

You however had noticed his affection for you. you noticed how his cheeks tinged pink when he helped you on your horse or how he laughed loudly at jokes he barely understood. You noticed he would reach for his sword when a stranger approached or how he smiled when you walked in the room. The same dopey smile he wore when he swore to protect you.

The ceremony had been beautiful, done in front of the heart tree as you pledged to the old gods and new. When you arrived at the feast it was already filled with excitement as the south and north began to mix. You danced first with Robb then each of his sisters then his brothers, including Jon who had been nervous to take the floor with you, but you had insisted.

You danced with your father who choked out a teary piece of advice. “Never forget you are my daughter. When you need me, you’ll have me,” he told you privately on the dance floor. While he trusted ned with all his heart you knew he would miss you.

You danced with your siblings, even convincing Joffrey to join you. Your mother stayed sat in her chair all night, but you made sure to talk to her even if you could see the nerves behind her eyes. Your uncle Jamie gave you a tight-lipped smile but not much more while your uncle Tyrion was only two drinks down and already very excited.

“My little niece has gotten married,” He proclaimed loudly as you approached his table and laughed at his state, “Oh how my heart breaks. Stolen away by some northern heathens,”

“Now, now uncle,” you said as you sat down at the table, stealing a glass of wine, “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You shall visit me,”

“Shall I?” he fakes pondered as he poured himself a fresh drink, “The north is too cold for me sweet niece,”

You hummed a laugh as you clinked your glasses, “I’m sure I will find you a warm enough room. After all I am your favourite,” you grinned making him laugh as you continued the festivities. You however had no idea the next time you saw your uncle it would be on such a sour note.

It was only the week after your wedding that Bran had fallen from the window however you knew he hadn’t fallen from the look on your mother’s face alone. As soon as the Queen had left you told Robb your suspicions, but they fell on deaf ears. You tried to ignore the growing pit in your stomach the day your father had left, Ned joining him in the south, but you just knew. You just knew.

The war came quick, and it came hard. The only reason Winterfell had so quickly rebuilt their supplies was at your instruction. Robbs men had suggested you stay behind to guard Winterfell, war was no place for a wife, but when you told Robb you wanted to come, he agreed with no hesitation. He’d seen the way you could shoot a bow and was even frightened when he saw how you swung a sword.

You had been trained by the hound after all amongst many other swords masters. Barristan Selmy had even given you a few tips. Your father had arranged the lessons, insisting no daughter of his would go down without a fight. Your mother had taught you other lessons. Poisons and daggers and knives disguised in rings. You knew how to survive. You knew how to fight.

Maybe you should have stayed behind. It was a thought that plagued your mind the moment you left and cursed you when you released what Theon had done. Robb assured you it was not your fault. Catelyn had said no one man could hold a castle by themselves. But what if you could have?

Walder Frey was your next big problem. He tried to convince Catelyn your marriage was just an inconvenience to a new alliance, but a Stark keeps their oath. Soon you had to break the bad news to Edmure Tully of his pending nuptials to a Frey girl.

Despite everything you had hope. Not once had you lost a battle. Not one. You charged in on horseback, Robb leading the front and you fighting with those at the back. Grey wind charged into battle first, but it did not take long for you to spot him on the battlefield. However, Robb had insisted on one thing.

Each time you joined him on battle you were dressed as a man with a helmet covering your face. He couldn’t risk Tywin knowing you were on the field. After all, if your siblings were bastards that made you the rightful queen of the seven, now six, kingdoms.

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” you told Robb as he helped lace you into your dress before Edmures wedding.

Robb sighed as he finished up the ties before turning you to face him, “You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he said, his fingers stroking over your cheek.

You kissed the palm of his hand, enjoying his touch for just a moment, “I know but I worry,”

“We can worry tomorrow,” Robb said, kissing your forehead as he held your face softly in his hands, “but for now we can take pause. Even a Frey would not defile guest rights,”

When grey wind refused to enter the Twins, you almost dragged Robb away right then and there. However, Cat and Robb insisted everything would be alright. You believed them. Well, you wanted to. You tried to believe them.

“My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift,” Walder began to say as you stood from your chair, a practised smile on your face as you moved to stand beside Robb. Before you could reach him, chairs scrapped against stone floors as Cateleyn slapped Roose Bolton.

“Robb,” she cried as Roose climbed from his chair. You tried to grab Robbs hand, to grab him and run, your hand already reaching for the dagger you had hidden. However, before you could grab its handle you felt a hand wrap about your wrist, yanking you back harshly.

Your fingers were just brushing Robbs hand when you were pulled back into the chest of Roose Bolton, his arm trapping you to his chest. Your nails sunk into his wrist, desperately trying to pull yourself out of his grip as Roose picked you up and began to drag you away to the side.

“Robb,” you cried out. You felt your heart racing, your eyes searching for where Robb was stood as arrows got set loose on the Stark men, your men. You tried to pry yourself free as your men were slaughtered by crossbows and daggers.

When the first arrow hit Robb you screamed, a guttural scream that pierced even your own ears as you felt your stomach lurch. You twisted in Rooses grip, turning your head to sink your teeth down onto his nose making him cry out in pain. he let you go out of instinct, and you quickly ran to where Robb lay as an arrow hit cat in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Run,” Robb said, his voice low almost a whisper as he tried to pull himself to his feet, “Don’t stop for me,” he said through gritted teeth, but your hand reached for his. “Go!” he almost yelled but you could see the pain in his eyes, “its too late for me,” he grunted, and your eyes fell to where he was looking.

You felt yourself grow sick at the sight of an arrow tip sticking out his stomach. It had gone through between his ribs, and you could see the thick blood dripping off its end onto the stone floor. “I can’t leave you,” you whispered as you stood, pulling him with you.

Your eyes scanned the room. There was no where to go. No bargain to offer no clear way to run. Your eyes fell to Catelyn who had crawled under a table nearby. You could see the fear in her eyes. Your own eyes turned to Robb who tried his best to stand. “Go,” he begged, “Don’t die for me,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face as he pushed your hand away, but you clung on tighter, “I love you too much to see you die,”

“I love you too,” you tried to say but it came out as broken whimpers, “Theres no way for me to run,”

“Lord Walder!” Cats voice was the only thing to drag your eyes from your husband as you watched his mother hold a knife to a girl of no more than twelves throat, “Let it end, please. he is my son,” she begged.

You could see Robbs skin start to sweat, the colour draining from his face. You felt a tear fall down your cheek when you realised, he was dying. Robb had realised it too as his clammy hands moved to softly hold your cheeks as you kneeled together on the ground. Your hands reached for his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“Take me for a hostage,” Catelyn cried, “Take her. she is the princess. Think of how much you could get!” she cried as Robb shuffled closer to you, his head moving to lean against yours. you ignored Catelyn’s pleas, ignored the way she tried to trade you for her son. You would have offered yourself too for Robb if not for the blood you could see at the corner of his mouth.

“Get up and walk out,” Catelyn begged Robb but he ignored her. you weren’t sure if he could even hear her. his face shuffled forwards, his lips softly brushing against yours. you tried to ignore the metallic taste as his blood tainted your final kiss. Tried to ignore Catelyn’s cries. Tried to ignore the feeling of Robbs skin growing cold beneath your fingertips.

You screamed when he was ripped from your arms. When your eyes looked up through the tears you saw Roose Bolton holding Robb, blood dripping still from where your teeth had sunk in. Robb looked to Cat, “Mother,” he mumbled making her let out a sob. His eyes turned to yours, looking down at your filled with regret, “Wife,” was the last word that left his lips before a gasp when Roose Boltons dagger sunk into his chest.

“The Lannister’s send their regards,” you heard him whisper and you lunged for him only to be pulled back by yet another one of the Frey men.

“Take her to the kennels for the night. Her mother wants to see her,” Walder Frey called out as one of his sons dragged you out the room.

You let your body go limp as you listened to Catelyn’s scream echo the once happy hall. You let yourself be dragged, acting as if you could not walk. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t have to pretend to let them flow.

However as soon as you were the only ones in the corridor your fingers felt for the hilt of your dagger, your fingers wrapping around the black leather. Your eyes glanced up to the distracted Frey man. You glanced forward, making sure the corridor was empty before slamming your head back into his mouth making him cry out and drop you.

This time you were ready though as you spun around, your dagger sinking through the side of his throat. When you pulled it back, he collapsed to his knees, blood squirting out his neck as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. You didn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes as it had Robbs.

Your hands reached for his belt, undoing it quickly before tightening it around your own waist. Next was his cloak. It was too long but would work for now you thought as you put up the hood before taking off down the corridor. Your hands squeezed the pouch on his belt as you ran, and you sighed of relief when you could feel coins through it. his sword was heavier than you’d like but you knew you could handle it. before anyone knew what had happened you were already at the forest edge on the back of a Frey horse.

The next couple of weeks were possibly the worst of your life. You wanted to mourn, to curl up in a ball and sob. You wanted to die. However, you couldn’t. you had to live. Robb wanted you to live. As you walked the forest you often felt your hand hover over your stomach.

Baby Robb you thought. Or Catelyn for a girl. Your bloods hadn’t arrived for little over three months. At first you thought it was the stress of war but as you stood on the forest edge, listening to the faint sounds of your men being slaughtered as you escaped you knew. You knew you were pregnant, and you wondered if Robb would’ve run if he had known.

If you had not come across the brother hood without banners you wondered if you would have survived much longer with such a large bounty on your head. Soon though your mission became less about surviving and more about getting revenge.

When you sunk an arrow into the chest of the first Frey you came upon you remembered your anger and soon it almost became like a sport. It wasn’t hard to find a Frey to kill and they rarely put up a fight. It was the Lannister’s that were harder. Though many knew you and thought they could convince you to return to your family’s side.

You made sure to stab they ones twice. You never stabbed to kill, however. You enjoyed watching them crawl away, desperate to find help, but knowing they’d bleed out before finding any. But revenge is not a survival tool you soon learned.

You had been washing your face down at the stream near where you and the brotherhood had chosen to set up camp. It was almost peaceful here. The birds were chirping, deer walked around with no care in the world. Feeling the sweat wash off your face as your splashed yourself with the cool water was the best feeling you had had since the wedding.

For a moment, a single moment, you tried to forget it all. You let yourself enjoy the stream, your fingers hovering in the water, enjoying how the water flowed around them. You looked up across the stream, smiling at the stag that stood across the water from you. Dad. The idea pained your chest. Everything was so much simpler before.

When the stag began to kick you squinted, moving to stand to help the creature when you felt a hand grab a chunk of your hair. You tried to scream, to reach for his hand, but the ice-cold water entering your mouth made it hard to even move. You tried to thrash but you did little but make the water splash. You could hear muffle voices from atop the water but with no clue who they belonged to.

Your eyes stung as you tried to look up. You managed to turn your head just enough to see the stag out the corner of your eye. You wondered if the wolf that had pawed its way up to stand by the stag was real. It almost looked as if it was smiling down at you. your hands slipped away from your attacker’s grip as your body grew stiller. Your eyes stayed on the stag and wolf. When you need me, you’ll have me. Your fathers’ words echoed in the water. I love you too much you could hear Robbs voice whisper before everything faded to black.

“Where is she?” Cerci demanded as her apparent cousins she’d never heard of stood before her throne. “You said you had my daughter,”

“Yes, my queen,” the man bowed before turning to signal for a crate to be brought forward, “We have her right here,”

“Are there air holes in that box?” Tyrion asked, walking down the stairs from the throne to the crate the mountain had sat down with less than grace.

“Why would we need airholes my lord?” the man’s words even made cerci stand from her throne as Tyrion began to pry the crate open with his dagger, “Your grace we were told she had committed treason. She murdered my father your grace, your cousin. She was dangerous I’m telling you my grace you have to believe me,” the man pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as Cersei approached the crate.

Tyrion slowly pried it open, his eyes peeking inside before gasping, slamming its lid shut as he backed away, “What is it brother?”

“Don’t look in there” Tyrion begged as cerci approached the crate, “Don’t look in there! Any of you,” he screeched.

Cercis eyes were cold as stone as she looked from the crate to the mountain then to her cousin. The mans eyes widened in terror as the mountain carried him out wordlessly, “Please your grace. I thought this is what you wanted,” he screamed.

“Get out,” Cersi muttered, “All of you out!” she screamed making everyone, but Tyrion flee out the room. Her eyes were locked on the crate, “Is she-?” she tried to ask as Tyrion stood from where he had keeled over on the floor.

His feet scraped the ground as he walked over to stand by his sister, “She’s dead,” he said, his voice cold but tears streaked down his cheeks, “They killed her,” Cersei’s hand reached to open to crate, but Tyrion shuddered as he turned around, “Do not make me look at her,” he begged.

“I have to know,” she murmured as she took the lid off the crate, her eyes wound shut till she heard the lid clatter to the ground. Cerci opened her eyes, expecting to see her daughter asleep in a box but she gasped when she saw the reality. “No,” she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped towards the crate.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Look at the girl you had killed!”

“I never- I didn’t mean- I didn’t want her to die,” cerci said as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair but when Tyrion saw out the corner of his eye, he slapped her hand away. “I- “

“You do not touch her!” he screeched, “She is dead because of you! all of this is because of you,” he yelled at his sister before noticing a new horror reach her eyes. Tyrion choked back his tears, trying to hold his stomach steady as he peered back into the box, “Oh my gods,” he whispered as he backed away from the box.

“I didn’t know,” Cersi whispered, her eyes unable to move.

“You killed your own grandchild,” Tyrion whispered, venom dripping off his tongue as he backed away from his sister, “Your own daughter! Your flesh and your blood!” he began to yell once more.

“I didn’t mean to- “Cersei tried to beg, tears falling from her eyes as she backed away from the crate.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion said coldly as he glared up at his older sister, “She is dead because of you. and I hope that haunts you till your last breath,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @nyotamalfoy

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

48 - Fist of the First Men

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 22.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mild illness, discussions of pregnancy, disturbing imagery, past character deaths, references to abuse, smut, outdoor sex, oral (f and m receiving), p in v, anal, non consensual vouyerism

Notes: Mild time jump from the end of the previous chapter. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Remnants of the Haunted Forest loomed behind you, but it was hard to envision much of the travel was done through thick trees when you were crouched down looking to such a sight. Over the expanse of a mountain side, the lands below were nothing but snow and ice for hundreds of miles as even in the afternoon light the sun already begun to sink beyond the furthest cliffs. Eyes wide as you felt minuscule in the vast lands, but narrowed as a growing familiar sound shined through the winds.

The cawing of a bird grasped your attention, forcing your eyes up to what remained of a grey sky as an eagle continued to find it's path following and circling you. Almost a week now it remained within your path and it had begun to frustrate you as it had made Jon uncomfortable. It is only an animal you told him, but he had watched it with distrust as if towards something human, before muttering that didn't mean anything. Regardless, you tore your gaze from it's circling nature down to the gentle boiling sounds below.

Taking the small metal off the just as small fire, you sat it's contents deep within a pile of snow beside as you smothered the flames and embers before you. Looking back to the sight beyond as you waited for the water to cool. You felt even more strange then the last of such occurrences. The waters flowing alongside Riverrun were just as lovely in sight, and yet everything couldn't be more different. Where then it was still warm even by the waterside that one hardly needed anything but a shall to keep warm, now you wore furs and sheepskin just to not freeze over most of the day.

War was all around you then, only such a tiny reprieve in the Tully home that gave false hope of a future which might have worked out, whereas now there was no threat for hundreds of miles in any given direction, but you were the one walking towards the only threat which mattered. Not seeking out it's hiding spot but walking right into the mouth of a lion directly and willingly. Though perhaps most different of all, whereas amongst a consistent barrage of soldiers and guards it was easy to hide such sickness from Robb.

But only you out in the North with two white wolves, you couldn't hide from Jon anywhere near long enough for him not to grow overtly protective about it.

You were somewhere in the realms of a little over three months in, and you would feel bad for how often the illness ran through your system were Jon not the one insisting on stopping the days it was worse then normal. In your own mind, you wished to convince him that you were fine and not to worry so constantly about it, but you knew it was only going to get worse as time went on. Soon you were to reach the Fist of the First Men, and once you did there was little time it would take in empty lands between only two of you which would lead you to the mountains of the Frost Fangs.

Not a clue how Jon was going to handle it then, you had only just begun to show and he was more careful with you now then ever. Well, in some respects he was more careful. In others not so much, but you did not help in that matter either. It wasn't all Jons blame for fuelling his appetite.

Jon and yourself noticing both the increase in your need, and each time you tried to ignore the glint in his eye and his attempts to hide a smirk trying to withhold thinking he was right. Saying to you one morning, “Our baby is making you as needy as I am, and you still don’t think that means he’s a boy?” Once more you'd tell him you know he can't know that and not even using Ghost as an excuse was acceptable. But he would always insist. “I don't need anyone to tell me. I know we're having a son.”

Rolling your eyes you'd find a retort anywhere along the lines of, “We will have to find out then, when she is born.” It was always spoken in good fun, but part of you as you knelt there wondered. Where did the joke end and the wanting begin? Part of your mind knew it was growing from a soil of irrationality, but you still found yourself in the seconds after with a worry in your stomach.

Would he be disappointed if you had a girl?

The sounds of two pairs of feet approaching had you shake yourself from the thought. Glancing down to the water, noting that the colour had seeped into a fair darkness as the steam along it had simmered to the safety of pouring it into the skin normally attached to your side. Keeping the mixture brewed as a tea didn't work as instantly as you'd like, but it kept the ill feeling more at an even bay for longer, meaning you'd stop less to bring up whatever was in your stomach.

Only just having stood to attach it to your side, did Jons warm figure envelop your back, a gloved hand winding around your front to wrap around and sit flat along your stomach. Tugging you back into him as his other hand sat at your hip. Jon nudging the side of your head before pressing his lips to the same spot as he rasped deep in your ear. “How am I supposed to drag you out there for hours when you look so beautiful just like this?”

Grasping his forearm, you leaned slightly back into him more comfortingly. A gentle tone low on your town voice as your heart beat hummed as if in warm tune with his. “I'm surprised you find me alluring when I'm hidden by all of this.” Somewhat nodding down to the sheepskin but Jon only grinned as his hand on your hip tightened.

The nerves in your blood swimming fast and needing with a desire so aggravatingly quick, you had to not let the sound of his voice entrance you too far into his own need. “I was thinking, you'll need to tell me when it needs to be fixed.” A question hummed in your throat before he elaborated all in the same desire for what he was actually saying. “Soon enough it's not going to fit the same.”

Shaking your head slightly, you knew he was tied between an amused grin and a needing smirk, both of which ran similarly close together. “I'm not sure that is the part most men enjoy about the process.”

Jon though was quick on the draw, “I don't care what most men like.”

Only as something was ready to come from you did the bird call out once more. Both your heads looking up and you felt him both stiffen in his posture and pull you more protectively into his chest with almost a growl inside of him wanting to emerge. “He's been following us for days now.” Muttering low with more of an anger that he knew, you could feel Jon holding something else back. “I'm not sure I've ever heard an eagle to be dangerous.”

Eyes not yet peeling from the bird, Jon turned you to guide you back to the horses without letting go of you yet. “Normal eagles, no.” But it was all he said of the matter you knew not about, so you let it go.

His attention somewhat distracted as you both readied your horses, not quite looking up as you glanced to the eagle once more then him. “I could see if we have the rations to prepare bird stew if you are that worried about it.” The grin on him wasn't as easy but it did slip through. Which was mostly all you needed. He worked to keep you safe, you worked to keep him off the edge of something angry and intense. You only had each other out here, neither of you could afford to fall off somewhere the other would struggle to follow.

Or more, you needed him. Jon could survive out here on his own.

Shoving back down as you climbed up onto yours, the urge to stare as Jon gathered his curls to tie all the way back. It wasn't fair he made it too easy, he was far too handsome for your own good. Staring harshly forward as he asked suddenly if you were ready, nodding in return to not give away what was so obviously want in your eyes. As if it were possible for Jon to not pick up on it. He would merely store such information for later.

Were you two on foot he'd be bale to walk you through the mountain inbetweens easier and quicker, but Jon was unwilling to risk straying from the safer path as long as he could. Not wanting to force you to endure as harshly as he knew it was already going to be for you in the Frost Fangs. You knew it was not he wanted to coddle you, but that same whirling of feelings inside which brewed need also encased the same illogical feeling of insecurity that you were not fit for such lands as perhaps another had been.

You were a highborn lady, born in castles with servants and luxury. What right did you have pretending you could survive out here without Jon? She survived out here on her own, this would be a cake walk were you someone pretty with red hair. Sipping at the now manageable temperature of warm tea, you knew it was not the baby that which was causing that ill feeling this time, but you drank regardless.

If Jon thought it was only that, perhaps you could pretend long enough to think it as well.

“I still don't understand why she'd do it.”

A tilt of your head in thought, you knew you hadn't explained it with much nuance. Biting your tongue trying to seek back long enough, you still held a compassion for the why even though the what had infuriated you in those days. “Let me put it this way, two of your children are captives in their own home, and two you think are captives in what is very clearly the home of the enemy. Someone you've known since you were a child promises that the trade will work, what would you do?”

Jon however was as pragmatic as you knew he'd be. “I wouldn't have let him leave my tent alive, but I'm not sure that's the answer you're looking for.” Glancing to you with a raised eyebrow, you found yourself looking back with a mixture of something bemused as it was skin to lecturing. His grey eyes swiftly finding back to the path head of him just as watchfully as Ghost was looking, ensuring no misstep was made before he could see it coming out here.

Imploring more reason, you tried to backtrack it a little. “I don't approve of it, I never did, not even then. But I understand it. She was a mother, and Littlefinger used that against her. He played her for a fool, and we all knew it, but if it came down to your children's life or Jaime Lannisters, I know which one you'd take no matter what you try and say.”

You both knew you had Jon on that point. His face twisted a little, not much from what you could see glancing to the side as his voice was serious and purposely collected. “How did she even get away doing it without you or Robb knowing?”

“She did it when we weren't there.” Glancing to catch his confused furrow in his brows you shrugged a shoulder to elaborate. “We and a group of about fifty men went to negotiate with my father, or attempt to. Little did we know everything possible had gone wrong in that time.”

The wind whirling around you both almost was enough to pull a shivering from your teeth down to your spine, noticing with a bit of a jealousy that despite knowing he was cold it seemed not to bother Jon nor Ghost. Only peering back up halfway through what he had been saying, looking over to your wide eyes with a knowing. “Did you hear anything I said?”

A graceful, “Huh?” Came from you almost in a gentle passing which had him turn away from looking at you to laugh.

Shaking his head, Jon muttered “I pay attention to you, but when it's your turn you stare at me like a piece of meat.” You went to protest in an instant only to catch on how close to a trap he had you walking into. Your face twisting into a disapproval before turning to look back out to the stretching snowing lands. Calling your name, you purposely did not look a him and he knew it. “I never said that it was a bad thing.”

Shaking your head, you felt your jaw clenching to hold back what was so clearly still a trap. “If you're going to accuse me of things, I could always stay quiet if that's what you wish.” You could feel it in your veins, him drawing you so close to giving in and then he'd dangle you over the edge with that fact until he'd see fit to bring you back. For one day, you'd rather have the advantage over him on such a thing but he made it so difficult.

Rasping out, you could feel his eyes dark scouring over you. “I could treat you like a piece of meat if you'd like to know what it feels like.” You muttered almost without thought that he's shown you that enough, not expecting the quickness on his tongue and the deeper roughness in his voice which followed. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

Looking away you didn't respond, you knew this game and if you spoke or looked too soon, Jon would win and he always won this game. The smugness radiated beside you with such ease that you wanted to laugh if you weren't being so stubborn. It was his fault, looking the way he did when you were incapable of controlling how needy such a state made you.

It was the exact same problem with Robb, only with Jon there was no one around to get in the way at any point out here. And somehow, Jon had even more of a need for you then Robb did. Such a thing being possible still so strange to think of, considering the innocence of where you and Jon had started and how not innocent you and Robb had begun so suddenly.

Finally finding a voice, you muttered out partially under your breath. “You Starks have absolutely no shame, do you?”

Just as quick, Jon seemed always at the ready with you these days. “Not when the girl looks like you.”

If you could have sighed or rolled your eyes more, you would have and Jon would've found a way to laugh even more at how easy he found it to rile you up.

The days spent travelling were always the same, always calm even in times the storming winds picked up around you both. The further out into the mountains you went the more they picked up, but as long as conditions were safe, Jon led you forward regardless.

Those days shelter was found where best possible, sometimes you were unlucky and there was nothing in a safe distance before it became too dark. Camp would have to be set wherever Jons feet stepped from the horses, leading his and yours to somewhere secluded enough they'd be alright and little, if any time once it grew dark was spent in the outdoors. In the dark of the tent was where those nights were spent.

The howling winds rustling against the fabric above and around, but nothing scary enough that it would feel anywhere near as frightening as it felt the nights it was clear to look at the night sky. Those nights inside were easy. Jon would keep you in between him and Ghost, the three of you settling close to ensure all of you were warm.

You knew he loved those nights. Once settled, Jon would peel everything from your top half off, lay you down and he more on his side next to you. His hand would trail down to your stomach and trace every inch, he might not see it as much as he wanted but he knew every single inch of difference he could feel in the bump forming.

You were fine not seeing, you didn't want to see the scar against where life was growing. Jon felt the opposite, it made him more protective. More needing of you. He'd trail his lips those nights down your neck, breasts and to your stomach and scar and leave not an inch untouched by his kiss. Most of those times, he was unable to help himself. Peeling the rest of your clothes off with it before pulling your legs open for his mouth to feast between them as he liked.

He spent far too much time those nights between your legs, always seeming to be unwilling to give you the break you begged him for. Dragging your hips up to his mouth where you were so soaked from yourself and his tongue anytime he'd pull away you could feel the cold winter air over the wetness. Not that he'd let it stay that way long.

Not a single night since being out in the far north had gone by without Jon taking you. You were desperate for his touch, and he was desperate for you. At some point once in the darkness of the tent Jon would sink his cock deep inside of you. But it wasn't just those nights you saw his need. It was out there too, but those nights were different.

The routines were the same, but they details were different.

Knelt around the fire, Jon scoured over the maps in the remaining evening light as you once more both tried to ignore the circling eagle above. Perched over the fire yourself, you knew Jon kept passing glances up at you before forcing himself to return focus back to the path he was plotting for the next day. Always sure of the specifics, he had said he wanted to leave nothing up to chance out here.

Rasping deeply in a moment of quiet between caws, “I'm reconsidering your offer of bird stew.”

A laugh freely left you, glancing back up to it then over to the horses where your bow and arrows were hooked still. Jons attention trying to focus but the narrowing in his eyes showed he was far more annoyed about it then before. “Good chance to see if you're still a better shot then I am.”

Looking up suddenly with an amused doubt Jon asked, “Since when do you admit I'm the better shot?”

The smirk came a bit forced, directing your attention once more to the food cooking in front of your with a shrug. “You've always been better then me, I'm simply not arguing otherwise anymore.” He was quiet until you glanced back up with a curiosity if he had left your attention, only to find a strange look. Not amused or stern, but deep and thoughtful as he looked at you with gears turning behind his eyes. “What?”

A slight shake of his head and he looked back down. About ready to move passed it when he spoke up once more, peeking up just the right amount to watch you hesitate mid movement. “You know I'm not comparing you to her, right?” You didn't say anything and he called your name gently. “Look at me. I'm not comparing you to her. She lived out here her whole life, you haven't. But you're still surviving just as good as her. There isn't a big trick to living out here, you just have to be smart, and you're smarter then her as it is.”

Women always told you growing up that you would marry a man who wouldn't notice if his own head was cut off, let alone what was bothering you. You were to just make him happy and expect little in return and your time watching those married in Kings Landing had only cemented that thought. It was easy with Robb, you both were always on the same level in your minds with ease.

But now, so much had transpired between leaving Jon that day on the Kingsroad and seeing him again in Castle Black that you felt so much less. And he had done nothing but grow into a man that any and all should aspire to be. It was difficult not to pit your own image up against the only other point of comparison in his life no matter how unfair or unequal it was.

Robb always had a healthy interest in women, you always knew that. So marrying him wasn't quite the same here, you didn't feel the need to compare yourself to those women before you because out of all he's had and enjoyed, Robb had found ease in being with you. From the first time you both discussed it properly the morning of the wedding, he had told you that he didn't care what others thought he personally should feel about it. Despite all the women before.

“I'm not worried about marrying you, because I know what I'm getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

“You shouldn't be. You get told you're marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

“And we'll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

He wasn't wrong. It was the rest of your lives. Neither of you expected for you to be graced with a second one. But with Jon it was different. Until Robb, it had always been you two. You and Jon.

From being so young and getting yelled at by Jon because you had begun climbing up a rock cliff when his back was turned, to being two young adults laying out on his bed in his chamber looking nervously at one another trying to decide if sharing your bodies so wholey and completely was something you were ready for. It was always you and him every new step of the way.

From the pounding of your heart in the seconds before he kissed you for the first time, to Jon standing before you running his fingers gently at your clit to show you what an orgasm felt like for the first time, all the way to sitting practically in his lap under the Weirwood making up a story about being two normal people in Highgarden who had no hangups about their love. It was always you and him.

And then when it wasn't, you were suddenly one day at your weakest, bombarded with images of Jon and another. Thin and pretty and looked everything you could never be and it wasn't until Robb had found you did you remember where you were and who you loved.

No matter the insecurity, you were with Robb. You were carrying his son, and spent every single day for three years together. You knew where your place in his life was and there was nothing even close to acting as a threat to that whatsoever.

Oh some would try. Robb was King in the North, more charming then any man you'd met, and so handsome it was almost cruel. You could still recall the day you were in the aftermath of the battle at Oxcross, parting ways from Roose Bolton and seeing a dark haired healer arguing with Robb. The moment he had even slightly spotted you in the side of his vision all attention was left from whatever she had been saying, only for you to catch the way she looked at him as he walked away.

Only to have every dream dashed the second he came up to you, blood and grime be damned and captured your lips with his. She had looked at him as if you looked nothing compared to her, but Robb had merely guided you away from her earshot to rant about the things she tried judging him for. Only to be assured by you that no one had the right to demean his efforts when you knew Robb weighed so heavily the cost on his heart.

But then you'd be back in the present. In the cold of the far North, a land so far from where you were born it was practically a foreign country to you. Trekking through the same rough landscapes that another had lived her whole life, and suddenly the unknown was difficult. Jon didn't like to talk about her, and he had only just slightly opened up about what he never wanted to talk about.

You didn't know her, what she was like, what they were like past the horror. It couldn't have been all bad all the time, some of it was good enough for her to think Jon loved her. And you hated that you wondered, if in her lands, was Jon wondering how much worse you fared up to her. She argued with him a lot you knew, so you didn't want to seem as if you were insulting him in anyway. Maybe he hated that, maybe it caused you to look weak willed.

The women of the free folk you knew didn't seem to judge you, so why did it bother you, worrying what compared to her, would she see as weakness. Why did it bother you to think Jon would notice the same? As soon as the thought came, would she have fit in at Winterfell, did Jons voice call your name to return to him.

Wide eyes with a worry painted over them at how far you slipped away, and his voice low and gentle. You weren't sure when he begun to put the maps in front of him away, even. “Come here.” Going to point out what you were doing, Jon dismissed it gently. “Leave it for a moment, just come here.”

Slowly standing, Jon rather then also moving to meet you, grabbed your hand as soon as you came close and implored you with a small tug to find a seat on his lap facing him. Hands moving to your hips to adjust his hold and keep you steady as your gloved hands rested along his shoulders, he leaned in to nudge your nose with his. Rasping low and deep at you, “I don't need you to be like her, I don't want you to. Half the time I was scared of making her angry because I never knew how she might lash out, when I'm scared of making you angry it's because I don't like being the reason you get upset. She has nothing in common with you, nothing that matters. You can survive out here in her home, but I assure you, she wouldn't last a day in yours.”

Nodding slightly, you relaxed in his hold a bit. Easing more into his touch to let your forehead press against his. “I never saw you with anyone else, it's..difficult to let go of the idea.” Asking specifically what, you bit your tongue trying to find the most diplomatic of approaches without sounding pathetic. “That you only love those things about me more, because it's all you've ever known.”

Jon however, only laughed. Breathy and gentle as he nudged you again playfully. “I love all those things about you more, because I'm obsessed with you.” Rolling your eyes a bit as if to pull away, Jon tugged you back to face him again. “I sat by your bedside for three days after one conversation. What do you call that?”

“A boy trying to avoid his lessons?”

Grey eyes shining in the evening light, the manner he looked you over wasn't greedy or needing. It held a genuine affection in an innocence before reaching one hand up to cup your cheek. “You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, why wouldn't I want to avoid my lessons to spend time with you?” Muttering under your breath how ridiculous he was, Jon ran that same hand along the strands of hair at the side of your head. “Stop letting the baby make you feel like this. The only reason I've even thought of Ygritte, is because I want her to be able to see what she was never going to have from me in any lifetime, when I make love to you out under the night sky.”

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, did you both hear the sound of the cawing eagle. Jon dropping his head with a frustrated sigh as you took up the free space to grasp gently at both sides of his jaw to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think the eagle wants you to as well, there's no one left out here to entertain him otherwise.”

The most amusing grunt of annoyance came from Jon as you laughed. Looking back up to the darkening sky to where it flew overhead he hissed through gritted teeth, “No he just wants the opportunity to try and peck my eyes out again.” Finding the scar now faded and white running down his face as if something had clawed at his eye you pulled a glove off before running gently along the colder skin there. Muttering the truth he had been thinking. “That's the eagle Orell warged into when I ran my sword through his chest.”

“Do you really think so?”

Nodding, he looked up again, pulling you closer as if to make a point to the bird. “That's what his eagle always did, circled around us overhead like that. I don't know if he remembers me, but he knows my face. It's why he's following us.”

A confused expression came twisting over, “I thought you knew who you were when inside the mind of an animal?”

Jon no doubt was wishing he could run a hand more firmly along your side then to feel passed the fur over you both now. “If you're in there too long, you might forget what made you human. It's been years, if there's not enough of Orell left to remember me, there might be enough to tell him he recalls hating me.”

Both peering up, you leaned more in, side of your cheek pressing somewhat against his with a slightly exaggerated whisper. “Can't imagine a more humiliating end then to be killed by the same man twice, then cooked in a stew.”

That time you both laughed together, him finding your face close before pressing a kiss firmly to your lips, pulling you close into him to mutter against them with warm breath. “We'll leave him a few more days. Make him realize he's trapped as a bird while I'm down here with a beautiful, pregnant wife to warm my bed.”

By the time you and Jon had settled more with something warm to eat finally, did Ghost come trotting back from wherever his hunt had taken him. His fur somewhat wet as you jokingly asked the large direwolf, “You take a dip in the water, or just fall in?”

In response, Ghost had walked right up to both of you and shook his wet fur out against you two as you both laughed as much as you tried turning way from the misting of cold water. Settling by your feet both close to the fire, his eyes sipped shut the moment Jon begun running a hand along his head and ears.

Murmuring into the bowl warming your hands as you brought the broth to your lips, “At least bathing is easy for one of us.”

You truly did not even have to glance at Jon to see the smirk. “Isn't that what we have each other for-”

Interrupting with a tone as flat as your fallen expression looking into the flames, “I said easy. If you are going to tell me you make that process simple, then you are mistaken. A twenty minute task with you ends up taking hours.”

Still smirking you could tell, he mumbled into his own bowl. “You've never complained yet.”

In truth you had no argument against it, and you both knew it. You'd do it alone were Jon not always mere feet away from you at any given time. Trying to gently run the soapy water over you with a cloth with care, you had nothing covering you the first time. Jon having come across the sight and had crouched behind you, murmuring in your ear as his hand grabbed at the cloth from you. “Our men back home have no clue what they'll never get, do they?”

Without much further prompting Jon had taken a simple cleaning and used it as an excuse to run his hands, eyes, touch, and lips greedy over your body until he had you weak and pliable enough to want to give him the same treatment, which you did. Gods you were so utterly needy for Jon now it was insatiable.

It was a strange feeling, coming close to your next large destination.

Were Ghost merely a normal wolf he may have been the only one not to pick up on the odd sensation, but as it stood the direwolf too was unsettled the closer the cliff peak begun to form in the looming distance. You and Jon too felt that same unnerving feeling in your blood but for every different reasons.

His at least was a little more reasonable you felt, yours was something that was impossible to see again in the truth of daylight and the waking world. But you begun to look over your shoulder for the stranger all the same. No matter how much you knew you wouldn't see him here in actuality. It was the Fist of the First Men in that first dream which the stranger came to you, but you were in the present world riding closer and closer to it.

Strange as it was, you felt only comfort in one aspect. Knowing if he did appear in your dreams once more, his threat was of no use. He couldn't force a bastard into your belly if you were already carrying your bastard husbands child. A vile threat, but if Jons estimation in a timeline was correct you were already pregnant when he had made that threat. Your wolf's aggression in that dream had made much more sense once you put that together.

But Jon was feeling strange for far too many reasons. This sight, this place of ruins was somehow the centre of much horror which came and terrible memories he hated looking back on. He had been plagued with what he saw at Crasters Keep when they got to the Fist. Out of most of the men, perhaps all of them, he was the one who had seen them. He had seen the glowing crystal blue eyes of the Others and watched one of them pick up Crasters infant son and carry him away. It haunted him to think about.

Sam had been speaking somewhat behind him, Grenn and Edd lambasting him for how much he was talking but it was what they said what he could recall in his bones. Sam had asked what they all thought the First Men were like, and Edd as he always was like said that they must have been stupid. Saying smart people don't find themselves in places like this, but as Jon stood at the edge and looked to the cold far norther horizon he had said,

“I think they were afraid. I think they came here to get away from something, and I don't think it worked.”

He still felt that, and he knew Ghost was feeling it too. The two white wolves glancing at one another the closer they were getting with that uneasy feeling. But it wasn't that alone. This was also where two hundred of his brothers had died, fighting in an attack by those things and by the time Jon knew about it he had to stand beside Mance Rayder and pretend the thought of who didn't make it out alive was making him horrified and sick. It was here he realized how fucked he was, Mance declaring they were going to war and telling Tormund to toss him off the Wall if Jon didn't prove to be useful or trustworthy.

He wondered as you all got closer, was the symbol still there. Only a matter of time to find out he knew.

Glancing over to you, somewhat on edge but still with that same wide eyed wonder as so much of you looked around at the far North managed to make that feeling simmer a bit in his chest. For everything you were, still looking in a bright awe around at such an endless sight of winter, was something so innocent about you. You grew up in a monstrous, behemoth of a dragon covered castle said to be build with blood magic, and yet it was the natural sights of the north in Jons blood which awed you.

His father had always said Jon was of the north, and he knew now more then ever it was true. As scared of what was coming he felt at night, Jon would look at you in this place and know you belonged in the snow and cold as much as he did. You never looked more right then by his side as the cold of winter surrounded you. It was Robb his father had agreed to give you away to, but Jon hoped his father could see he and you now and understand where you had always belonged.

You supposed in a way, it may appear to look like a fist. If you squinted. And didn't look very hard.

It was a solitary hill of rock, a small brook running by the bottom which sat separate from the Milkwater which was close by. Jon had circled you around to the east, as you could see approaching that the north and west sides had slopes too dangerous to move along to reach the top. It was empty now, but once said a great ringfort stood commanding at the top.

Climbing off his horse, you followed. Jon leading with Ghost beside him up towards the brook glancing at his direwolf every now and again. “Stay behind me, we trapped the slopes with caltrops when we first got here, and I don't know how many of them are still laying around. Just follow in my steps.”

Glancing back enough to catch your nod, Jon and Ghost shared a similar look once more speaking of something you were not privy too. Looking around to each step you made as Jon would, it was clear why this location was chosen for such a use once. The path he walked through was the only viable option to get through, and it was no easy feat to overpower any trying to stop you from marching through or passed.

The First men were smart, choosing such a location. Though, part you could recall the way the winds picked up so suddenly and so cold as you stood in a dream beside Benjen Stark. For people, for fighting against what was once their focus in the wildlings this was a good place. But you wondered, how effective was it against them?

Against the winter storms which brought the white cold with it, would it even slice a dent into stopping the Others should they come here to have invaded mens sense of safety. You suspected not. You suspected little had stopped them in any way.

Leading the horses through the ringwalls left standing, Jons eyes had begun scouring the area within a moments notice. Nothing was there, which was the odd part. Bodies of horses scattered about and nothing was left to even see. What became of body parts of horses you didn't want to know as much as the bodies of men. Coming to stand next to him, both of you looked out to the sight and nothing of the horror he had seen at Hardhome remained from when it happened here.

Rasping low with a deep exhale, “We'll stay here a little while. Make sure we're prepared. Once we cross the Milkwater, we can only bring what we can carry.” Nodding without knowing if he even saw it, you begun to move forward. What of daylight still shined through the clouds, meaning there was a routine to set and days of storms previous, meant you and Jon had been eager to set a proper camp up once more where he didn't hide you away in a tent.

You weren't sure what time span he was plotting, but it sat alright with you. The mountains of the Frost Fangs were the final push of lands known to be survived by men, you weren't quite sure you were ready to face that fact just yet. Not when the bump under your clothes only was showing that of three and a half months, hardly anything in the grand scheme of things.

Ghost by your side gathering firewood, you knew you were being paranoid. Looking behind you to every crack and sound, every hoot of an owl and cry of an animal natural to such wildlife. Yet you took each as a skip in your heart wondering which direction a hooded figure would be watching you from.

More then once Ghost had to nudge you to snap you out of it. A small whine trying to force you back to reality, as you'd run your free hand over his head whispering a small, “Sorry.”

He wasn't here you told yourself. The stranger wasn't here. But he was elsewhere. Somewhere in the world he existed and you knew he had to be a man of Westeros, he knew you and he knew enough of Jon to know he was a bastard and King in the North. He was somewhere, but not here, not in these frozen lands.

No one was here, that was the point. No one but you, Jon and Ghost amongst those who remained lost and unknown of the Starks and Reeds. They were out here as well, did they expect to never come back you wondered. If not, you understood why not to tell anyone. Jon had been honest, just not about the possibility that it was but a death march being undertaken in his quest. It was easier to tell people you were coming back, and to tell each other the same. But the closer you could see the Frost Fangs the more you knew that likelihood was decreasing.

Much already set up by the time you returned. Sitting the firewood down, you watched from your crouched position for a moment. A hint of a smile gracing your lips as the lightness in your heart matched that within your head. Not dizzying but something hazy and foggy that only saw vision of the man with you.

Jon simply put, worked so natural here. The cold and snow even in such lands he fit in a way you couldn't imagine any else. So much of who he was encapsulated the North and even his name suited him like it didn't anyone else. Snow suited him so perfectly, you took it. It was almost enough to huff a laugh out of you.

Your entire life put emphasis on how much name means to high society, and yet here you were in the roughing north beyond the Wall with a Northern bastard, marrying into his name, and carrying his child out here without a shred of luxury highborn girls were supposed to value.

Jons fantasy once of a cabin out here, just the two of you to be together might be the better one between you both after all. You had a routine without even having a home, having walls around would only make that easier. Catching your bright gaze, he tilted his head in question at you before you smiled with no shame in being caught. Turning your focus to setting the fire pit properly. “I love you, that's all.”

Saying your name in an unmeaning warn, you didn't look back but kept the smile on your lips to let him simply accept the statement of fact. Leaning down to lightly blow at the spark, watching it flow through the wicks and burn into something so much warmer then the cold allowed. Peeling your gloves off, one ran over Ghosts fur as he settled beside you, the other resting now in your lap as you sat on your shins.

The moment Jon came close, you stood before he could do anything else. Prompting him to sit, he tried to protest quietly but you refused. Standing behind him and moving your free hands from his shoulders up to his hair. “What are you doing?”

Undoing the tie keeping it all back, you could see tension deflate from his shoulders, even moreso as your fingers ran through the strands before you pulled out the small metal scissors normally kept with your kit for sewing. Running through his locks more, you easily could see in your mind where it had reached the point of perfect, to too long. Making plans to cut just above that to give him breathing room to grow. “I know you prefer it quite long, but I also know you don't prefer it long like a womans.”

Gentle cuts through his thick black hair, Jon relaxed exponentially as he let you tend to his hair with such care. His accent thick and slurring just a bit more only emphasized the fact. “Thought highborn girls like you wanted clean shaven men with neat hair.” Laughing with an ask of where he acquired that idea, the answer was even better. “I think the King was the only man there who didn't have that clean look on him when he came to Winterfell.”

Nodding with a bit of a distant smile, you certainly could see better then ever the differences in what Northerners cared in appearance to Southerners. Running down another strand to ensure the length matched the previous cut, you paused mid movement. “Did Lady Catelyn force you all to clean up for that? So you wouldn't look unkempt before the King?”

Jons answer was low but nothing which held the resentment it perhaps felt before in him. “That's what she claimed. But the three of us all knew it was for you.” When you didn't return cutting his hair, you knew he took that as your face twisting in confusion for him to elaborate. “You were coming to marry Robb, apparently that meant suddenly we all had to look pretty as if you didn't know what we looked like, like it would impress you.”

The smile returned as did the relax in his shoulders when you continued on with his hair. “Well it didn't work. I preferred both of you the way you always were. Don't get me wrong, you looked handsome, you always do,” The passing compliment not to your knowledge, left a skip in Jons heart as if he was still just a boy with a crush. “I simply like you better this way. The wild look suits you far better.”

You knew he could tell it wasn't much you were cutting, just enough to where he seemed to prefer it now that he was free to keep it long and wild. Muttering under his breath, “Not going to shave me next, then?”

Almost giving a mocking glare he couldn't see, your tone dropped flat. “Not the slightest chance. What you have now is perfect.” Raking your hands through his curls, trying not to let your fingers get caught on any natural tangles, you were more attempting to rid of him any access you had not let fall to the snow at your feet rather then search for more to cut. “I don't think before that visit I'd seen you without any facial hair since you were fourteen. I'd rather not go back to that, I quite like the way you look as a man. And growing it out more, then you'd just be Tormund.”

The audacity in Jon to tease out to you as he sat there saying, “I thought you enjoyed that about him.”

Dropping your hands from his curls completely, you both knew you were looking at him incredulously and he held a grin so bright it was about to burst with laughter. “You do recall I'm holding scissors rather close to your head, Snow.”

Nothing more was said long enough for you to continue. Then he spoke once more, clearing his throat to appear far more neutral then his amusement spoke. “So you're saying you didn't like-” You nudged his head forward slightly in a playful push, letting loose that laughter in his chest free in the open air to echo along the lands. “You're right, it was my idea I shouldn't tease you about it.”

Jon was holding something back you knew, but a master at riling you up he would withhold it just long enough to slam it down on the table at the perfect opportunity. When that was, could be anytime with him. But you let him keep it, wanting that bright and handsome grin on his face to stay as long as possible. His resolve lasted about two minutes.

“You may as well tell him you'd prefer him shaved like a boy.”

“Jon-”

Once more his laugh echoed across the lands, the sound filling your stomach with something so warm and hopeful. You rarely ever heard Jon laugh so freely this much anymore, he truly let himself just exist out here with you instead of holding back. As much as it was teasing towards you, you'd take ever bantering insult or jest if you got to see that smile a little longer. You adored it as much as you reluctantly adored his teasing.

It was so much closer now. The closer you got to it, the brighter in the sky it shimmered, the green.

Like a curtain rippling in the wind only it was the sky which radiated this green you had never seen in such manners. Standing up by an edge to the side of the slope down North, your eyes were wide as lips parted slightly unable to look away. For something calling to you with such terror behind it, it was exactly as Thoros had said. It was mesmerizing.

Warmth enveloping your back, Jon wrapped an arm around to your front, palm as flat against your covered bump as he could manage, the other resting along your hip as he leaned the side of his head gently against yours. Your hand tried to cover his, only for Jon to slip out under and press your hand to your stomach first before covering it again, your other hand grasping onto what you could of the fur hiding his forearm from the cold. “The one calling to me, he was the one at Hardhome.”

Not giving you the room to turn to look back at him, but your hand on his forearm tightened as your breath hitched. “You mean the one who-” He nodded, and you weren't quite sure why that fact didn't seem to frighten him as it was you. “And you're certain we aren't walking into a trap?”

But Jon shook his head no. “We could be. I have no way to know we aren't, but after everything that day I saw him in my dreams twice, and I know he saw me. I don't know what he wants, but he wants me and you.”

Breathless you asked, “Why would he care if I’m with you?” Telling you earnestly he doesn't know, you could only once more will the racing of your heart to settle. It didn't matter what he wanted, it was about Jon. Reminding yourself of the only truth here that mattered, your purpose was Jon, you followed him out here because by his side was where you belonged. Whether the Others know that or not, you were going to be here with him no matter what, so you supposed the how might not matter.

Leaning more back, Jon turned his head to press a lingering kiss to what he could reach of your cheek, your head turning enough to rest your forehead more against his. Eyes slipping shut with a gentle hum and exhale, you were tied between two mesmerizing things. The shimmering curtain of green in the night sky, or the all encompassing feeling of Jons warmth shielding you from the worst of the cold.

One for the eyes, the other for the heart but both radiated a different aspect of your soul. Wonder and love, fear and devotion. You could endure one to have the other, and the pressure of his hand on your stomach increased, you to push down that fear. Jon deserved this, he deserved a family he never thought he'd have. He deserved a child he gave away the idea of fathering once. He deserved all of this, you had to come back. Jon promised you a son, and you promised him a daughter. You had to come back to fulfill those promises.

It slipped out honestly, the thought overpowering your sensibility. “Is it too soon to ask if you've thought of any names?”

Looking at you curiously, his grey eyes shining before tugging you again closer to his chest. “I have many.” Asking him how many, Jon breathed out a gentle laugh. “Many. I could list them but we might be here a while.”

Rolling your eyes with a smile and warmth in your chest, you resisted the urge to want to turn in his arms completely, knowing he felt better and grounded when you both had a hand on your growing stomach. “Dare I ask if any of them are actually girl names?”

Nodding, Jon did not hesitate, he knew his answer with confidence. “I want to name our daughter after my mother.” The choking in your throat prevented any words, but he could sense the feeling behind it as he continued soothingly. “Are you still alright if I want to name one of our sons after Robb?”

Still you found no words able to come out, but you nodded with no hesitation. Of course you wanted that. You couldn't bring Robb home, so you had to make it back. You never had a chance to truly have your son together, so you needed to make it through this. Bring part of him home, by naming him to one of your sons with Jon. It wasn't much, but it was all you had of the dead you both missed dearly.

Whispering through something not wanting to tear up, you asked “I presume Robb's idea to name one after you is off the table.” Jon only let out a grunt, tugging you back in his arms properly without you twisting more to see him. Head resting more in what he could reach of your neck as you laughed. “Understood, no King Jon Snow, the second of his name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Oh the unamused sound deep in his chest at that one. Muffled in your neck so flatly, “You do remember I'm a bastard?”

It was a morose way to say it, but you knew full well what his response to the idea would be and it was far too tempting to keep inside. “You're King in the North and a bastard. Joffery had all of Roberts bastards killed because he was worried they'd have a better claim to the throne then him if the rumours were true. Not everyone is sure Aegon is who he says he is..”

Rising up, he looked at you sensing where you were going with it and reluctantly walked into the trap knowingly. Consequences for how often he teased you right into a trap unknowingly. “Darling, I'd want the Iron Throne about as much as you do.”

You grinned and a hint of one peeked through on Jons expression as well. “Point taken.” If you wanted to see Jon somewhere, the last place would be Kings Landing. You could not even picture that, him in such a horrid place. Only in another world, where his life was spun far worse and far more unfair would you see him standing in such a retched city.

Breath hot at your ear, you felt him rasp low with a shiver running down your spine. “Do you know what it is I really want?” Shaking your head no, you only felt more light headed at his continuation. “I want to strip you down, and make love to you right out here.” Swallowing harshly, you felt your nerves spin something needy within seconds. “Can I make love to you tonight? No hiding away?”

You nodded, but Jon prompted you to say it out loud. “Please..” Not quite what he asked for a proper answer, but he took the genuine, breathy need better then he would a calm, obedient answer.

Turning you in his arms, Jon tilted your chin up to meet his eyes better. Lasting mere seconds before he leaned down as you reached up to seek his lips. Soft and guiding they were, gentle and tender as he didn't deepen it right away. Teasing slowly, barley pulling back before seeking your kiss out once more, your hands wound up to his shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck were you could toy with the curls loose there. Jons hands grasped at your hips, pulling you forward as if to press your hips against his but without committing to it whole heartedly yet.

A husk of a voice, accent deep and thick as he brushed his lips against yours with every word barley having pulled back. “Come by the fire, it's warmer.” Not letting you go, he wrapped an arm around your back and guided you to stay close leading you to the fire.

Too clever for his own good, Jon instead of having something laid out, placed you near the wood acting as a seat by the fire before swapping places. Your back now to the flames and he at the prime spot to sit and pull you onto his lap as he saw fit. He had planned it out, but he didn't rush. Toying with the heaviest layers at your torso, Jon's eyes sought yours before he begun the process of taking it off. “I know it's cold, but I want you to trust me.”

You had not the thought to realize how much it hit him in his heart to hear how quickly and confidently you said, “I always trust you.” Jon thinking to himself, that you truly had not a single clue how you made him feel. He knew you trusted him to do anything to you, that was the problem. He could do everything to your body and you'd let him.

But he started slow. Taking off the heaviest layer of the sheepskin before placing it carefully enough by the fire it stayed off of the snowy ground and would keep somewhat warm for you. Jon said nothing as he moved to the laces keeping the bottom layer on you. Chest heaving at the dark lust scouring every inch he uncovered in such cold, but he stepped you out of them carefully with nothing hiding you underneath it.

There was no point, he would soak through each and every pair every night. You knew it was easier to wear nothing, and he clenching in Jons jaw spoke that was the correct choice yet again. Tearing his eyes to skip right up to your eyes, yours full of quiet nerves and his full of darkness he jested as he nodded to your boots, “I'll let you keep those on.”

You couldn't even laugh, you felt such a mixture of cold and desire flooding your veins it was overwhelming. But his eyes continued to stare as he stayed knelt to the ground. First your breasts down to your stomach. Pushing the fabric still on you up enough that his eyes rested at your stomach before narrowing them, pulling his gloves off in an instant and the roughness of his bare palm soothing along your stomach as he couldn't look away. Running one of yours though his curls, Jon swore under his breath. Resting his forehead against your stomach as he tried to keep himself together.

So far away and almost in a tone like that of a boy in awe, “Carrying my son..” That was how you both knew neither of you were taking it lightly, you didn't jest about it being a daughter and he didn't make any joke about such lack of a joke proof he was right. You didn't know for sure, but you did know it was Jons child you were carrying and he still even now was struggling heavily with accepting it was a reality he was allowed to have with you.

His lips pressed to your stomach, along every inch of skin and scar included before he looked up to you, hands smoothing up and down your waist to hip. From such an innocent look in his eye before, Jons tone dropped to something rough and rasping as his eyes turned grey to black in a split second, turning the air to something needing. “I should be taking you in the mornings too. I can't go this long without tasting you anymore.”

Sitting back, Jon was fully dressed as he took a seat on the wood behind. Guiding you by your hips to follow. A hand rough, running it from your calf up to your thigh, Jon met your eyes as he moved your one leg to sit over his shoulder, trying to tug the rest of you closer then you wanted too comfortably.

Lips running from your lower stomach down to your mound he blindly shifted your other leg to spread out wide beside him, much more open to his mouth as he kissed lower and lower, his mouth as warm as the fire behind you, hands on your hips and one sliding more to push you close by your ass, he kept you safe and steady in his touch.

One of your hands seeking refuge in his curls as the other perched on his shoulder, you watched Jons eyes slip closed as he took opportunity of the way he had just positioned you into a perfect feast. Your own eyes closing just as you gasped, unable to look to the obscene way he had you right out in the open. Warm tongue gently making contact with your clit, leaving small gentle licks in a tight pattern already working you up.

The shiver that time erupted from your core not from the air against your skin. Almost as if it was what he wanted, you leaned more over Jon as much as you could manage, knowing trying to pull away from his touch wasn't an option even if he would let you. Were you able to grasp onto the skin of his shoulders, your nails would've dug in deep as both hands now gripped around them tightly.

Trying to contain the cries wishing to leave, but failing at such an endeavour as he switched between sucking lightly at the bundle of nerves to letting his teeth scratch teasingly at it each time you almost became used to the patterns his tongue would brush over your clit with. Never giving you an idea how he wanted you to feel, but on edge and unable to expect whichever direction he'd take.

Small pleads of his name left your lips as the twisting of your core burned too hot too quickly, and your leg tensed as he kept it over his shoulder. It was far too soon, he'd barley begun, and yet you felt the spiralling as your lips parted, needing air to breathe but Jon's tongue soaking at your clit refusing such an ability to you. The pleasure coursing through you was so much more.

As if the warmth of his mouth between your legs were enough to keep such heat from leaving you, without opening your eyes it was so easy to forget you were out in the open cold. He entranced your mind to focus only on his actions, his existence, nothing else existed but your pleads of his name as your insides twisted too tightly before nearly losing whatever balance you tried to keep.

Snapping too suddenly, Jon kept one hand at your ass forcing you to stay on his mouth while his other reached up to wrap more around your back to keep you steady in such a precarious position, keeping more then one foot on the ground would be far more stable. But this way, as your orgasm begun to wash over you, Jon could begin the next course.

Shifting you more in his grip, Jons tongue ran flat down your folds just as you gasped into your orgasm, only making such pleasure far worse as he so quickly begun. Licking every bit of wetness already left for him and soaking you that much more, more needs of air trying to come into your lungs and losing as your heart raced. Almost running in tandem with how greedily he drank from you.

Before Jon, you hadn't even known this was something people could do with one another but now it was all he ever wanted from you, if nothing else. Running along your walls still clenching in such aftershocks, tears begging to run down from your eyes at how all you could feel was his touch.

Only him, you felt the grip of his hands and his mouth and the accompanying sound managed to overpower the sounds of night, to the gentle ones of Jons tongue between your legs. You weren't sure you had even come down yet, or if you were being kept in a perpetual state between peaks and never settling into something calm as Jon tugged you closer to his mouth with a low growl.

Not having realized you even had tried to pull away from the stimulation. Hardly any voice but a high, breathy strain you begged quietly, “Jon please, I can't-”

He didn't listen, he never did when his mouth was between you. Knowing what your pleasure could take far better then you could, Jons hands grew tight and almost painful on your bare skin as he possessively used his strength to keep you closer to him. Feeling his tongue run inside you as if needing every source of the taste you already soaked him with, your head dropped somewhat with arms tight around him. Shaking as the brushing of your walls sparked at you in need and flashed through your body like a flood, you didn't notice the gasping hitch pitched needing sounds leaving you so close to his ear.

Only causing Jon to growl, the vibrations running through and soaking him more and so on and the cycle seemed as if to never end. Just as another orgasm ran through you, feeling a sting in your chest from your heart. He barley pulled from your cunt in the middle of your orgasm to mumble something deep you hadn't even caught.

Still not yet returning to a clarity in your head, not realizing he had you just where he wanted. The second he pulled away from your now soaking cunt, Jon shifted so you straddled his lap so suddenly a soft whine left you from the sudden feeling of coarse fur scratching against your sensitive, wet core.

Not giving you a moment to breath, Jon pulled your lips to his by a grip on your chin. Your hands slinking up around his shoulders to the back of his neck in an instant, leaning into his chest as you kissed him. Being guided by his soft, demanding lips, letting him deepen it and steal each breathe making you perfectly light headed for him.

Sliding his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste what you gifted to his tongue but all you knew of it was how you tasted when given by his kiss. Hands pulling you firmly by your hips down against his covered cock, feeling how hard he was but Jon didn't give you the room to free him from such restraints. Instead choosing to tear his lips from yours to kiss and bite down your neck. Tilting your head enough to give him all the access he wished, Jon using his other hand encouraged you to grind down more against his cock.

Growls through bites into your neck followed by his lips and tongue hiding the indents by sucking a bruise around the skin, you found ease in following the guiding pace his tight grip on your hip was prompting you with. The burning in you had yet to go away, swimming through your blood up to your mind where you felt in a haze only surrounded by Jon. Marking your neck down and down until to any proper folk, it would look obscene and violent. Sliding a hand up to grip the hair at the back of your head by your neck, the other shifted once more from your hip to your ass.

Head dropping into his shoulder with a gasp, Jon subtly moved against your hips enough you felt the press of his hard cock right against your still soaking core. As if letting you believe you were setting a pattern he was following, but you felt not at all the one in control when he had you as such. Too easily he took over your mind when he had you like this, and not a shred of a decent, proper woman was left in his touch.

Only someone willing to do everything he'd tell you to do, as if when he was touching you, the worries that all you were good for was warming his bed were true, but without any of such fear. As if you were willing to accept this was your purpose, be a warm, loving body he could sink his cock into whenever he desired.

A sharp hiss left Jon as your own lips found his neck, much more gentle treating then he to yours, but still trailing your lips and tongue wet down what you could reach of his neck, finding any kind of pattern to draw that tightness he held you with out more. Wanting to clear the fog in your head enough to only seek out giving him what he deserves to feel. Grip on your hair tight and painful as he hissed your name in warning, your other hand trailing down his chest as if seeking to find any bare skin to touch and finding none.

He had you stripped and half bare, not the other way around. Jons eyes slipping closed as he held a grunt back in his chest at the feeling of your lips on his neck as you writhed against his cock. He had no idea where the image came from, but the second he felt his orgasm drawing close he knew he wanted to cum inside of you, but he didn't wish to just force you down on his cock now when you were so beautifully sensitive.

It was not a way to treat you, but the feeling came as the image increased. Pulling you away from his neck enough, his free hand moved from your touch as he rasped into your lips. “Let me spill down your throat, darling.”

It was shameful the ease in which you slunk from on top of his lap to between his legs. You didn't even notice the cold snow at your knees, not as Jons hand grasped the back of your neck and guided your mouth down onto his now exposed cock. What already was leaking from his tip hardly did anything to soak him when up against your mouth.

His grip slid sunk you down his cock as far as you could take him, before pulling only halfway up then roughly back down until your nose pressed against the wild, coarse black hair around his base. You had no control as your hands gripped his thighs, he gave your every movement.

Jon had slowly shortened how far off him would he move your mouth up and down his cock, each time you were given less and less reprieve as deep growls and grunts left. His head looking up to the sky ever so briefly before dropping wide eyed and mouth agape slightly watching you soak his cock, knowing you let him control you the whole time. Voice deep and accent so thick you hardly understood him over the beating of your rapid heard, “Fuck, darling..little more, just take all of me I know..” He hardly made sense anyways.

Stretching you open as your jaw stung from how thick he was but also the feeling in your chest needing rest, but not wanting to leave his cock whatsoever. The rougher he got, the less he was gentle with you, was what you wanted. You wanted him to abuse you the way you trusted no other man too.

Forcing you as deep as you could, Jons cock throbbed in your mouth before his cum, thick and hot spilled down your throat. So much of it was so thick as spurts of his seed just kept filling your stomach and a muffled whine left you as Jon groaned your name. Running your tongue along what you could reach to ensure you wouldn't waste a drop, before Jon swore deeply and yanked you off of his cock.

Letting you kneel there gasping for air, before looking up to his heaving chest trying to catch his own breath. Still though, his cock was hard and perfect and you felt this unhinged need to have it back inside of you in anyway. Moving with him guiding you back into his lap, Jons kiss was a lot sloppier that time.

Tongue tasking in and out of your own mouth as you moaned into him. Hauling up your hips midair a bit, Jon pressed his forehead against yours to keep you there a moment. “It was that night, the first one you let me fuck you as you fell asleep, that did it. It took that night, filled you with my child that night..” Leaning forward he kissed your lips rough before pulling back with a bite to your bottom lip. “The one you let me tie you to my bed, that's the night I got you pregnant.”

Nodding against him, your voice was far smaller and needier. “Please, let me have you again Jon please, I want you inside of me so much.” Running his hand over the back of your head along your hair, Jon only nodded. That time, ever so slowly filling your cunt as he sunk you down. Walls tight against him as your cried out into the open night, but soaked that there was none of the pain which could sometimes come with his size.

For a moment quiet sat between you, his cock throbbing in your warm, soaking walls as you hid in his shoulder and he nudged his nose against your hair, running a hand down smoothly. “You take me like you were born for it.” All you could do was nod in agreement, eliciting a harsh exhale from him before very slowly guiding your hips once more. Even more gentle then how he ground you against him previously.

Compared to how rough he could go, it was almost as if Jon was hardly letting you move at all. Barley lifting you off of him before just as slowly, sinking you back down. Your hands wrapping around the back of his neck, foreheads pressed together as your eyes shut. Each drag right along something so sharply sensitive as you gasped with each brush along it inside of you.

Small whines slipped out beyond you attempt to contain it, but Jon nudged your head to the side slightly. Pressing a shushing kiss just below your ear as he rasped into it, his hands never letting you anywhere near a fair speed. “It's alright, I know.”

He burned within you, but yet you were so exposed out in the cold but you couldn't consider such a fact as you felt warmer and warmer the more Jon slowly guided your hips so precariously on his cock. Seeking his lips, Jon obliged with no hesitation, and his kiss was all consuming and deep and yet once more contained not a sign of urgency or greed. His cock filling you so much, not even being allowed more then an inch or two off from taking his entire length inside of you.

Unintentionally biting down to his bottom lip trying to contain your begs, Jon pulled back with a breathless laugh. Eyes bright seeking out your closed and desperate ones. Nudging your nose with his he rasped deeply. “Didn't think you had that attitude in you,”

Looking up, you knew you seemed a mess. Eyes heavy and needing as your lips were slightly parted with a desperation so thick on your tongue you tasted it at the roof of your mouth. Looking almost confused for a moment before it dawned on you, all but stopping moving against him with a skip in your heart. “I'm so sorry, I didn't-”

Despite how tight you were clenching around him, Jon found it easy to laugh. Running a hand down the hair at the side of your head before pressing a shorter kiss to your lips. “Don't be sorry, darling. It's alright, you've done nothing wrong.” Glancing to his eyes grey and bright even in the darkness, you felt the melting in your heart calm a bit. Nodding as he pulled you in to capture your lips properly once more.

It was easy for Jon to forget sometimes, everything you were in your waking life but you didn't like being the rough one in bed. You preferred to follow his lead, let him use you roughly however he wanted. You didn't like being rough yourself, despite how much you knew you wanted him to treat you roughly. Following his touch, barley creeping towards any end at such a pace but you cared not to rush.

Jon felt so unbelievably good this deep inside of you, and your lungs stung with need as you fell a bit into his front with a desperate gasp of air you could not replenish. His cock hardly leaving you before Jon sun you back down and never even indicated once he wished to pick up the pace. Only growls deep in his chest he tried to contain, even though his hand raking through your hair grew tighter with every growl or grunt.

Gently the hand on your hip moved, sliding palm flat along your front to your stomach, Jon only pulling back enough to watch you as he just barley would lift his hips to meet yours. Grey eyes trapped on your stomach and it was then his own exhales became shaky, his movement got a little less slow and consistent as you tried to keep the previous pace he specifically set for you.

Desperate to feel his kiss, but you dared not to interrupt him now. Hiding somewhat in his neck, you whined quiet, the feeling so overwhelming in your head and sinking down to your core soaking around Jons cock ever more. Only a small voice in his ear, low and careful to not disturb his eyeline or thoughts. “Jon, I want to feel you cum inside me. Please?”

For how soaked you were around his cock, Jon let out another gentle, almost innocent laugh. Finding your eyes, with a brightness in his lips parting to a grin. “After all this time, you're still asking me?” Nodding yes, not to be sultry nor seductive, only honest, Jon leaned in to press another kiss to your lips again with a smile still plastered. “Always, darling. Come on, with me.”

Moving you a little faster, but not increasing the roughness you grasped his shoulders and head hung between you both as your eyes rolled back and closed at the burning pressure filling you with each faster bounce, each deeper thrust back inside of you.

Pace picking up enough, you felt your breasts jostle a bit more at the speed, catching Jons eye as well. The hand at your hair sliding down to the front of your neck, holding you just slightly without putting pressure your eyes fluttered shut with a beg of his name. Jon, increased the pressure only just enough to catch your notice as he fucked up inside of you a little harder, a tad faster.

But this was not meant to be a desperate fuck, Jon had meant it when he told you he wanted to make love to you. Nothing urgent or too eager, just a gentle bouncing on his cock so deep inside your soaking wet cunt, knowing your orgasm was creeping up faster then you expected. Clenching around his cock you gasped right as Jon moaned out your name in return.

Kissing him, your orgasm waved along you with such shuttering effects you wrapped your arms around Jon as he did you. Hands splayed up along your back, keeping you both locked to the others lips to steal each and every breath as your orgasm shocked through. Jon spilled deep inside of you, his seed coating your walls as much as possible as if it could get you pregnant again already.

Neither really sure when you came back down, either of your peaks. Only the gentle press of his lips until heavy breathing between. By the time your eyes sought one another you looked so distant from the present, your limbs felt heavy as if on a substance. A hand cupping his cheek and jaw, you pressed a kiss to the facial hair on the other side.

Turning to nuzzle his head against you, it was quiet as you both felt his seed take root deep inside as it always belonged to do. Murmuring in the quiet moment, “Is it too demanding of me to ask if we could lay down where it's actually warm?”

Laughing in your ear, Jon murmured, “Not at all.”

Surprising you however, as he gently lifted you off of his cock, and adjusting everything on him, Jon stood suddenly. Picking you up in both arms as you let out a laugh as if not mostly bare against him. “Jon-”

Rasping with a smile, “You wanted to get warm right? I can't make you walk over there in so little then.”

It wasn't until Jon could see you were fast asleep did he manage to sneak away one more time. Looking out to where you had been in the green, Jon willed his heart to relax. He knew what he had seen, and he had to trust he was getting you back home. Part of him knew, he was still too selfish to be willing to give this up. Not now. Not when he finally could see you beginning to swell with his child.

Knowing how far it would take to get to the Frost Fangs from here, Jon told himself to be selfish a little while longer. Stay here at the First of the First men with you just a bit more. Act pretend like two kids wanting to play couple with nothing but their imagination. You'd be five months when he estimated reaching the edge, and he knew then more then ever he wasn't going to be willing to lose you or his baby.

By the time he found the droop in his eyes to join you, Jon pulled you tight into his arms, you still partially bare against him, but he'd feel you no other way. It was the most he's ever been allowed to have you, he wasn't wasting it.

“You do know she's still small, right?”

Raising your eyebrows with a grin, Jon tilted his head at you in question, having you elaborate trying to catch your breath. “She's too small to be hurt so easily, you don't have to hold back as much as you are quite yet. It would take far more damage then you'd even inflict willingly to harm her at this stage.”

Shaking his head, Jon took an innocent step forward to adjust where your arms were positioned carefully for you as he spoke. “We aren't sparring, we're practising.” Asking what the difference was, Jon waited you knew until he was sure you were fine once more. Getting a few easy hits in before holding back just as you misstepped, stopping before you again. “Practising is hands off. I'm only making sure you still remember how to protect yourself, I'm not making you fight in this condition.”

Grinning much more amused that time, you allowed Jon to shift your footing. “This condition does have a name.”

Muttering as Jon nudged your foot more to the right before pulling you in by the side of your head to press a kiss there before returning to his own position. “You're right, it's called my wife forgets who she's married too when asking me to go harder.” About to protest you weren't asking anything, Jon nodded to your feet. “I haven't had to fix your stance this much since when we did this for the first time. You're too distracted to take this seriously.”

Dropping your stance without sacrificing your footing you tilted your head with an expression asking to implore you. “This isn't being distracted, just..I'm not quite...” You could see his eyes dripping with a knowing as you bit your tongue and turned away from his gaze. “Alright, distracted could be the correct word.”

Giving up entirely, Jon stepped forward to grasp at your upper arms, running up and down the material there before the heavy outer layers got put back on in a moment. “Knocking you into the dirt was fun when we were children, it isn't fun now. I like doing this part with you, but not the roughing you up part anymore.”

Nodding your head you narrowed your eyes at him for a moment, his own gaze following with a curiosity until it spun into knowing. In a moments notice your hair was gathered and pulled back in one hand, as he soothingly wrapped an arm around your stomach with the other. Rasping gentle words in your ear each time it all came back out. Like clockwork, water first, then the tea as he stayed knelt with you until you could feel the last of it.

Jon choosing to speak first. “At least our enemies won't expect to be thrown up on. Take them by surprise.” Even through the burn in your throat, you burst into a laughter. Leaning back into Jons touch he pulled you to sit more against the ground. His hand on your stomach staying as you focused on your breathing now to ensure it was done.

His touch comforting instead of embarrassing as you feared it would feel the first he experienced this with you, Jon made you forget about the ill the moment your stomach ceased to twist. “Would be a sight though. Would love to know the look on their face, utterly befuddled by such a move.”

It settled in your stomach after moments but you both stayed there. The distant sight on the north looked so much more clam, so less menacing in the day compared to the striking green calling to you within a shimmering sky at night. “When does this normally stop?”

Squinting in the distance, you found what you assumed was the answer you recall. “Around four months or so. Somewhere in there it should go away, or at least it had last time.” Muttering annoyed on your behalf that you had another month putting up with this but you laughed. Running your hands along his forearm. “I'm starting to think it upsets you more then it does me.”

“It does.”

That got a laugh out of you easy, the other morning Jon had rushed to your side as Ghost was the one who noticed what was about to happen and whined at him in distress. At least with the direwolf preoccupied down at the ground level by the brook did you only have one wolf fussing this time. “What's something that you miss?” Sensing his head leaning over your shoulder a bit you elaborated. “Not anything obvious, or important. But, what little things do you miss the most. Like when you were at the Wall what small, inconsequential thing did you find yourself missing about Winterfell?”

Inhaling in thought, Jon leaned back more comfortably, pulling you with him to rest far more against his chest instead of sitting upright. Low in your ear you felt his breath warm dance across your skin. “You first.”

Your answer was quick, simple and not needed thought to come to it's conclusion. “I miss dresses. This is warm, yes. But I hate wearing all these layers, so many different things to take off separately. I like being able to do it for you, but I hate it for myself. I feel so restricted this way.”

Laughing gentle, Jon let a hand drift up to your jaw, his knuckles ever so gently running along the skin he found. “Isn't it harder to move in one?”

You merely shrugged, taking a sip from the skin of water before passing it up and behind so Jon could as well as you spoke. “Fighting or running yes, but otherwise there's nothing I can do in pants I wouldn't be able to also in a dress.” Thinking for a moment it was going to sound terribly girly, but you were honest anyways. “They also are prettier then this.” Nodding down to what you both matched in wearing out here. “You make it work, but I don't.”

Pressing a kiss to the side of your head, Jon assured you do with you rolling your eyes. Mentioning it was his turn, Jon sighed out through his nose trying to find a genuine answer beyond the real ones he could endlessly list. “Might not be the answer you're looking for, but I miss being able to sit down and have a meal with everyone.”

A hum in your throat let out, almost questioning him at first. Either meals with your mother and father were quiet, or you were old enough to eat while working separate from your father, meals shared that were enjoyable had always been in Winterfell. They felt like a family sat down to eat, even when there were so few of you now, it felt familiar. “You had that at Castle Black didn't you? There was a meal hall.”

Jon tilted his head with a grimace you could not see. “Me and a hundred of my brothers at any given time. Not really time with family it felt. Too many of them, too loud, and all they wanted to do was talk about the girls in Moles Town they had the night before.” Raising an eyebrow with great amusement you asked if he knew much about that. But Jon squeezed your sides catching a giggle from you and a smirk at the sound and sight from him. “Ask yourself, could you ever imagine me in a brothel?”

A matching grimace came upon your face. “If I can, I don't know if I like it.”

“I almost did once.” Turning drastically behind you, Jon only laughed. Shifting you in his arms back to a more comfortable position. “Not like that. It was before you came back to Winterfell, before your visit when we had tried to..” Trailing off you nodded, knowing there wasn't real distrust or malice in your surprise. “I was worried I wouldn't know enough, that I wouldn't be able to make you feel good. And, that's what those women are paid to do, and I couldn't ask anyone else without them being suspicious so I wondered if I was really so nervous I'd ask one of the girls there for advice.”

Gently asking, “Did you?” He had been far more confident then you were that day.

But he shook his head. “I knew if anyone had seen me, if you heard about it I didn't want you thinking I was taking advantage of the months you were gone. The bastard of Winterfell, whose never been with a girl before, seen going into a brothel. Who was going to assume I walked out without doing anything?”

But you were more reassuring then he expected. “Me. I knew you, I never worried about anything like that. Not after we we started to see each other. I knew you of all people would be the last one to ever even want to be unfaithful.” It had been some time Jon knew, if instead of conflict and pain, all he did was feel a lift in his heart at how must you trusted him even then. “Besides, I'm not quite sure such provocative and forward women were really what you liked.”

Another easy smirk came from Jon. “People walked over me my whole life, last place I wanted to feel that was with a woman.” Nodding gently, Jon had added quietly in your ear. “For the record, I also miss you in dresses. Easier to get you naked in them then these.” Tugging at the fur of the sheepskin you laughed.

You felt no surprise there.

The Milkwater was the largest known river source north of the Wall. It consisted of two major water trails, one coming high from within the Frost Fangs not far south from Thenn, the other coming from a valley north of what they called the Giants Stairs. From the maps, you could see both separate streams joined at the laters location, before moving downwards to flow into the river you had seen when travelling by Crasters Keep before pouring into the Bay of Ice.

From how little was known about the vastness of the lands here, it was nearly impossible to cross the Milkwater haphazardly. A strong swimmer could content with it's vertical length to the lands across it, but the cold water alone would subdue any man. If frozen over enough there were spots safe to ford but it wasn't the manner in which was conducive to the safe route Jon was taking you through.

He had gone over it with you, the final day you two stayed at the Fist of the First Men, the exact path and why. From the west edge of the Wall sat a trail leading up the high terrain until it found itself cut off from the other side where the Milkwater was hundreds of miles below. When you had asked quietly if he was certain it would still be there, or in tact enough to use he had placated such worries.

Though, there was a slight hesitation as he took his time looking from the map, over to you somewhat before back to the map. “When I was with Qhorin Halfhand, we were heading to the Skirling Pass and climbing up you could see it in the distance. It's abandoned, so the Cave People used it to get across to the other side.”

Asking in a quiet tone, you knew he picked up the distracting jest of a tone. “That seems a bit derogatory of a manner to refer to them as.”

A slight smirk came back across as he glanced down to you, still pressed close to his side. “I think that was the point. Ninety clans, and they were the only ones everyone else hated.” The question of why passed and Jon shook his head. “You'd have to ask them.”

You knew it was silly, and you knew it was influenced by the life growing inside of you but you couldn't help but also feel weak at the sadness of leaving them behind. It was the only option which made sense, Jon already was going to have to lead a large direwolf and a pregnant wife through the mountainous range, there was simply no room for two horses to join.

Kneeling down by the now much more carefully organized pack to throw on your back you thought didn't look back. Though you also knew there was something else, the fact that keeping them here wouldn't be helpful if there would never be any riders to return for them in due time. But soon there wasn't going to be anything which would distract from the truth, what you were walking in on and it was becoming harder and harder for you to hide your struggle with coping, against Jon who seemed to grow more and more confident and sure in himself.

By this point there was no arguing in any way of who was carrying what. Jon had ensured you carried as little as possible, knowing he was more then strong enough to handle the burden of the rest of it. But it was what you both held onto that was coming with you, nothing more. So you said nothing as you heard his footsteps returning alone, watching as he picked his heavy one up with ease to put it on before coming to your side.

Holding a hand out, Jon lifted you to your feet and took the liberty of putting yours on for you. A hand running down your upper arm as he gently called your name to his attention, turning to look up at him he nodded towards the incline of trees to traverse.

“I've never even heard of this place.” Climbing up the snowy path you could begun to hear the echo of emptiness usually looming over cliff sides of such heights.

Jon continuously would turn to watch you as if waiting for the moment you might slip or stumble, despite thus far your feet walked firmly on the ground. Not noticing his watching gaze as you listened to him. “Not surprised. It was abandoned a long time ago, nobodies really sure when.” Asking through a grimace as you pulled yourself up over an unsteady patch of land by a tree branch, why build all the way out here. Jons answer was curious, your eyes narrowing the whole time. “It was meant to act as a defence. The only way across and if the Nights Watch had men garrisoned there, they could hold anyone off the other side as long as they had men to stand.”

Biting your tongue, it sat strange with you. It was only facts he had been relaying but something didn't seem to match up. Jon called your name the longer your eyes stayed harshly trained on your footing with distant thoughts in your eyes. Glancing over to him, you looked back swiftly to pay attention to the ground before you. “The free folk all lived here though, no wall to protect them any clan could come up and attack at any point out here. If only the Cave People live on the other side, by build an entire fort to keep them out when they'd be in enemy lands regardless?”

Jons answer sent more of a chill through your blood then the wind around did. “Maybe the free folk weren't the ones they were trying to keep out.” A glance shared between you both, wide eyed and apprehensive, neither of you said a word on it further. Still there was time, you didn't need to discuss it yet.

Coming to where the land parted down into the waters below, the cliff side was vast. Large and impressive as the Milkwater below kept you and the Frost Fangs away from one another. The Fort itself coming into closer view was nothing nearly as impressive as coming to view the Nightfort for the first time. Just a large tower and a series of smaller buildings in an enclosed space along it's own cliff edge.

It was what sat beyond it which caught your eye. A sturdy bridge crossing one edge to another, leading into a clearing amongst thick trees to where you could see in the distance a clearing off until the faded sight of the tips of mountains poked through the view. Along each edge with no rails, spikes were stabbed through the stone and skulls mounted on them of dead men from who knew how long ago.

Stopping next to Jon, you both looked with the same apprehension, the same unnerved expression matching one another as you found a voice once more, much quieter that time. “Is that why they call it the Bridge of Skulls?”

Jons answer as no more comforting. “No, it's because of the amount of skulls from dead men gathered below over the years.” Your exhale was shaking as much as it showed the cold air running through your lungs. Turning to Ghost, the pair seemed to communicate silently before Jon nodded for him to walk first. Trusting his direwolf's senses more then his lesser ones first.

Slower behind he beckoned you to follow until nothing was found but a long since empty fort at the edge of a cliff. If you had thought Castle Black was small in comparison to the Nightfort, this was but a shed in the woods. A small courtyard, all the amenities Castle Black had but smaller and more compact. Instead of buildings all around, the main tower was many stories up with each layer having a new function unique from the last.

On the other side, there was a gate. Not nearly the great sized ones from the tunnels in the Wall, more of one to maintain access to the bridge off without such heavy need. Jons voice calling from the other side of the courtyard you both were looking around in, turning to see something more stern and serious in his expression. “I'm going to look around.” Gesturing to Ghost over to you adding, “Ghost, go with her. See if you can find us somewhere to sleep where we can keep a fire going.”

Nothing else was said, once Ghost came to your side, you watched as he walked off. Something on his mind, but you dared not bother him by running to his back and asking. Entering the largest tower, you did what you were told. Meeting halls and whatnot occupied the first few floors, before quarters for the men near the middle and lookouts with a small cache of bows, arrows, and the like approaching the very lookout top.

The night growing, as did the cold and dark. Room to room, finding nothing of use but dust. Nudging your foot at one of the beds did enough come off of it that the spray had Ghost shake his head out with a huff. Apologizing, the direwolf followed you each passing turn as you noticed how large he had gotten now that you were once more in rooms to compare sizes. If he grew much more, soon he'd be taller then you even on all fours as if being in the far North had his size grow faster then any other place.

Which you weren't sure was only a coincidence. By the time you found somewhere fair, the fire place usable and size of the room large enough for the three of you comfortably. Opening the creaking window out to the lands, night was creeping in more as the sun in the sky dimmed and soon the sounds of owls would fill the air no doubt.

Pulling the pack off of you, you eyed the bed with a distrust before running a gloved hand over the sheets. Pulling it off the second layers were untouched yet by dust and glancing to Ghost you raised an eyebrow. “Better then sleeping out there, I suppose.” Moving things enough that everything needed could be by the fire with some degree of comfort, you didn't need to think to seek Jon out to tell him where you were.

The few times Ghost wandered to watch down the halls told you enough, if Jon needed to know where you had gone, he had the eyes to find out directly. By the time you could hear his boots approaching, Ghost had turned on a dime to settle by as you continued to pile wood you had taken from other rooms. Some in the pit others close by to add when needed.

Glancing around the room, Jon inquired as to if you had an issue with the bed. Tilting your head as you leaned partially over to the unlit fire pit with a jest. “Would you trust a mattress so old you couldn't even date when it held it's last occupant?” Agreeing, Jon took off his own pack to put beside yours.

The quiet not anything you noticed until it was when Jons warmth evolved your back. Beckoning you to stand up more with an arm grasping your upper arm and the other sliding across your stomach. His rasp low and alluring in your ear. “Let me do all this, I want you to rest tonight.” Opening your mouth to protest, the hand on your arm jumped up to tilt you by your chin enough you could slightly catch his eyes, stern and serious. “No arguing.”

Raising his eyebrow at you until you nodded, Jon pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Both the heaviest layers off your top halves now as the fire burned warm and bright as night crept into the sky, Jon crouched by it tending to the food when you found yourself standing up and moving towards him. Asking your name in question, you sat on your knees behind him and begun letting his curls down and loose around his head. Hands sliding naturally down over his upper back and shoulders now that you could feel the muscles there so easily, Jon exhaled. “You realize I'm knelt over a fire, right?”

Muttering as you leaned to press your lips to his neck gently. “Hands to myself, understood.” Jon turned to playfully glare at you as pulled away, but the cupboard you were now propped up against was too far away for him to reach out and haul you back to him.

The night was peaceful, the quiet and freedom of being able to stay indoors and stay warm by a fire, you both could almost trick yourselves into thinking everything would be alright. As if the morning would find the same peace, as if you wouldn't have to go out there and cross that bridge.

Just the three of you, and nothing more nor less. Alone in these cold lands, but together which was all you could ask for thus far. All you'd be able to ask for soon enough. Jon had been silent for a while now, watching you with a dark, but adoring gaze that you flushed to look at, but he'd refuse to hide the way he watched.

It wasn't until the outdoor sounds of the night was heard, did Jon move. Slinking over to you, before you knew it he captured your lips with his. Deepening it as he cupped your cheek and jaw to tilt your mouth to fit with his perfectly and no escape. Pushing you down onto the sheets laid out below, Jon kept hovering over you instead of gracing you with his weight against your front.

Still, words were not shared. He needed to say nothing, the urgency and greed in how much more harsh and demanding his kiss grew by each passing second spoke it all. Biting your bottom lip, and taking your gasp to slide his tongue in your mouth in the same instance the hand on you cheek shifted to the hair at the back of your head. Grasping the strands tightly, Jon pressed you more up against his lips. Tasting the inside of your mouth as you tried to match him only to barley be granted access to him in return for his invasion.

Grasping your free hand just as your right one raked through his curls, Jon held it flat against the ground intertwining your fingers together. Almost as if changing his mind, he tore your other hand from his curls as well, matching it's position beside your head on the opposite side. Now using his stance to crowd you more, keeping his kiss fused to your lips simply by giving you nowhere else to go, not that you wanted too.

Hands tensing in his, he tightened his grip back as he would tease pulling back from your lips with more gentle kisses, before sneakily sliding his tongue back to brush yours when you'd try to find the moment to gasp for air. One leg of his nudging your ankle up as it to encourage you to move, wrapping it around his calf as your other bent.

Foot sliding flat on the ground you naturally gave Jon more room as you did keep it sat towards his hip, your leg wrapped around his also urging Jon forward. Leaning more into you, pressing his hips to yours before you sensed him narrowing his expression just before tearing himself from your lips. Kneeling up to look you over, Jon without a word, found your eyes before nodding down to your pants.

Nothing demanding or impatient, just a calmness over top the dark colours in his eyes as your hands trailed down to slowly take them off. Still laying out for him, he continued to not speak. His brows narrowing slightly and once again it was as good as words spoken out loud in the quiet of the night.

Take everyone off is what his eyes asked of you, and you obliged.

Knees now bent as you propped your top half up on your elbows, Jon scoured your body from top to bottom, back up as one could describe his gaze as leering. Stopping each pass at your growing stomach before his eyes flew shut. Jaw clenched and shaking his head slightly, debating against whatever was brewing in his mind.

Kneeling just over you enough, Jon cupped your cheek to pull you into a chaste kiss. Muttering against them with a sweetness making your heart feel floating in your chest. “Stay just like this.” Nodding yes, Jon suddenly stood up from you. Tearing the last layers from his chest off easy, he turned away from you leaning down to his own pack.

Blocking view you couldn't quite see what he was doing, but could watch enough as he kicked his boots off before interrupting whatever he was searching amongst to start peeling his own pants off. Swallowing harsh at the sight, your eyes grew wide when he turned back to you. Not even at the thick length, full and hard for you but at such simple items in his hands.

No darkness in his eyes, but something wide and bright and gentle as he leaned down onto his calves, free hand stretching for yours, and pulling you to match him. Eyes darting between his eyes, and the rope he was now toying with, and a strip of a fabric dyed in black. But again, no jesting nor even lust was in his voice, seeking your eyes with such a painted seriousness on them. “Tell me no now or any point, and I'll stop. But I want to do this differently tonight.”

Lips parting, your heart raced a bit. The gentleness in his eyes didn't match the way his muscles seemed to tense toying with the rope. Your voice but a whisper, desperate the nerves did not accompany it. “What's the cloth for?”

Grey eyes darting between it and you, exhaling deeply as his eyes closed for only a moment before a softness returned. “Can I show you?” You should have considered it more, but you nodded without spending a second considering a single thing. Prompting you to turn around, you felt him warm at your back. One hand sliding along your neck to trace a thumb over your cheek, he leaned enough to follow the sensation with a kiss to the same spot.

Following up, your heart jumped out of your chest as Jon suddenly but tenderly begun wrapping the cloth to cover your eyes, typing it behind you before easing the tightness on you by shifting part of your hair to drape over the fabric. Hands running down and through those same strands as he murmured behind you, “Can you see anything?” Shaking your head no, Jon must have had a physical reaction as you got nothing from the lack of sound. He seemed to pull away before returning and gently pulling your hands behind your back, pressing your wrists together. “Anytime darling, tell me the second you want me to stop.”

It seemed, your lack of response he understood perfectly. The rope was rough against your skin, not so tight it hurt, but enough you couldn't move them at all. This part you knew, the blinding of your vision not, and certainly not both combined. Hands reached around you, grasping at your breasts. Greedy as he groped you toughly. Pushing them together before easing up, only to caress them roughly again before sliding his fingers to suddenly pinch at the buds of your breasts. Gasping, you couldn't move but lean into his back, which Jon moved forward to accommodate, but it also had given him so much more leverage to take greedy handfuls of your beasts until you let out small, well hidden whines.

Twisting until the gasps left your lips frequently, before yanking one while returning to a gentle massaging of the other, then swapping sides. Yanking both more rough then either before the same instance Jons lips met your neck. Wet presses of his lips and tongue teasing down the sensitive skin as he felt you tense so much at only his touch of your breasts. Husking into his work, muffled beyond belief compared to the fog in your head. “Came for me once this way,”

Not knowing what to say as if he gagged you as well, you nodded trying to contain the sounds with a bite to your lip. Dragging you too close, it was so humiliating to know it was this easy now. He barley had to touch you at all, but the slight nibble at your neck from his teeth had you crying out so much more blatantly needy. Twisting your nipples harder as his mouth tore up your neck to kiss the space below your ear and taking part of your ear itself by his teeth to hiss, “Let go, darling, let yourself have this, it's alright.”

The coil felt so strange being so tight without such touch, almost as if a phantom traced itself over where you needed it without giving you the feeling. But you struggled to breath calmly regardless, hands tensing behind you but letting the warmth twist your insides until Jons teeth bit down at such a sensitive spot on your neck. Arching back into his touch, Jon never let go the entire duration your high send you into something hazy in need, lips and teeth running along your neck as he groped your chest.

Letting a hand slip down somewhat on your stomach and partway on your mound Jon asked deeply if he'd find you wet already, but not expecting the breathy urgency of your answer filling the air. “Always, I always feel like that just looking at you.” Chuckling deep in your ear, Jon teased you asking if you really do and you nodded fervently. “I promise, I always want to be ready for you..”

“It isn't about me-”

Were your eyes not hidden, he'd have seen your brows narrow in a sort of frown. “No, Jon. I promise, it's always about you, I want it to be about you.” Surprisingly coherent for the state of high he had you in, Jons other hand left your breast and grasped at your hip. “I-” Swallowing the desire back down if just for a moment, you needed him to know it was spoken from your heart not the fog of his touch. “I know you've never had much, but now you have me. I'm yours now, and I want all of me to be yours, all the time, whenever you want. I'll always want you Jon, and I want you to know you can have any part of me you want at any time. I promise.”

Resting his face in your neck, he pressed a kiss there collecting whatever could be running through his head. Trying to find the solution in his mind, and you knew the moment he found it from the twitch of his lips wishing to exhale roughly. But he wouldn't tell you do directly, you knew that. “Do you remember that night?”

Brows only narrowing for a second until each hand reached back, taking a rough handful each of your ass before squeezing enough his hands already was pressing it's mark into you. A whine wanted to leave you so badly, “Is- is that what we're going to-” He interrupted you, a rough husk asking if you wanted that and you snapped that will power as if something shamefully worked up spilled out instead of yourself. “Gods, so badly..I've wanted you to take me like that again ever since that night..”

Clearing his throat, his touch on you stopped moving but his hands now imprinting bruises to your ass. “Why didn't you say anything?” Your innocence simply didn't know how to ask, and a groan left him deeply. Dropping his forehead against your shoulders, grasping your hips to pull you back as his teeth sunk into your neck, biting and sucking the skin to a bruise match. “Your ass is so tight around me, I don't know if I can go easy when I'm-”

Oh you knew it was something so desperate in you to let it slip in such a high breathy tone. “Don't, gods please don't go easy, Jon. Please, fuck me the way you really want..just once..” If you were to ask Jon, he'd say you were a siren sent to torment his cock for the remainder of eternity. Saying exactly what he wanted so much.

Hand running down to your cunt, Jon wasted not his time nor yours sliding two fingers deep inside of you, slick and smooth down to the knuckle. His other hand pressing against your stomach, pulling you back to rest against him with a gentle shush in your ear. Sliding in and out, just enough as he pulled from you, it was obscene how much you already coated him. Accent thick and rasp impossibly rough and deep, Jon spoke through gritted teeth, hand running back to your ass. “You're not a whore, and I won't treat you like one.” Free hand grasping one of your ass cheeks and pulling it wide enough it stung as his now soaked fingers traced along you, stuttering your heart. “But you're my wife, which means I want to claim you, all of you.”

Head not even getting out a nod, Jon with a finger drenched in your wetness sunk deep to the knuckle, tensing around him as you gasped in almost a shock, Jon stayed deep as he made home with his lips to your neck. Only pulling out enough to sink his second soaked one inside, grunting into you as he did so. “Gods, no wonder you drove him crazy. Feeling like this?” Biting at your neck he kept going in mumbles. “If I were Tormund, I'd have demanded to sink deep into your ass too if you feel like this just around my fingers.”

The flush travelling up was horrendously embarrassed, that night was his idea but it was also Jon who endlessly tormented you with how much he convinced you to hand your body over like a piece of meat to both of them. How much he knew you liked it. Shaking your head, you gasped through your words, “You're the only one I'd..”

The darkness in Jons voice as he hissed in your ear, “Then why'd you let him inside of you at all? Why ride his cock like you were desperate for it?” It wasn't anger or judgment, it was exactly what he had encouraged you, he wanted you to want all of it, but now he used it so strongly against you to make you soaked and weak for him. “You know I had to yell at him to pull out of you, he would've cum inside you if it were up to you.”

Shaking your head, Jon sped up his fingers sliding in and out of your ass as you clenched around him while also falling back into his same touch. Your voice weak, and you had not the head space to realize Jon was trying to coerce you into such a needy state on purpose. “I didn't want him to, I only want you-”

Moving one steadying hand from your ass just as he sunk again deep inside of you, Jon let his hand sit at the base of your neck hissing through gritted teeth in your ear. All the while each passing moment speeding up how fast he fucked his fingers into your ass. “If you didn't want him to darling, why let him fuck you? What if it took?”

Jon knew he needed to ease up, that wasn't fair. Neither of you knew you were already pregnant by then, but Jon had figured it out in retrospective, when you wouldn't have gone back that far in your memory to connect it. If he raised the blindfold, Jon wondered if he'd see the start of tears, and he hated that it made him want to keep going, to keep sliding his fingers in and out of your ass as you would heave for air between the feeling of him inside of you as such.

“No, Jon please don't say that-”

Cutting you off, by pulling a gasp from you with how roughly he sunk his teeth into your neck his words slurred against you as he dragged his work to mark you more. “It's okay, darling. It's alright.” Hand falling from your neck, smoothing now across your stomach as he slowed a little inside you. “He's ours, you didn't do anything wrong. It's our son in here, not his. Just ours.”

Now he knew there were tears desperate to fall. Putting you in such a sensitive head space for this felt somewhat cruel, but you were so needy for him after, and he needed you to be pliable and needy. He wanted you to be with enough fog in your head that there wouldn't be any pain when he'd slide inside you. It merely turned out, being cruel in his words drew out that neediness so quickly, as long as he reassured you.

He wanted you worked up, not in despair.

Last time he did this, Tormund was there to help distract you from the worst of it. This time, Jon had to do it all alone, and he wasn't going to sink inside of you until he was sure there'd be next to no genuine pain like the first time. The first time he saw you truly wince in pain, he had almost called it all off there was such a sudden rise of panic in his heart. Tormund had eased you back down to help, but Jon couldn't rely on that.

It had to be all his responsibility to protect you no matter how much you begged to be treated like this.

Right as he felt your shoulders deflate, Jon temped sliding a third finger into the tightness of your ass. This time you took it with far less pain or shock, a deep moan as you tried to lean back into his touch left you so raw. His free hand didn't move from covering your stomach.

“Good, there you go, look at you. Do you feel good?” Nodding, he prompted more just as soft. “You sure?” Nodding, your head fell back more to his shoulder, Jon hid his face back in your neck. Three fingers deep to their knuckles inside you, back out and slowly right back in as you moaned more and more from the strange but overwhelming feeling. “I'm going to pull them out, and I'm going to untie you. Do you want to keep the blindfold on?”

Pausing for a moment, you weren't sure right away. But you trusted him, trusted why Jon did it, and so you nodded yes. A bite down to your tongue as he pulled his fingers out of you and swiftly untied your hands. Running them over the raw skin wrapped up before pulling you again with an arm around your stomach. Pressing close to your back, it was your voice now high and needy. “Please, I've wanted this again for months, I promise I'm ready.”

Kissing your cheek, Jon was gentle as he was firm. “The moment you stop liking it, the instant, you tell me.” Promising you would, Jon exhaled deeply.

It felt just as odd, just as not normal. But your head was such a fog you hardly noticed, the strange pleasure sparking through you as Jons hand reached down. Quickly drawing tight circles to your clit, dragging to gather your wetness and returning once more, you cried out quiet but desperate the deeper his cock sunk inside of your ass.

He took it slow, making it feel as if his length never ended. Filling you completely, you nodded, begging to the nothing he said in the room. “Please..”

The hurt didn't come, you were so utterly full and the pressure was so odd but you had missed the way he dragged in and out of such a sinful act. Nails digging into his forearm, the pressure at your clit mixed with the strange desire as his cock slowly slid in and out of your ass. Head dropping, you tried to move with him, but fell too victim to the way Jon moved inside of you like you were just a toy for his cock.

Faster and faster Jon moved, the more his growls turned to raw grunts. Head falling to your shoulder and neck as you cried out more and more. It shouldn't burn inside of you but harder and harder he fucked as his grunts grew more rough and deep from within.

The slow gliding turned more to something rough, and the more rough and fast it grew the quicker Jon found himself beginning to pound. Each and every thrust of his cock stole your breath and replaced it with a cry of his name, a sweat forming despite where you were in such far cold, and a twisting in your gut that begged for more.

Pulling back from your neck, Jon looked down at you, unable to see his expression so dark and twisted as he watched himself pound inside of you. Ass rippled at each push, and suddenly it tore through him, the wave of something so blatant. Leaving your clit, Jon grasped your waist and hip. Shoving you down without ever leaving your ass.

Displayed out on your hands and knees, you swore in gasps as Jon continued to fuck you. Yanking your hips back to meet his pounding thrusts, the sound of skin smacking against the other filling the room and it was all either of you could hear. Not his voice nor yours, just the echo of skin as Jon fucked your ass rougher and rougher the more he lost himself in the way you clenched so perfectly around him.

The way you were so tight, but the second he felt you even slightly move back to meet his cock, Jon yanked you more. It was rough, you couldn't even tell it bordered on too rough but he felt so good inside of you. Blood boiling in your veins, you tried to meet his thrusts but Jon yanked you to meet his pounding every time.

Were you too not so deep within the world you both created of need, you may not have understood any of what Jon rambled out deep and rasping. “Gods, you were made for this. Born for my cock- fuck, darling, your so..” Rougher he fucked you, not as fast but the sound could deafen a man and you'd never condemn it as long as it was his touch against yours making such harmony.

“I love you- gods, Jon I love you..”

Lasting not five more rough thrusts, Jon yanked you up. Leaning your back against his chest, he fucked up into your ass. But you grasped his forearm, as his other wrapped around to press against your stomach. His free hand, grasped your neck. Not the base of your neck, but his large, calloused hand encompassed the surface with enough pressure to keep you there.

Your other arm reached back, desperately grasping at his curls, Jon pounded shallow but shamelessly deep thrusts in your ass with an unforgiving harshness. “You're mine, darling. And I'm yours. No matter what, we belong together.”

Leaving your neck only enough to tear the cloth covering your eyes and you know he saw the tears staining down your cheeks. Putting pressure to your neck, he let his teeth sink into your ear listening to your begs like they were music the gods had designed to stand above all else. Your body, the way you felt around him, the only heaven which could exist.

Your ass felt so tight and so sinful around his cock, but as long as your bodies shared with each other he couldn't care less what else would tempt him with a heaven or paradise. It was here, connecting with you so truly and deeply. You loved him and he loved you and that was all which either of you could want or need.

The hand on your stomach grabbed your hand at his forearm, pressing it down first and he covered your hand once more. “I'm bringing us home, darling. All of us.”

Just as he dragged your orgasm out into the world, he found his deep in your ass. Thick and hot his seed spilled inside as you came begging around him. Jon would take his time pulling out of you, but the second he did, he turned you in his arms and pressed you back against the ground. Needing your kiss as much as you grasped desperately onto him.

If you were to ask the other how many times he took you that night, neither of you would have a single clue what the answer was.

Crossing the bridge was easy, one foot in front of the other, but it was what lay beyond it which kept you three in pause. Leaving behind one side of the North to enter the other, there was nothing which compared. No one's first journey beyond the Wall could compare to how it felt to look at exactly what lay beyond and still not know a single thing.

Jons hand grasped Ghosts fur in one, and you held his other hand tight. You needed to do this, and the journey was not yet over. But the three of you stood there until each and every one of you were ready and not a second sooner.

It wouldn't be real, until you reached the edge of the Frost Fangs and finally that destination was close enough to taste. But Jon, Ghost, and you would do it together because someone had to. The only answers left to find were out there, and if Jon didn't do this, no one else would. So the choice was simple. All the while, the circling of an eagle above you three, followed with your every step across the bridge.

With not a clue, it had watched your every single act of passion together the night before.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Husband and Wife- Robb Stark (8)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader

Characters: Robb Stark

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- BEING IN AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE WITH Robb Stark (and falling in love with each other)

Word Count: 597

Author: Charlotte

It only took one small interaction to feel as though the whole relationship had changed. No longer did you feel that you had to avoid your husband, nor grimace at the thought that Robb was in fact your husband. It still didn’t feel like you were a married couple, but you also didn’t feel as though you were strangers or at most acquaintances.

Regularly over the coming two weeks, Robb met you at your chambers to ask you to accompany him. It did not matter what he had planned, whether to show you around the castle; to take a stroll along with his direwolf, Grey Wind; to sneak desserts from the kitchen; or even to watch him train in the courtyard, he asked you to join him, and you always said yes. You had become fond of joining him for the day and found that conversation came easily now that you stopped thinking too much about it.

Today he excitedly knocked at your chambers door to ask you to accompany him to the gardens of the keep. They may be cold and with a layer of snow coating everything, but they were oddly beautiful to take a walk through.

You walked for a while until you reached the edge of the frozen river, pausing to look at the landscape. Your hands were entwined, tucked into the pocket of his coat to try and stop the attack of frostbite.

Maybe it was the closeness you felt in this moment to him, or the growing relationship over the past few weeks, but it finally felt like the time to tell him what was going on, especially as soon it would not be possible to hide the fact any longer.

“Robb, may I tell you something?” You said softly, your words causing a puff of vapour in front of you.

“Anything,” he smiled fondly.

You took a deep breath, not sure how he would accept the news. Truly you did not know this man too well, but you were carrying his child and you needed to let him know and accept his reaction regardless.

“A few weeks ago, I spoke with Maester Luwin due to my sickness,” you stated.

“I thought you were feeling better,” he said, furrowing his brows.

You nodded your head. “For the most part, I am. I spoke to Maester Luwin before you even spoke to me about it. I just didn’t know how to tell you, because at the time we weren’t even talking, and this was quite big.”

Robb continued to look confused seen as you weren’t actually telling him what was going on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you said, your lip starting to quiver, partially from the cold and also from the overwhelming formation of emotion. “I’m pregnant.”

As it had with you, it took a moment for the news to hit Robb. A smile curled across his lips, one of true joy, one you had not yet seen from him.

“We only…” he trailed off, not sure how to word it without making you feel uncomfortable.

“I know,” you nodded. “Our wedding night.”

Robb took his other hand from his pocket, so that he was able to take both of your hands within his.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, not allowing any gap between you.

“Yes.”

With that simple word, your first real kiss came to be. Unlike the loveless peck on your wedding day, you longed for the warmth of his lips, feeling an uncontrollable fondness for the man before you.

[leesielex]

So anti Dany's love to say that without dragons Dany would be nothing, that she relies far too much on her dragons, even in the books. I would like to say, you must not have read the books in a long time and are most definitely conflating that with the show and your own fanon. But also, tell me with a straight face the Stark's don't rely just as much if not MORE on their direwolves in the books than Dany does on her dragons?

Specifically Jon, Robb, and Bran but even Rickon as little as he is in the books, and Arya using her warging skills to give her an advantage as well. The only one who doesn't use their direwolf as much as Dany is Sansa b/c Lady dies so early.

The other point I heard made today in the same post was Dany relies too much on fire and blood and doesn't listen to her advisors and have any strategy. Which is a completely contradictory statement.

In the books, Dany uses her dragons exactly ONE time in Astapor to burn Kraznys. The dragons are no bigger than dogs with wings and barely can burn one man. It is the Unsullied she uses to sack the city (after coming up with the strategy to do so on her own). The only other time Drogon unleashes his fire is in Qarth. Dany doesn't order him to, doesn't say Dracarys in the books, that happens in the SHOW. In the books, Drogon sees what is happening to Dany and that these warlocks mean to do her harm and Drogon unleashes his flame and fury on the HOU on his own accord.

For the entire first book, Dany does not have her dragons and everything she accomplished was on her own and of her own merit. She gains the strength and power to stand up for herself and others. She eats an entire horse heart. As a 13 year old girl, she marries a 32 year old warlord from a completely foreign culture she is thrown into and doesn't even know the language. She acclimates and adjusts, learns the language, learns the culture; learns of her people; and becomes their khaleesi. She learns how to be respected by Drogo. And if she wasn't worthy she wouldn't have been able to hatch those dragons because Targaryens had tried to bring them back for over a century and failed until her.

It is entirely contradictory to say that Dany only knows Fire and Blood and relies on it and her dragons too much and that she ignores her advisors because it is her advisors that are telling her she is too gentle, too merciful, and she needs to use her dragons. Her advisors are the ones telling her to use her biggest advantage and bring fire and blood to her enemies! Even Ser Barristan! While Dany is missing on drogon, the Yunkaii having taken hostages including Daario, they want the dragons killed for the hostages return. When asked what Barristan will do when they refuse an alternate offer he replies "Fire and Blood."

It's preposterous to say she has no strategy because in the BOOKS every city she conquers is HER strategy. It was her idea to deceive and trick the slave masters and free astapor. Dany was the one who made them pack up all the slave collars into carts and lug them to the next city to shoot them into the city to inspire slave revolts. It was her who came up with every idea to take every city from Astapor to Meereen. She weighs all her strategies carefully and weighs every piece of advice offered to her and only ignores her advisors because she sees a better option. It was the SHOW that gave all her strategy to the MEN around her, whether it was Jorah or Daario or Barristan or Tyrion even.

And the main point, why is it always bad for Dany to use her dragons one time against like one person to take a city, yet Jon who uses Ghost often to fight and survive or Robb who always used Grey Wind in battle and used Grey Wind to scout the land are never mentioned how they would be nothing compared to any other Joe Schmo in the books without their direwolves? It's a Fricken fantasy series and while characters like Cersei, Littlefinger, and Sansa are meant to be political, characters like Jon and Dany and Bran (who uses his direwolf more than anyone uses their magical creatures) are the FANTASY characters, though they do intersect with political as well, their main focus will be on defeating the OTHERS who are also fantastical characters and won't be defeated by politicking but with the help of the fantasy companions by their sides!

The hypocrisy and ridiculous standards y'all expect Dany to live up to but your fave character couldn't do is just ridiculous and it needs to stop but I know it never will.

*I didn't come up with all these ideas all on my own. There was discussion about the post on another social media. I just needed to vent in one place.

[emilykaldwen]

Ahhhh I am so here for all of your WIPs, and now I must know more about “Rebecca Stark the Wolf King” if you want to talk about it!

WIP Ask Game

(The main file in this is called 'Robb Stark Now Has a Vagina' just FYI)

There's so many files in my folder that have been languishing for YEARS that I've deleted out so many, and saved a few that I feel very partial to!

So Rebecca Stark was my genderbent Robb Stark AU from.... a decade ago? (yeah this is 2013). She was marrying one of the Royces, Robert Baratheon was being a little weird. I had Kristen Stewart a'la Snow White as the face claim because it fit SO WELL and I made some amazing photoshop art for it (and my first time giffing! and I still have those on my desktop).

Here's a snippet behind the cut!

Father had ventured in his slightly awkward way he had whenever he was forced to remember that his oldest, his ‘Bex’, was in fact a woman. He had simply asked what she had thought of Prince Joffrey.

Rebecca did not care for falsehoods but she understood dangerous grounds. So she had answered carefully that she couldn’t actually say whether or not she cared for him as she didn’t know him. 

“There you are.”

She glanced up to see her mother coming toward her and she spared her a smile. “Are you sisters taken-- Rebecca! Why isn’t he outside?”

Grey Wind looked up at Catelyn curiously, a whine in the back of his throat and Rebecca shrugged. “It felt safer with him.”

“Safer? That wolf needs to get outside, Rebecca. I told you.” 

Rebecca sucked in her lower lip and thought of how in the torchlight the lines on her mother’s face look deeper and more abundant.  There is the slightest wisp of silver at her crown and how queenly her mother looks compared to Cersei Lannister. “It’s not like we’re hosting Lord Bolton and his flayed banners.” She wanted to tell her the truth -- that the King makes her uncomfortable. That the Queen’s eyes pierced her back every time she walked past and there’s nothing she could do about it except hide and it isn’t an option.

Her mother’s hand was warm as it slid across her shoulders, her arm a gentle and comforting weight as Catelyn led them into Rebecca’s bedroom, sitting her down at the dressing table. Rebecca looked at their reflections as she watched her mother reach for the comb to work on binding back her thick, dark hair. The sensation of her mother’s nails against her scalp soothed her and Grew Wind pads to the fireplace and curls up on the rug behind them.

Sometimes if Rebecca looked hard enough she could see the similarities in them. The reddish hue to her dark locks had faded over time but their eyes are the same pale green. The same nose, the same Tully jaw. Rebecca remembered sitting in front of the mirror as a child trying to mimic her mother’s stern looks in a way to get her siblings to listen to her.

“Smile more, Rebecca. A lady should always smile.”

Most of Catelyn’s lines were from her warm smiles. The dimples in her cheeks were evidence of that, the little wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and yet that is where her Stark rears it’s head again. Stern dourness that makes the Stark so sullen.

Queen Cersei looks dour, she thought. Starks look reticent. Serious. Regla rulers of the North.

Frigid Starks, Theon’s teasing voice filters. Ice Queen.

[internallydeceased]

A Song of Dreamers - (Robb I)

Previously... Prologue

299 AC

Riverrun

The Riverlands is a beautiful place, filled with verdant plains and greener forests. The rivers that it is named for seem to run endlessly through it - broad blue brushstrokes cut across a canvas of green. It was once the home of his mother and where she had grown up, and for all intents and purposes it is far more beautiful than the gray monotony of the North. Yet to Robb, it is dreary and dreadful, and no matter how brightly the sun shines or breathtaking the landscape, it will never be anything more than a bad memory. 

It was in the Riverlands where they had received news that Theon Greyjoy had betrayed him and taken Winterfell; the home where they had grown up together as brothers. It was in the Riverlands where they were told that Theon had murdered his actual brothers and burnt his home to the ground. And it was in the Riverlands where he had found out his father had been murdered; executed by the bastard Joffrey Baratheon. 

He can still remember the day as though it were only yesterday: the skies overcast with dark clouds that held the promise of rain, the chill in the air that nipped at his skin that almost reminded him of home. He remembers the way the birds had been singing from their perches in the trees, the way his mother had smiled when they had broken their fast together that same morning. 

And then they received a raven with a scroll tied to its ankle. Dark wings, dark words. Perhaps he should have known, then.

He can still remember the way his heart seemed to shatter in his chest as he read the words inked on the parchment, the ache in his arm as he swung his sword against a tree again and again. Remembers how his vision blurred and he could not even see past his own tears. 

But most of all, he remembers the tears in his own mother’s eyes and how she had tried to hide them. How she had tried to stay strong for him, promised him that they would save his sisters and then they would kill them all. 

The next few turns of the moon had left Robb with a single-minded purpose of revenge that left room for little else in his mind. He ate little and slept even less, for he was too focused on when and where the next battle would take place. His mind filled with the intricacies of war and battle that seemed to be as much a part of him now as Grey Wind was. So when he had seen the familiar sights of red eyes and fur as white as summer snows, accompanied by a rider all in black - he had thought it nothing more than a vision at first. A trick of the mind, conjured up by the lack of sleep or perhaps even his grief stricken heart that longed for the family that remained to him. Yet there were differences to the figures before him, notable changes that were too dissimilar from the images of his memory to be anything but real. 

And the words that had left his lips in what felt to be both a lifetime ago and only yesterday echoed through his mind:  The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black. 

And the words rang true now. Jon was dressed all in black, with his dark hair wild about his head and a pained look in his gray eyes. Their father’s eyes. 

Ghost was bigger than when Robb had last seen him, though not as big as Grey Wind. Robb hadn’t realized just how much he missed Jon until they were wrapped in each other’s arms, greeting each other as though no time had passed at all. 

It was a balm to each of them, the death of their father bringing them closer together than they ever had been before. 

Robb learned that Jon had left Castle Black as soon as he received word of their father’s death, despite already having said his vows and knowing the cost of desertion. But Robb was the King of the North and the Trident, and Jon was his brother even if his surname was Snow. He pardoned him, much to his mother’s chagrin, and for the few moons that Jon was by his side again, he didn’t feel so alone or so consumed by his grief. Of course good things never lasted for long – bad things come in threes – and that adage proved true when they received word that Theon had betrayed him and seized Winterfell for his own, turning Bran and Rickon into prisoners in their own home. Roose Bolton had tried to convince him that he would send his bastard to retake it, but Robb had politely refused him. Jon had offered to go, and who did Robb trust more than him? His mother hadn’t liked it, but she had liked Jon being around Robb and being forced to tolerate his presence even less. So it was that Jon went back North with a number of men, but had arrived too late. Theon and his Ironborn were gone, and Winterfell was left in ruin. Worse still were the burned bodies he had found of two children that were roughly the size and shape of their brothers. Robb didn’t truly believe it was them. In his wolf dreams, he could still sense Summer and Shaggy Dog far off in the North, further North than Ghost was then. If their wolves were still alive, then his brothers had to be as well. When he informed his mother of what Jon had found, she had screamed and raged that it was somehow Jon’s fault. That Jon was the reason her youngest boys were dead. Robb had tried to console her, for they were Jon’s brothers too and that he would have Theon’s head for what he had done. But all his mother could do was sob and blame him for ever trusting Theon and Jon in the first place.  Robb wrote to Jon to have him send men to search for any trace of Theon and to hold Winterfell until he could return. After all, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and even though Jon was a Snow, he still had the blood of the Starks running through his veins. His mother had done her best to appear strong in public, to hide her tears from his men. Though Robb was sure that no one would blame her for them, she had lost much and more in the last year that no wife or mother should ever have had to. In private, when it was just the two of them, she made no effort to hide them from him. It was then that he became her strength, when before she had always been his.

The sight that greets him now is altogether different as they stand in the castle that had once been her home. Now, his mother does not pretend to be strong any longer. Her cheeks are still wet from her tears though she is no longer crying - her lashes still wet and her eyes red. There is silver in her hair where before there was only red. Her figure has thinned some, and he knows that she has not been eating well. His mother looks to be a broken woman, appearing older than her years. 

His heart aches for her, and yet there is nothing he can do. He cannot bring his father back, he cannot be the one to put Winterfell back together or bring his brothers back safely. Everyone believes them to be dead too, though Robb still holds onto the hope that they are out there somewhere - alive. 

Nor can he return Lord Hoster Tully to the land of the living so his mother might say goodbye. 

It is his first time really seeing Riverrun - the halls where his mother had been born and grown and played. Where his parents had met and married in Riverrun’s Godswood before King Robert’s Rebellion. The place where he had been born as well, though he holds no memory of this place. Yet they are here now to lay his grandfather to rest, to say goodbye to a man that he cannot recall. 

Every day this war goes on, Robb feels as though he is running on ice; his body moving yet making no forward motion. He has won every battle he has fought, yet he is still losing the war. His purpose had died the day the Lannisters cut off his father’s head, and every morning it feels as though another tragedy awaits them - to sink its claws into them and tear into their flesh until nothing remains but their bones. 

The only happy memory that the Riverlands holds for him is when he was reunited with Jon for that brief period, but even that feels so far away and is dulled by all the tragedy and heartache that seems to hound his steps like crows over carrion. 

The day was overcast, much like it had been when they received word of his father’s death, though then the clouds had been so dark they’d been almost black. As though the Gods themselves raged and mourned the loss of the honorable Lord Eddard Stark. Now, the clouds are more gray in color, and though they cover the sun in its entirety, the glow from it can still be seen. Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, is laid to rest in a boat dressed in his finest silks with the banner of House Tully laid over him. His armor, shield, hunting horn, and a wooden sword is added to the boat along with him. Robb, with the help of Lord Jonos Bracken, Lord Tytos Blackwood, Lord Karyl Vance, Lord Jason Mallister, Ser Marq Piper, and Lord Walder Frey's son Lothar, set the boat down the Red Fork like so many Tullys before him. His uncle Edmure tried three times to set the boat alight with a flaming arrow, before his great uncle, Brynden - also known as the Blackfish - took the bow from his nephew and successfully set the boat alight. They watched silently from the docks as the boat was consumed by flames and made its way down the Red Fork, Lord Hoster’s family and bannerman bidding him a final farewell. Robb’s own eyes are dry, though his face remains solemn. He had never known his grandfather, though he mourned his loss nonetheless. It is for the sake of his mother that his heart aches now, for the loss of a father after she has already suffered the loss of a husband and the supposed loss of two sons. Her daughters far away and out of reach, and Robb himself is the only child that remains to her. All that remains of the husband she has lost. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night. Instead, he stays awake to watch over his mother as she sleeps fitfully through the night. Watches as she tosses and turns in her bed, her eyes red and cheeks tear-stained even in her sleep. Will the Gods not allow her even this small peace? Will they continue to cause her grief even in sleep? Hound her steps with loss in dreams just as they do in her waking hours?

The final thought that echoes through his mind before sleep tugs at him where he sits at his mother’s bedside is this: When will the Gods see fit to grant us peace?

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫ It is often said that among every tragedy and loss there remains a silver lining, and the saying proves to be true once more through a message borne to him on raven wings. King’s Landing has fallen to His Grace, Stannis Baratheon. The Usurper Joffrey Baratheon died a traitor’s death. Cersei Lannister and her other bastard son are dead, all of their heads set to rot on spikes. 

It feels like the first time Robb has smiled in years, though he wishes he had been the one to take Joffrey’s head. To part it from his body with his own sword, like the bastard had ordered done to his father - too craven to do it himself. 

There is more to the scroll he has received, but for now all he can focus on is the sheer relief and happiness those words bring him. 

Robb’s feet bring him to where Jaime Lannister is caged, Grey Wind at his side and the scroll still clasped in his hand. To see the Golden Lion now: laid low and covered in his own filth, left to rot in the mud and watched over by the very same Northmen his family sought to make an enemy of… it feels good. 

When the Kingslayer looks up to see who has deigned to visit him, his green eyes are still just as bright as the day he was defeated and imprisoned. When he sees that it is Robb who has come to visit him, that self-satisfied smirk takes up his face once more. And Robb meets it with one of his own - can’t wait to see it shatter and fall.

“Ah, the King of the North!” Jaime cries, his smile smug and tone mocking. “What is it that brings you to see me today? Has my father worn you down? Has he finally gotten you to realize that you have no hope of winning this war?” 

Robb can’t help but laugh, lip curled up in a sneer. If only you knew what I am about to tell you,he thinks. Then you would not be so smug. “I’ve come with news, Lannister. To deliver to you the fates of your sister and your bastard sons.” He leans forward then, grasps one of the bars that encage Tywin Lannister’s favorite son. “I thought you might like to know, Kingslayer. But, if you’d rather continue to make mock of me, go ahead.” 

It pleases him more than anything to see that flash of fear in the Kingslayer’s eyes - that hint of doubt. Grey Wind’s hackles rise as a rumble emanates from the direwolf, lips snarling up as yellow eyes land on the Lannister - a mirror to a moment not too long ago, when Jaime Lannister had mocked him for being a boy, only for Robb to remind him that he was only mocking himself, for he was the one who had been beaten by a boy. 

When a moment of silence passes between them without any word from Ser Jaime, Robb finally speaks up. “Stannis Baratheon has taken King’s Landing. Your sister and your bastard sons are dead.” His words echo the words inked on the raven scroll, though he leaves out that their heads were left to rot on spikes above the city gates. Because even for as much as Robb hates the Lannisters, believes that everything that befell Joffrey, his mother, and his brother was more than deserved… He still recognizes that they meant something to the man before him. And perhaps the more gruesome details of that letter are better left out. 

Still, as Robb witnesses an array of emotion cross over Jaime Lannister’s face - watches as that smug grin and self-satisfied air that always seems to hang about him - shatter and crumble before him … he cannot help the sick sense of pride that claws at his chest. That sense of righteousness, that finally the Gods have seen fit to punish his enemies. 

Robb doesn’t linger before the Kingslayer for long. After all, he has many duties to attend to. Joffrey Baratheon may be dead, but Tywin Lannister still lingers to the West. The war that Robb started to rescue his father from the dungeons of the Red Keep, that then turned into a war for vengeance against the boy-king who had taken his head is not over. 

Robb knows that Tywin Lannister will not stop just because his daughter and grandsons are dead. But, Robb still holds Tywin’s favorite son prisoner, and that perhaps lends him some advantage. And now King’s Landing is beneath the rule of Stannis Baratheon, the false king Joffrey Baratheon firmly crushed beneath his heel. 

It is only when he returns to the keep proper that Robb gets the chance to read the scroll in its entirety:

To the Usurper, Robb Stark

King’s Landing has fallen to His Grace, Stannis Baratheon. The Usurper Joffrey Baratheon died a traitor’s death. Cersei Lannister and her other bastard son are dead, all of their heads set to rot on spikes. 

Come to King’s Landing and bend the knee to His Grace, and you shall be shown mercy and allowed to keep your father’s title of Warden of the North. 

If you do not, and continue to call yourself King in the North and rebel against the Crown, you will be met with the same fate that was visited upon Joffrey Baratheon. 

Robb scowls as his eyes trail over the last words inked on the scroll, brows furrowing in contemplation. Of course, it all seems so easy when spelled out in such a way. The purpose of vengeance that his war has become has been all but carried out - even if it was not by his hand. He should be able to just go home, resume his place as Lord of Winterfell and rest. After all, it isn’t as though he wanted to be named King in the North. His bannermen declared him as such, told him that he was the only King they meant to bend their knee to. 

Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? Lord Umber had said. It was the dragons we bowed to, and now the dragons are dead! 

Yet how can he turn his back on them now? He may not have wanted it, but he had accepted it all the same. Were he to bend the knee to Stannis now, it would be as though he were betraying them. So even though such a thing might be easier, he cannot. 

He has to go on fighting, until Tywin Lannister is defeated and until the North is recognized as a free and independent kingdom, unfettered by the shackles of the Iron Throne.

Or die trying.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

If given the choice, part 4

Summary: One day a strange woman comes to his castle and brings him the promise of a choice. Ned can get his brother and sister back if he so chooses, but of course there is a price 

Posted on ao3 yesterday, now it’s also on here for your convenience. I hope you’ll have a good time reading because Ned certainly isn’t having a good time. So for his sake, please enjoy

There came a knock on the door. He barely heard it, couldn’t acknowledge it. His hands ran over all the drawings before him, shuffling them around, trying to find the best one, the one that was most true to reality. The rustling was the only thing that was heard in the room, that and his breathing. His hands were covered in ink, nothing had been allowed to dry before he pushed it aside and began anew.

The person on the other side of the door tried to open it, but that was a rather pointless pursuit because he had locked it.

“Ned?”

It was Lyanna, of course it was Lyanna. He didn’t have time, he could not waste a single moment. He had to know, he had to remember, he couldn’t forget. Whatever it was she wanted would have to wait.

“I know you can hear me” she said.

That did not mean he wanted to speak with her. He wanted to speak to no one but the grey woman. The one that could bring him home, the one that could give him back the knowledge of what his children looked like.

Again and again and again he had tried to draw them. Tried to get their likeness down on paper so that he would be able to remind himself when he caught himself forgetting. Though no matter how many times he tried nothing looked right. No face he managed to get down felt right, all the children before him were strangers.

And suddenly he found himself with drawings that consisted of four children instead of five. After that the number of boys and the number of girls varied, as did their ages. He wrote names beneath them, but none of the names felt right anymore. At first he had been so sure, but then he had grown doubtful. Which one was it that had which name, was one of them named for Brandon or was that a falsehood? His youngest daughter, her name was Lyanna, was it not? Did he have more than one daughter? He had no idea anymore.

Out, he wanted out of there, the chamber was suffocating, the castle was crushing him. But he couldn’t. He had to know, he had to remember. How else was he to go home? Those children were his home. No, King’s Landing was his home, he had no children. He had children, five of them. No, four of them. No, six of them. No, none of them.

“Are you alright?”

Lyanna’s voice had gone from annoyed to worried. He could see her frown before him as she once again tried to open the door. It was pointless, his attempts were pointless. It was slipping through his fingers even as he desperately tried to hold on.

He heard his own heavy, panicked breathing. Like an animal that had been hit with an arrow but was not yet dead. Freeing from whoever it was that had shot him. Where was safety? Safety was his wife, his home, his family, nights without dreams and hearing children laugh beneath the windows as the played in the snow while he did his work.

He had been forced to open the windows some time earlier, hadn’t been able to stand the heat of the chamber. He couldn’t stand the heat and still he kept putting more wood on the fire in the hearth every time it threatened to die. The wind grabbed at his drawings of children that could be either false or real, spread it out over the floor. One had been swept into the fire in the hearth. He had watched it and almost wept because some part of his mind convinced itself that it was the one that had been closest to the truth. Madness, he was going mad.

“Father” called a boy.

“Yes” Ned replied.

The oldest one, whoever that was. Rickard or Robb or Robert or Rickon. An r, it started with an r. Or a b. Was it Brandon?

“Can you open the door?” Lyanna called.

Ned looked down at his ink covered hands, at the drawings at the table before him. Let his eyes run over the ones that had been swept down onto the floor. He had already lost. He had lost the moment he began forgetting. For some reason that realisation made it easier to breathe, he felt a little lighter. There was relief in being released from the frantic search of something that was already gone.

“Give me a moment” he heard himself saying. “I fell asleep.”

He gathered all the papers, put them in the fire. On purpose that time. He didn’t watch as they crumpled and turned to ash, didn’t listen to the sound of the flames as they devoured the product of his obsession.

He washed the ink off his hands in the small basin that stood by the dressing table. The water turned dark, but his hands showed no trace of what had taken place. Once he was clean and had closed the windows there was no trace of what had taken place, it was behind him.

“Gods, it’s cold in here” was the first thing Lyanna said.

“I fell asleep with a window open.”

It wasn’t that cold, he could have done it on purpose. It drove his wife mad when he opened the windows at night, but sometimes he was too warm to sleep without it.

“Did Jonnel manage to wear you out so much?” she chuckled.

“I’m getting old, apparently.”

“Well, are you too tired to go hawking with your sister?”

“Not anymore.”

After feeling like he would die in the chamber the great moors surrounding the castle were a welcome sight. Leagues upon leagues of open landscape, nothing to stop the wind and the sky was clear above them. After a short conversation they had agreed to wait with the hawking and simply go for a ride instead. Lyanna had been too impatient to wait until everything was in order and so they had simply saddled their horses and trotted out through the Hunter’s Gate towards the open lands.

The ribbon that held Lyanna’s braid together was undone as they galloped over the lands, making her hair whip around her head in the wind. Freedom. She had not become less of a rider with age, she was still as good on a horse as he remembered her to be. It was hard to say where Lyanna ended and her horse began. He fell behind, not much, but enough to make it apparent that he was less of a rider than she was.

They rode until the castle walls had grown small behind them before they stopped. Lyanna’s face was glowing bright as she looked at him with a delighted smile.

“No one rides with me like this anymore” she told him as he came trotting up beside her.

“I could say the same.”

Riding through the Kingswood was not the same. No one galloped with him anymore, there was no open landscape like the the North. There was no place like his home, like Winterfell. How he missed it. And her.

The grief that struck him as he looked at Lyanna and remembered that no one could ride her anymore would have been enough to make him fall off his horse had he not been holding the reins. She was dead. Her smile was gone, never would she gallop through the lands again. It wasn’t real, she wasn’t real.

“Not even Robert?” she asked.

“We’re rarely on the roads together.”

He did not always follow on the king’s hunts, and when he did it was nothing like that. Hundreds of men, carriages, trees that kept them from leaving the roads on horse.

“Had I wed him we would have been in King’s Landing together.”

Her smile died down as she said it. What could have been had she not fled it. Had she not vanished and only returned after Robert had been forced to take another bride.

“You would have hated it there.”

Just like he did. It was easy to claim they were very different from each other but in the end they were of the same flesh and blood. Starks they had been born and Starks they would die. Lyanna had already died a Stark. How had he forgotten it again so quickly?

“Do you plan to live the rest of your life in the capital?”

Where else was he supposed to be? Winterfell was Brandon’s and he had served in the Small Council for many years, that was where he had made a life for himself.

“If that will be my fate so be it.”

Winterfell was his home, Winterfell had been his fate. Lord, he was lord. He was not the Master of Law, he was Lord of Winterfell.

“Should you ever resign I want you to write to me” Lyanna said and then she smiled again. “So that I can ride down to King’s Landing and follow you back north again. Then we’ll ride. Promise me, Ned.”

If only she had known what other things she had made him promise her. A little boy with Stark grey eyes that had come with him north instead of her. Dead roses and blood, so much blood. Her hand in his before Howland had made him let go.

“Then we’ll ride” he promised.

It was easy to promise things despite that he hoped they would never be true. That he would be home before it could be his reality. Everything came so easy with her. He had missed her so that his heart ached and suddenly she was with him. And it was all wrong.

Lyanna glanced behind them.

“It looks like we’re getting company.”

He turned his horse to see what she was speaking of and saw two others coming towards them. They were still far away, but he could easily tell who they were. Brandon had a presence that was impossible to mistake for someone else and the fiery hair of the person next to him gave a clue of that it was Lady Catelyn that had come with him.

“It’s like we’re young again” he said.

They must have done it often when they were younger because there was a sense of familiarity around it that would have been comforting if he hadn’t known that he had not spent his youth riding with his family.

“We’re only missing Benjen. Though Brandon said he might be here in time for the feast the day before you leave again.”

“So he rides south with me?”

There was a fortnight until he was set to leave.

“I don’t know.”

He hoped Benjen would ride with him, he saw him so rarely. He was never one of the black brothers that came as far south as King’s Landing to collect those from the dungeons that had chosen the Watch over some other punishment. And Ned rarely came north.

“Look at her horse, by the gods it’s a beauty” Lyanna mumbled, watching Brandon and Catelyn coming closer to them.

Ned recognised that horse, it was the same as she had laid claim to in his Winterfell. The roan mare that had been born a few years after she came to Winterfell. Catelyn was always Catelyn, it seemed. He both hated and loved that.

Lyanna’s own red stallion was no bad horse either, she wouldn’t have ridden it if it was. She had bought it from the Dustins when it was a colt and raised it herself, spent more time caring for it than she cared for herself. He remembered the one she had had when they were children, she would have slept with it in the stables had Father allowed it. She had not changed much.

“You say that of all horses.”

“They’re beautiful animals.”

When they were still it didn’t take long for Brandon and Catelyn to catch up with them. Catelyn was beautiful with her hair windswept and her cheeks flushing red from the chill in the air.

“You don’t mind our company, do you?” Brandon asked.

“Not at all, we’re mostly surprised our high and mighty lord has time to ride with us” Lyanna told him.

“He has time for it because his lady says so” Catelyn informed them.

She gave Brandon a stern look but her face lit up with a smile when he laughed. Ned knew that smile, loved that smile. How glad he was for that she was his friend.

“And I know better than to argue with a Tully” Brandon said.

That was what Ned always told her. She wasn’t only his friend, she was his wife. Remember, he had to remember. Remember how he could jape about her stubbornness, telling her he knew better than to argue with a Tully. His lady wife, his beloved Catelyn, the mother of his children. Children she didn’t know and he didn’t remember.

“Starks” Catelyn snorted.

She urged her horse into a trot, riding past Ned and Lyanna. The rest of them were not far behind and it took only a few minutes before Brandon and Lyanna found themselves in a competition. As they raced towards a lonely tree a bit away from them Ned and Catelyn stayed in a comfortable trot.

“They never change” Catelyn chuckled as they watched them.

He would have been afraid of that they would get themselves killed if it hadn’t been for that he knew they were excellent riders. It was a dangerous pace they kept.

“No, they’re always the same.”

Wolf blood ran through their veins.

“I wish you were here more often. We miss you.”

“I cannot speak for Lyanna, but I miss you, as well.”

King’s Landing was exhausting. From his work to the weather, nothing seemed suited for him. The north was where he belonged, he grew more sure of it with every passing day. Still he remained down south because that was what he had been tasked with. He sat on the king’s Small Council, it was an honour and he gladly did it. He had helped Robert win his throne, it seemed only right he also helped with the kingdom. And his wife was happy there. His own comfort mattered little in the end.

No no no no no. The new Ned came so easily. At first he had immediately realised it as soon as it happened, it took longer and longer for each time. He knew more and more. How much of himself was left and why was he out riding instead of trying to solve it? Why was he not looking for the grey woman? What was he doing? His children, his poor children. And Catelyn.

“Is everything alright?” Catelyn asked.

Catelyn was always Catelyn, even as they were not wed she saw his spirits change.

“Do forgive me, I was overcome with thoughts of work.”

He trusted most people on the council and those he did not trust personally he trusted to handle their positions, he had nothing to worry for when he was away. Still there was some part of his mind that nagged him about that he was necessary. The king was not particularly involved, but he was a force of nature and in certain moods Ned and Jon were the only ones that could talk him out of rash actions. His was the fury. Not that they were always successful. Poor Jon.

“It’s all forgiven” she said. “I understand it is hard to leave it behind. Last time I visited Riverrun I was plagued by nightmares of empty stores that didn’t leave me until I returned to Winterfell and saw for myself that the stores weren’t empty.”

It was very much something he could recognise himself in.

“I’m Master of Law and I still worry for the coffins of the crown.”

“You shouldn’t worry, Petyr is very skilled at what he does.”

Skilled at what he did and a loathsome man. That he had to sit on the same council as Petyr Baelish made him truly consider resigning every now and then, he could not stand him. Every words that came from him was irritating, he believed himself to be so terribly clever.

“If only you knew what debt the crown is in” he sighed.

“I don’t think I want to know and clearly it pains you so let us speak of something else.”

“Like that your husband is currently losing?”

He had glanced at Lyanna and Brandon. Both of them going so fast it was easy to believe they were flying, and still the distance between them grew with every second.

“Against his little sister. Oh the humiliation.”

Even as her voice was dramatic her lips curled into a smile.

Ned was of the opinion that Brandon needed it from time to time. That was Lyanna’s purpose. She always won, no matter what the game was. Especially if it had to do with horses.

“It’s his own fault for competing against her in the first place.”

“A foolish mistake” Catelyn agreed.

They watched in silence as Lyanna reached the lonely tree first, her cheers echoing out over the grounds. The people back in the castle must have heard her. Had they been closer they would have heard Brandon’s curses as well, but that not even Ned could hear. He just knew his brother was putting together a sentence containing every curse he knew. One that Catelyn would have scolded him for if the children had been able to hear it. At least the girl.

As he looked at his brother and sister that had stopped by the tree he saw a flash of grey even further away. He would have taken it for dirty snow had it not been for that it was too warm for any snow to not melt away as soon as it was on the ground. And for that it was moving. A small grey figure that walked slowly towards the castle.

Before Ned could stop himself he had urged his horse into a gallop. He didn’t hear Catelyn’s protests, he knew only one thing. He knew the grey woman, the one that had done that to him. He saw her, she was there, he would make things right. His children, his wife, his home, he would see it again. It would be alright.

He didn’t look at Brandon and Lyanna as he passed them, didn’t hear how they called after him. The closer he got to what he had seen the more sure he grew of that it was her. It was the woman. Wildfire ran through his body, filled his chest. Hope and rage was one.

His horse had barely slowed down as he flung himself off it’s back, so close that he could reach the little woman. And so he did, he reached out to grasp her cloak, filled with the sweetness of victory. Only for his fingers to wrap around empty air.

There was no one there. A piece of grey fabric was on the ground before him, but that was all. A moment earlier he had seen her, she had been standing just before him. So close he could touch her. And then she was gone. He hadn’t even blinked, she had just vanished.

She had been there, he was sure of it. It hadn’t been his mind playing tricks in him, she had been there. Witchcraft. Sorcery.

“What are you doing?” Lyanna called.

He looked up to see her coming towards him. Brandon was still by the tree, probably waiting for Catelyn to catch up.

“I mistook this for a person” he answered.

He hadn’t been mistaken, he couldn’t have been. It was impossible to just see such a thing.

“The wind must have made it move” Lyanna said.

She climbed off her horse, leading it over to the grey fabric on the ground.

“I bet it came from the castle” she continued.

“Yes.”

How could she have just disappeared? Why was she showing herself in the first place. He had never seen her before, she had said it was irreversible, why come back? What was her purpose? He understood so little. All he knew was the emptiness in his chest, his defeated mind.

“What are you looking at?” Brandon shouted.

Ned crouched down to look at it closer and as he held it up it became obvious that it was a cloak. A quite small cloak, could have been made for a child. Except for that it didn’t belong to a child, it belonged to a very small woman.

“A lost cloak” Ned shouted back.

“Not more exciting than so” Lyanna muttered.

He brought the little cloak with him as he sat up on his horse again, turning back to Brandon and Catelyn. He had something of hers, he knew she was there somewhere. He just had to find her. Which in itself would not be an easy task, but he could do it. He just had to remember.

In a slow pace they began making their way back to Winterfell. For a moment he had worried for that they would find it all strange, but none of them seemed to think twice. It could have been like Lyanna said, it could have been the wind moving the cloak.

“How come you didn’t bring the children?” Lyanna asked.

“They have their lessons” Catelyn said. “That’s more important.”

“Did they agree with you?”

“Do you think we told them?” Brandon said. “That’s the first thing about children, you tell them only what’s necessary and leave out the rest.”

“Like that you’re going for a ride while they learn history.”

“Exactly” Brandon nodded. “You are quite ready for motherhood, little sister.”

Lyanna just laughed.

She had a child, didn’t she? A boy, a little son. He hadn’t perished alongside her. Though she had never been allowed to be a mother to him. That belonged in his reality. What a sad reality it was. Still that was where he belonged, what he longed for. He wished she could have lived, wished Brandon could have lived.

“Children are a blessing from the gods” Catelyn smiled. “I hope you’ll know the joy of it one day.”

The joy of children. Telling them stories in front of the hearth, teaching the boys how to hold a sword, watching them play in the snow.

“For the sake of our house, please know the joy of it” Brandon said dryly. “I cannot be the only one furthering our bloodline.”

“I am doing what I can” Ned sighed.

It was hard to know whether the problem was with him or his wife. Possibly both of them. There were ways to figure it out, he had little interest in them. The maesters we’re doing what they could, giving Barbrey varies teas and herbs that would make it easier to get with child. Nothing worked.

“Our bloodline I can further, but the name will be lost” Lyanna said. “It was lost the day I was wed.”

She had not been very happy about being wed to Willam Dustin at first. Brandon had had enough of Lyanna’s defiance one day and when Lord Dustin lost his wife he had arranged the betrothal. Ned still remembered the letter she had written to him, the fury. She had escaped Robert, she hadn’t been able to escape a second time. She spoke of going back into hiding, but she had yet to do so.

“Your husband is a good man” Brandon said.

“Yes, his seat is not far away from the Rills” Lyanna said. “I am quite content.”

Ned had heard his sister was a frequent visitor of the Dustins’. There was no house in all of Westeros with a finer herd of horses.

“With that being said I have my child already” Lyanna said in the softest voice he had ever heard.

She leaned down and laid her arms around the neck of her horse.

“My sweet Sunset, Mother’s precious boy.”

The gods gave and the gods took. They had apparently taken her sanity.

When they were back at the castle Ned discovered he no longer had the cloak. He had been holding it in his hands and then suddenly it was gone. He would have noticed if he dropped it. Was there magic in her clothes? How had he not noticed it disappearing? Though he had had it. The others must have forgotten about it because they didn’t ask about that he was suddenly empty handed.

“I’m quite hungry” Lyanna said as they had left the horses in the stables.

Of course she had first given the poor stable boy that took Sunset from her a vivid description of what would happen with him if something was to happen to Sunset. And Brandon had after that with irritation told her that she couldn’t threaten the staff of his household.

“Lyarra and Jonnel should be in the hall taking their midday meal” Brandon told her. “Go eat with them.”

“Will you not join me?”

“I should get back to what I have to do.”

Brandon looked at Catelyn. She had remained with the stable boy Lyanna had threatened, standing by the stable entrance and talking to him.

The way Brandon looked at her didn’t escape him and judging by the sly smile on Lyanna’s face she wasn’t unaware either. At first Ned couldn’t say why seeing his brother’s eyes on Lady Catelyn made his chest heavy. It didn’t become easier when he remembered.

That was his wife, Lady Catelyn was his wife. She should have been wed to Brandon, but he had died and instead she became Ned’s wife. He had to remember, he couldn’t forget like that. He had to remember Catelyn, his Catelyn, the mother of his children. His beloved lady.

“Leave the poor woman alone” Lyanna said.

“It’s my wife.”

She was Ned’s wife.

“Well, Ned, the one of my older brothers who isn’t a whoremonger, would you like to eat with me?”

He had just lost what little appetite he had.

“I’m not very hungry, and I was planning on going back to my chamber to write a letter to my wife.”

There was a fortnight until he was leaving Winterfell and the way home would take at least another fortnight. It was long until he would see her again, he wanted her to have a letter.

“I hate both of you.”

She turned before any of them could respond to that and began walk towards the Great Hall.

Ned nodded towards his brother and made his way back to the keep. He had almost reached the doors when he saw a grey figure disappear around the corner. He didn’t have time to fully see her, but he saw the end of her cloak. He would have recognised that cloak anywhere.

Whatever reason had brought him to the keep was gone from his mind in the blink of an eye, all he knew was that he had to get to her. That time he would catch her. She wouldn’t get away another time.

He couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat as he quickly walked towards the corner of the keep, rounding it. She had nowhere to go after that, he would see her.

Though all he saw as he let his eyes run over the courtyard was people who belonged there. Guards and staff. No one in the same shade of grey, no one short enough. Two children ran past him, not taking notice of him. He took another few steps, but she was gone. He had been only a few seconds behind and still she had escaped him. If she had ever been there. Had he simply imagined it? No, no he hadn’t.

Once again defeated he returned to his chamber. As he entered he remembered he had meant to write a letter for his wife and sat down to do so. Beneath the table was a drawing he had missed to throw into the fire earlier. He meant to make up a fire and destroy it as he had the rest but made the mistake of looking at it.

Six portraits of children looked back at him. Four boys and two girls, all with names beneath them. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Jon. He didn’t know who they were, their faces were unfamiliar. How strange. He studied them for a long time, looked at every detail of the faces he had drawn. After that he couldn’t bring himself to burn them, so he put them in a drawer instead. Avoiding their eyes without ridding himself of them entirely.

He wrote the letter to Barbrey and brought it to Maester Luwin so that he could send it to King’s Landing with a raven. As Luwin took it he gently asked about how Ned was feeling, if rest had been what he needed. He did feel better. He knew he hadn’t been feeling so well that morning, but the ride had made it better.

He must have spent longer than he thought writing his letter, the sun had disappeared behind the inner wall when he exited the maester’s turret. The sun coloured the sky a beautiful orange, it looked like it was aflame. As he looked up at the top of the western wall he saw a silhouette against the colourful sky. At first he thought it to be one of the patrolling guards, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that the person was too small. Even as he stood in the courtyard below and looked up he knew. And that time he had no chance of reaching her before she was gone.

Why was she taunting him? What was it she wanted? If she never meant for him to talk to her, to reach her, why show herself to him at all? He looked up at her, she looked down at him, and he felt a shiver running down his spine.

“Are you coming to have supper with us, Uncle?”

In the second it took to look at Lyarra and back up at the wall she disappeared. It was so easy to convince himself of that it hadn’t been real, that she had never been there at all. Still he couldn’t do it. She had been there, she was watching him.

“Yes” he told his niece.

She had a book in her hands, must have come from the library tower.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Stories from beyond the Wall. And I’m not reading it yet, I haven’t started.”

“Once you’re finished you’ll have to tell me your favourite one.”

“I’ll give it to you as we break our fast on the morrow.”

Had she been a man she could have studied at the Citadel, she had a good head on her shoulders.

Lyarra already had a story to tell him as they had their supper. He had returned to his chamber to change into clothes that smelled less of horse before going to the Great Hall to eat with his family. She made it very clear that she had only read two so far, but that she liked one better than the other and so wanted him to hear it. How she had managed to read two while just bringing the book back to her chamber Ned had no idea. Neither had her brother. He did, however, have an insult for her. Which resulted in that Lyarra took her mother’s cup of wine and emptied it over Jonnel’s head. In the end both children were sent to their rooms and Catelyn looked incredibly tired. Despite that he was there so rarely it felt familiar to Ned. Though not in a comforting way.

He had trouble falling asleep that night, and didn’t really know if he wanted to. There was something about it that made him uneasy, it felt dangerous. He knew he had to remember, he couldn’t forget, what if he forgot more while he was asleep? But what was it he was forgetting? Nothing felt right anymore. He longed for something as he was alone in the darkness, there was a piece of him that was missing. As he was with his family he was distracted by them but as he was alone it became obvious that something was wrong.

Catelyn, it struck him. And his children. His home, his Winterfell, the one where he was lord. Lyanna and Brandon, weren’t supposed to be there, they had been gone a long time. Or maybe it had been just a few years. Or maybe they were alive. If he slept he would understand even less, he was sure of it. And he couldn’t forget, he had to remember. It was of outmost importance that he remembered what it was he longed for, what it was that he was missing.

He wondered if Barbrey was already asleep in King’s Landing. If Robert was with his queen that night or if he had found someone else to share his bed. Surely Jon would be able to hold him somewhat calm, surely Jon would keep the Small Council running as it was supposed to. He didn’t know why he worried, it wasn’t the first time he was away.

In the end he was too tired to keep his eyes open and drifted off to a sleep that was full of vivid dreams. Children, a woman with red hair that came to his bed, a large stone chair that called for him to sit it. It could have been a good dream, it wasn’t.

So ended his second day.

[asongoficeandthrones]

A Clash of Kings First Read - Chapter 7

(POV: Catelyn I.)

Setting: Riverrun (Robb et al).

Favorite character: Catelyn, without hesitation. Because she's still grieving and feels guilty for Ned's death, because she's the one who pushed him to accept Robert's offer in AGoT (my doing, mine, no other...), and she still tries to look out for Robb (I think he should listen to her more, by the way). So she's a mix between emotions and sense, and I really like it.

MVP: I'm gonna say Brynden, because he's the one bringing news that can tip the scales of war, and he's good at what he does, I mean, he basically has eyes f*cking everywhere.

Things I loved/liked:

The discussion between Catelyn and Brynden, because 1), both are awesome, and 2) it gives a broader picture of the war still being fought (also, I'm sorry but I'm rooting for Lord Beric Dondarrion; it's been a long-*ss time since he's been fighting the war and he's still giving the Lannisters trouble; also, he has northerners with him so).

I thought Robb reading his terms was really awesome, the way I imagined it at least, with a voice as strong as he could manage, and calm (and Grey Wind looks so intimidating: A direwolf large as any elkhound, lean and smoke-dark, with eyes like molten gold). But I also think there's no chance in hell Cersei (and Joffrey) will agree to those terms.

Again, the references to the comet. A lot more foreboding this time around, with Brynden's "That's blood up there, child, smeared across the sky."

The comparison between the crowns of the kings of old and Robb's crown, and most particularly how it weighs on him: [...] the weight of it pressed heavy on Robb's head. Also, the whole description of the crown itself; it looked beautiful.

It's a minor thing (I think, because Hoster Tully is almost dead, apparently), but the fact that Brynden Tully and his brother made peace with each other! Yay!!

Things I disliked/hated:

Robb not being willing to trade Jaime Lannister for his sister(s). I get why he's not, and honestly I probably wouldn't have done it either, but I always felt like the Starks were most loyal to each other, so I don't really know where I stand on this.

And honestly, Robb acting like a little brat. I mean yeah, he's fifteen, and he did listen to his mother on certain points, but doesn't he get it? Cat's as smart and perhaps more strategic than some of his lords bannermen, more focused on fighting. So his "I could command you to go. As king. I could" had me rolling my eyes so hard. And I don't really trust Theon either. Not when it comes to his "real" family. I sense a betrayal coming...

Quotes: Besides those I quoted before (Cat thinking about Ned's death, Grey Wind, the crown), Cat's "Girls are not important enough, are they?" because she's kind of right, apparently. Which pisses me off. The way she said it, though... You tell him, Cat.

Thoughts overall: Informative but infuriating.

[jonquildove]

theintendedone:

Roslin was not her family. She did not want to be labeled as them. She’d made her choices along the way and she’d have to lose just as much as anyone else. She wasn’t a traitor though. She’d been fortunate to have Edmure when it was over. They had supported each other, picked up the piece and dealt with their survivor guilt. She wondered what life would have been like, if she wedded Robb instead; they would marry in the timber walls of the palace of the Twins, and the day after they had consummated, he would ride off to battle the Greyjoy ironmen at Moat Cailin. He would fight the Greyjoys, fight to avenge Bran and Rickon, whom he had heard Theon -- his friend -- had hung them. He had been angered to know this, remembering they being friends in Winterfell. They had fought, laughed, dined together. Yet that was another life. Roslin had spent a long time wondering if she could have saved all of them. She had wished for the longest that she could have told Robb and his men before they arrived unarmed. Perhaps, they would have been alive. She wouldn’t have had Edmure though and who was to say more innocent lives wouldn’t have been lost that way. “——You’re most welcome. It’s the least that I could do for you.” She knew it it wasn’t much. There was only so much that she could do. She could give the girl a nice home, nice clothes and food in her belly, like lemon cake and fried rice ( she cooking rice and peas and egg in a black wok and bringing it to school for culture day ), but it would never fix everything she’d been through or lost. She watched for a moment, seeing her enjoy the dessert and it made her feel a little less about the fact there was so little that she could do for her. “I know,” she told her simply. “Nothing will ever make it go away.”

Sansa did not wish to hear the grisly details of what happened at the Red Wedding, how this supposedly celebratory event could harbour such infamy and betrayal. She had heard they slit her Mother’s neck open, and hoisted up Grey Wind’s head onto Robb’s body, as an added insult. Even though, she had not witnessed it first-hand, even hearing about it, gave light to more nightmares, more gory than the last. She had been crying tears, as she looks out the window, already Tyrion's wife. She knew that Roslin would never want to truly participate in the slaughter of hundreds, and guests no less. “You are truly kind. How have you been? And Uncle Edmure?” She nods. “That is true, my lady…nothing ever, not permanently anyway.” This crushing pain I feel always comes back to haunt me. Especially when I’m alone… She did not know why, but she felt like she could talk, properly talk, to Roslin. Her kindness seemed to be genuine, like Margaery’s had been.

[melodicwitchlight]

theintendedone:

Roslin was not her family. She did not want to be labelled as them. She’d made her choices along the way, and she’d have to lose just as much as anyone else. She wasn’t a traitor though. She’d been fortunate to have Edmure when it was over. They had supported each other, picked up the piece and dealt with their survivor guilt. Roslin had spent a long time wondering if she could have saved all of them. She had wished for the longest that she could have told Robb and his men before they arrived unarmed. Perhaps, they would have been alive. She wouldn’t have had Edmure though, and who was to say more innocent lives wouldn’t have been lost that way. “You’re most welcome. It’s the least that I could do for you.” She knew it wasn’t much. There was only so much that she could do. She could give the girl a nice home, nice clothes, and food in her belly, but it would never fix everything she’d been through or lost. She watched for a moment, seeing her enjoy her dessert, and it made her feel a little less about the fact there was so little that she could do for her. “I know,” she told her simply. “Nothing will ever make it go away.”

Sansa did not wish to hear the grisly details of what happened at the Red Wedding; how this supposedly celebratory event could harbour such infamy and betrayal. She had heard they slit her Mother’s neck open, and hoisted up Grey Wind’s head onto Robb’s body, as an added insult. Even though she had not witnessed it first-hand, even hearing about it gave light to more nightmares, more gory than the last.

She knew that Roslin would never want to truly participate in the slaughter of hundreds, and guests no less.

“You are truly kind. How have you been? And Uncle Edmure?”

She nods. “That is true, my lady…nothing ever, not permanently, anyway.” This crushing pain I feel always comes back to haunt me. Especially when I’m alone…

She did not know why, but she felt like she could talk, properly talk, to Roslin. Her kindness seemed to be genuine, like Margaery’s had been. 

[rise-my-angel]

i just know the robb jon tension will be crazy because jon not only knows robb has lingering feelings for you, he’s also jealous he can be with you whilst he has to be away but knows you are innocent in all this but still feel responsible for causing the tension which makes him even more angry at robb for putting you in that position 😭

Dude it is rough. The days Jon is home, he is so hands on with the baby and it's clear how much happier you three all are when you're together. Jons constantly the one holding the baby, or walking around with the baby resting high against his torso with one hand holding him, as Jon prepares something in the kitchen for you with the other. Making small comments the whole time to little Eddard as if he's helping make mommy her lunch and how proud she's going to be of him, as the baby just snuggles closer with happy noises.

Robb is sitting at a small table in the corner of the kitchen just clutching his pen so hard it almost snaps. He only stops because he realizes Sansa is giving him the most "dude your being so obvious stop it" kind of look.

At the same time, when Jon is away he knows Robb is milking it for all it's worth. He does everything with you and the baby that Jon does, only slightly tweaked. You hold the baby the most, but in return Robb is a lot more physical with you. If he has to drive you somewhere or you go to the store with him so you and the baby can get some fresh air, he'll always guide you around with a hand on your lower back, which to you, makes you feel safe since you have some anxiety being out and about again.

He makes sure you have time to nap, because the days Jon is gone overnight you get very little sleep. And many times he ends up spending with the baby, sitting him carefully against him as he does his reports on his laptop, asking him for "help" as the baby just mindlessly points at the screen and babbles. Jon knows because Robb will post photos online, never showing little Eddard, but like a picture of his laptop on his lap as hes on the couch, and a little baby hand pointing at the screen like, "The new supervisor seems a little too hands on". Sometimes its clear in the unfocused background that your on the other couch napping because Jon recognizes the blanket covering you is one you only ever use when napping on the couch.

It gets worse when you and Jon start being intimate again. Its very obvious to Robb when it happens, because you start looking at Jon and him to you with such stars in your eyes. Jon is a lot more physically affectionate in front of others, and his hands linger a bit more when no one is looking. Which makes Robb seethe. Because he just came home from his third failed attempt at a date, where he ruined it by calling the woman your name when he kissed her.

You slowly start noticing that the tension is back, when you had hoped that was behind them. And it makes Jon more angry at Robb for putting you in this position, even though both of them are adding to the tense enviroment.

Ned is fully aware of whats going on here but for once is at a complete loss at what to do, only to realize Sansa also knows and its almost a strange joke between them because Ned is clearly in favour of maintaining your and Jons relationship but Sansa seems to be more pushing for Robb to do something about his feelings.

Ghost and Grey Wind are aware of the tension but thankfully it does not effect their ability to climb on the couch with you and nearly smother you to death trying to both nap cuddled with you at the same time.

[winterapocalypse]

Winter Apocalypse chapter 27

Grey + Ghost

Jon woke with a start, jolting Sam awake as he slept in the bunk bed beneath him. Sam originally wanted to sleep in the top bunk, but given his weight, Jon didn't want to risk being crushed under the other boy in the middle of the night if the bed ever gave way.

"Jon?" Sam actually asked. Jon, his mouth still thick with sleep, muttered that he had had a nightmare and not to worry.

"You always have nightmares since we've been here at Winter Hogwarts." Sam told him, and he was right.

Jon, Sam, Grenn, Pyp, Satin, Edd and all the other boys who usually stayed and studied at the Night's Watch's wizarding school, Castle Black, had been hastily transferred to Winter Hogwarts. Of course, their dormitory was not particularly large or as refined as the four towers intended for the four houses of the school, but it was still livable. It was an unused area of the castle, and which must have been, centuries ago, a kind of meeting room, or perhaps a warehouse for when the winter became unbearable and unlivable there in the North.

Winter Hogwarts was further south than Castle Black, it was bigger, older, elegant and beautiful and warm even in the coldest months of winter, but Jon… Jon couldn't get comfortable with him.

Maybe because, if he leaned far enough out of his bed, he could see right out the window, into the Dark Forest surrounding the castle. He knew who was hiding in there - good creatures, evil ones, and above all Mysterio… Or maybe because in that school there were some guys to really stay away from.

It was almost time to wake up anyway, so Jon didn't go back to sleep. He leapt from his bed with a nimble leap, and landed as gracefully as a cat on the dark granite floor.

For that new, first day of school at Winter Hogwarts, he decided to wear the simple uniform of the place - black trousers, white shirt, gray sweater and finally the cloak and scarf of the Guardians, black as the night they had solemnly sworn to protect .

Yet, inside that castle, Jon didn't feel like doing his job.

He looked at himself in the mirror one last time. His black curls fell softly on his pale face, barely covering the ugly scars on his eye, which was miraculously safe. Since he had met Mysterio, he had not needed to take those muggle medicines that Robb's jovial Slytherin friend had brought him, because the centaur had healed him with his sweet and comforting magic, but the scars remained, reddish and cruel as the claws of that gigantic eagle.

At Castle Black, all courses were compulsory and there was no choice of courses whatsoever, there at Winter Hogwarts every student from every walk of life could do whatever they wanted, even though most were the children of nobles and extremely magically gifted from all over Westeros.

Robb, his half-brother on his father's side, had treacherously enrolled him in the "First Men runology" course, a course that was free, yes, but was definitely recommended to all ethnic wizards of the First Men, therefore coming from North, from the Vale or Riverlands of Westeros, or from Northorios.

Jon hurried to the room, but he still didn't know how to orient himself well. In his pocket, he felt the cold stone – Mysterio's seal – pressed against his leg, comforting.

As he wandered through the still semi-deserted corridors, a familiar voice woke him from his stupor - it was Robb, his half-brother.

"Jon! Ah, I see the wound is healed!" the red-haired boy said beaming, the red and gold Gryffindor cape draped over his shoulders.

At his side his silver direwolf, Gray Wind, rushed towards Ghost who had remained faithfully close to his master the entire time. They played around a bit while the two boys headed towards the room where the First Men Runology course would be held.

The door was closed since the professor had yet to arrive, but some students were already waiting in front of the door.

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[burnnouts]

"It would make for a very good song at the least. A Merling Queen, and a Wolf...shape shifting...beast king." Robb's brow furrowed in confused amusement as he tried to put words to the ever changing rumors and stories told about him. Some said he turned into a wolf only on the battle field, others that it was the full moon that caused the shift; still others said that he and his wolf were but the same creature in two bodies. Robb did not believe any of it. He was no wolf, and he never had been, but he did believe that the sigil upon his house's banner was more than a symbol: it was a memory of a connection the first men had once had with the world, the connection he now held with his own direwolf, Grey Wind. Robb did not change form or shape, but he did have an unusual amount of control and a close bond with the creature. "In the end, I hope your choice will make you happy. Truly. You deserve as much."

Robb recalled the faces of his lords in question. "They are not yet on their death beds. One, at least, is...of moderate age." None of it was ideal, of course, and he would not lie to her. He owed her honesty, at the very least. "We need not decide it all tonight, do we?" She had presented him many options and, in turn, much to think about, but he had to agree with her opinion on the process: he wished to at least meet his bride before agreeing to a union for the rest of his life.

"I welcome the risk," he assured her. "To dance with a queen is surely worth a couple broken toes." There were many eyes upon them now as the king and queen of two recently separated kingdoms stepped onto the floor hand in hand. The music hid most of the whispering, but they would be fools not to know it was happening. Every move they made and every word they said was scrutinized now, and this would be no different. Robb paid the crowd little mind, however, as he placed one hand on the Queen's waist. "It has been a long time," he noted. "Since we last did this. I am afraid I might be rusty as well."

"I   hope   I   can.   All   girls   deserve   to   have   a   choice   in   that   matter."   And   not   wed   a   man   twice   their   age,   unless   of   course,   that   is   their   true   desire   when   they   are   of   age   and   sound   of   mind   and   not   forced   by   another   for   a   good   coin   and   status.   She   is   aware   that   the   whispers   of   her   parentage   put   her   at   a   disadvantage   but   she   also   know   men   will   move   earth   and   fire   for   the   wealth   she   has,   and   the   power   of   the   crown,   perhaps   thinking   she   would   be   a   meek   wife   who   would   step   down   the   moment   she   weds,   and   she   bore   children   of   her   own.   "House   Manderly.   You   deem   me   a   merling   queen   then?"   She   jest   in   turn   but   it   was   true   House   Manderly   was   one   of   the   South,   and   it   was   not   without   importance,   a   house   with   ties   to   the   biggest   port   that   sets   passage   to   the   North.  

"Be   truthful,   Robb.   How   many   of   them   are   at   least   of   age   for   myself?   I   do   not   mind   a   man   twice   my   age,   but   I   would   prefer   to   see   them.   Once   you   return   North,   I   shall   give   you   letters   to   invite   them   to   court   and   see   them."   She   always   wished   for   a   good   handsome   husband,   kind   and   gentle.   Trystane   would've   been   that   but   destiny   had   put   her   path   elsewhere.   If   that   meant   keep   peace,   then   so   be   it.  

"Your   lords   would   hate   a   Westerlands   lady   for   yourself,   but   perhaps   one   of   the   Reach   would   serve   well.   The   Hightowers   once   wed   to   the   North.   House   Webber.   Or   perhaps   a   stormlander   house   serves   best.   House   Dondarrion   has   a   few   young   maids,   and   Wensington   are   close   kin   to   the   Baratheons."   Good   noble   houses,   they   would   serve   the   purpose   ,she   hopes.   Eyes   look   upon   his   offer   hand   then   and   smiles   in   turn.   "I   have   not   danced   in   ages,   so   do   forgive   if   I   step   on   your   feet."   The   Queen   jest   once   more   accepting   his   hand   as   the   room   makes   space   for   both   of   them   to   dance.   There   she   felt   more   at   ease,   dancing   had   always   brought   her   joy.