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leupagus · 2 months

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I firmly believe Stannis is the Westerosi equivalent of the dad who hates cats, doesn't want to get a cat, makes a big deal about not liking the cat, and ends up being the cat's absolute favorite (except instead of a cat it's a huge fuckoff direwolf with boundary issues)

The door to the workroom opened and Ghost bounded inside, snuffling at Stannis's hands. Lady Stark, following behind, narrowed her eyes at him as she closed the door.

"You fed him something recently, didn't you?" she said. Ghost, finding nothing, gave a disapproving huff and flopped down by the fireplace.

He had, but that was besides the point. "What are the Knights of the Vale doing here?"

"Just don't give him chicken, we had a terrible problem with the henhouses when they were puppies," she said absently, and circled round to sit at her chair on the far side of the work table. "I brought them here for you."

Stannis, still standing, paused. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. I can't bend the knee, Your Grace. Not yet. But I'm not entirely useless."

"Of all the adjectives I've thought to describe you with, 'useless' has never been one of them."

She smiled at that and looked down at the papers strewn across the table. "Littlefinger — Lord Baelish," she corrected, "had plans for the North. Marrying my Aunt Lysa and becoming Lord Protector of the Vale wasn't enough for him; he wanted more."

"How much more?" Stannis asked as he took his seat again. He was already well able to guess the answer.

"Everything," she answered, a distant look in her eye that Stannis did not like. "He wanted to marry me off to the Boltons. I think the plan was for you you to come sweeping down from the Wall and either take Winterfell or kill out enough of the Bolton forces to weaken them. At which point Littlefinger could come riding to my rescue with the Knights of the Vale. He'd have a ward at the Vale who looked to him for approval, and a new Lady of Winterfell who'd be grateful to him for saving her from monsters twice over." She nodded at his moue of distaste. "Yes, well, he always did consider me one of his cyvasse pieces, to be moved around the board as needed."

Stannis had avoided Baelish at King's Landing, insofar as he could while both of them served on Robert's Small Council. But he well remembered how Baelish spoke of women, how effortlessly he used them and used them up. What damage had he inflicted on a young, friendless girl while he'd had her in his custody? No wonder Lady Stark had fled from him at the first chance of escape.

If that's what had truly happened. The story from the Riverlands was that Baelish had been killed by his own men, and there was no reason to doubt it — such a treacherous man would have succumbed to treachery sooner or later. But Lady Stark had proven herself capable of surprising things, these past months.

It didn't bear thinking of too closely. He cleared his throat. "The Vale, the North — if Baelish wanted the Iron Throne, he'd have needed more than two kingdoms at his command."

"The Riverlands probably would have been next," said Lady Stark with a frown. She pawed through the papers and pulled out a book. "I've been going through the maester accounts, such as they are, from the time my father left Winterfell until now," she said, flipping through it. "There are gaps, obviously, but Maester Wolkan's been keeping remarkably faithful records. Including copies of every raven scroll." She passed the book over to him, tapping at a particular passage. "This was sent to Roose Bolton from the Twins, only a few days before we began the siege."

"'The Blackfish traitor has stolen Riverrun from us. In the name of fellowship among the new Lord Paramounts and the victors over House Stark, we ask for your aid in catching this damned fish and roasting him on a spit.'" Stannis set the book back on the table with the peculiar urge to wipe his hands clean. "Walder Frey was always a craven. Wanting everyone else to fight his battles for him."

"He didn't even have the courage to murder my brother himself," said Lady Stark, taking back the book and closing it with a snap. "Though I've been told it was his son who murdered my mother. A great warrior family, clearly. Plus he doesn't know it's 'Lords Paramount' and not 'Lord Paramounts.'"

Stannis had seen flares of temper from Lady Stark before (on any number of occasions), but the icy rage in her voice gave him pause. Not for the first time, he considered how very merciful she had been with him, in the end. A man responsible for his own brother's murder, when she herself had lost her brother to the very basest of treachery — what might she have done to him, if he'd been anyone other than the rightful king?

Even as he wondered, he knew that his titles had not been what had stayed her hand in judgement. The Starks had never been particularly pragmatic, mostly to disastrous ends, and for all her intelligence Sansa seemed to have inherited a fair helping of the Tully pig-headedness on top of the Stark romanticism. King Stannis would have had no better luck against her judgement than Lord Stannis or Ser Stannis or even Goodman Stannis; it had been for some other reason she had spared him. He wondered when the bill would come due, and if it would ever be in his capacity to pay it.

Lady Stark had continued on. "I haven't found any record of a message sent back to the Twins, but I doubt the Boltons sent one. Lord Bolton were never much for rousing himself for anyone else's interests, even before he betrayed my family. I sent a raven to House Mallister of Seaguard; he sided with Robb during the war, and the Mallisters have always been loyal to House Tully." This time she handed over a scroll, flattened out but still curling slightly at each end.

It was only a bit longer than Walder Frey's, and about as useful. Blackfish holds fast; they have supplies within to last two years or more, and the siege set by the Freys will not last half a season. Brynden has not called the banners of the Riverlands, for Lord Tully is still hostage to the Freys. But if Lady Stark should call, Mallister will answer.

"'If Lady Stark should call,'" he repeated wryly.

"Lord Mallister bounced my mother on his knee when she was a babe, Your Grace," she said, equally wry. "All the oaths of fealty in the world can't replace the bonds of family and friendship between the northern Houses, even those not in the North itself."

"So I am beginning to understand," he said, handing the scroll back. "So the Twins are undefended at present."

"Most likely — Lord Frey is still there, but the bulk of his army will be at Riverrun." She leaned forward. "I've spoken with Lord Royce; he swears to me that Lord Arryn will bend the knee if you lead the Knights of the Vale and your own army and take the Twins. From there, you'll be able to break the Frey's siege at Riverrun — you'll have both the Vale and the Riverlands in a matter of months."

It was a fine strategy, but Stannis couldn't help but feel vaguely offended by it. "Do you mean to tell me that because you refuse to bend the knee, or promise any of your own army to my cause, you've delivered the Knights of the Vale and a promise of House Arryn's fealty as a...consolation prize?"

Lady Stark shrugged. "I suppose so," she admitted. "But a prize, nonetheless. I've only known Lord Royce since I was a guest at the Eyrie, but he seems an honorable man."

"He's an able commander, which is more to the point," Stannis contradicted absently, frowning down at the desk as he mulled it over. Two thousand men was no very great sum — but the Knights of the Vale were one of the best cavalry forces in the kingdoms, for all that they rarely strayed outside their mountains. With the Knights, Stannis's army could divide and take each half of the Twins in a pincer. It would be over nearly before it began.

"Of course, how foolish of me to consider such petty things as honor," grumbled Lady Stark.

Stannis ignored that. "Which leaves the Iron Islands to deal with. Has Lord Greyjoy sent any word?" Even the honorific stuck in his craw. Balon Greyjoy, the only other "king" to survive the war. Stannis had regretted the man's existence ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Lady Stark shook her head. "Nothing. We've beaten back the last of the Ironborn holdouts, but I doubt they'll begrudge us that. My father always said the iron price never spent well. And they rightly blame the Boltons for whatever might have happened to Theon."

Which was still a mystery, so far as Stannis could tell. Theon Greyjoy had not been found among the dead at Winterfell, nor at the Dreadfort. If he'd escaped, there'd been no sightings reported. "No doubt you'll wish to execute him yourself, if he's found, but it would be better—"

"Execute Theon?" she said, her brow furrowing. "I — no. I don't wish that."

He leaned back in his seat. "You surprise me, my lady. I wouldn't have thought you squeamish after all this time." Perhaps that was his answer: she'd spared himself and Lady Brienne not out of principle but cowardice. In a way, it might be a relief: or at least it would be easier to understand.

She looked away. "Father did always say that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"That's not an answer. Your kindness does you credit, my lady, but if you show too much your people won't fear you. Which means they won't follow you, when the time comes." He'd said the same thing to her brother, more than a year ago when they'd argued over the fate of the wildlings and the drawbacks of mercy. The Lord Commander hadn't heeded the advice; was it a Stark family failing?

It must be, for Lady Stark sighed in frustration and said, "I don't want to be feared, Your Grace. And though you've failed to notice, I'm in no need of anyone following me anywhere. I'm staying—" She broke off and shook her head. "This always happens," she muttered, an odd smile tugging at her mouth.

He frowned. "What always happens?"

"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at the distance between them. "We can't go five minutes without arguing about something."

"That's not true." She sighed again and he reconsidered. "Perhaps if you didn't contradict everything I said."

"Perhaps if you had sisters, growing up," she countered. "My mother always said Arya and I were more trouble than all five of the boys put together." Her expression darkened and Stannis followed her thoughts — Theon had been one of those five boys. Raised alongside the rest of them, within these very walls.

"I thought you would want him dead," he admitted. "More than anyone else in the North."

She got to her feet and went over to the window, resting her arms on the sill as she looked out onto the courtyard. Stannis rose and joined her: down below were a dozen carts piled high with hay. All around them men and women were busy unloading the bales and stacking them up in a corner, where more workers took them away in a brisk line deeper into the Keep. Each cart was in the courtyard only a few minutes; when it was empty, the driver mounted up again and drove slowly out through the great gates, replaced by another cart yet more heavily laden. Supplies from the Northern Houses, to lay in for the oncoming winter.

"I don't want Theon dead," said Lady Stark after a long while observing in silence. He glanced over to her, but she was still looking down at the carts. "I don't want anyone dead, Stannis — there's been so much death. And more coming, if what Jon told you about the White Walkers is true."

She'd never called him by his name before; indeed she didn't seem aware she'd done it. "I believed him," he replied. "I still do. Your brother didn't seem the sort to make up stories."

"He always was honest to a fault," she said, turning to look at him at last. Her blue eyes were bright — tears, unshed. "I wish he'd come with you."

So did he, he realized. Not for his skill in battle or his perception or bravery: but only so his sister would not look so devastated at his loss. "He took an oath to the Night's Watch," he said, cursing at himself for his clumsy words even as he did so.

"I know that," she huffed. "Five minutes without arguing, is that really so difficult?"

"Evidently," he conceded, and she laughed. A watery sound, and she pressed the heels of her hand to her eyes quickly as she turned back toward the table, but laughter nonetheless.

#got: bitches get stuff done #game of thrones motherfuckers #I do love sansa accidentally endearing herself to stannis via being a bitch and also a fellow grammar pedant #what's that meme?#'whatever souls are made of yours and mine are the same stuff (derogatory)'#that's the vibe I get from these two assholes #anyway for reference this is post-regaining-winterfell #and post-stannis-and-brienne-being-dumb-and-sansa-yelling-at-them-a-lot #it's way after most everything else I've posted but I just finished this scene and was very proud of it #so as ever: you're welcome/I'm sorry

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boldstarks · 4 months

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The Unwanted Wife Blurb #1: First Son

word count: 1K pairing: young!Robert Baratheon x wife!reader, oc x reader (mentioned) warnings: pregnancy, brief mentions of sex and childbirth, emotional neglect of a spouse

Despite you being nine moons gone with a child, your husband, the king, had very little issue leaving with an entourage of his most favored cronies on a hunting trip in the Kingswood. You didn't even protest when he announced the trip to you. You simply went back to your reading. A few months earlier, you would have raged at his callousness, but you are too tired now. You didn't know if it was from the pregnancy or maybe you were finally numb to Robert's poor treatment.

You simply told him to behave sensibly and turned back to your reading. When he set out a day later, you watched him leave from the balcony of your chambers. Many ladies gathered in the courtyard to send off their husbands in the king's hunting entourage. You made the excuse of being much too heavy with the child to make it in a timely manner.

You watched the group of men atop their horses ride away, your husband at the head.

"Your Grace, I'm sure everything will be alright," one of your ladies' maids said.

She means to be comforting, but her words fill you with bitter contempt.

"I am not the only woman with a thoughtless boar for a husband, and I won't be the last," you say, watching the riding party disappear outside the Red Keep's walls.

The maid said nothing and began gathering the soiled sheets from your bed; they were tainted by sweat and Robert's seed. Your coupling the prior night had been angry, tinged with a foreign tenderness that Robert had only developed when your pregnancy had started to show.

You figured Robert's surrogate father and Hand, Jon Arryn, would keep you company. This was both a good and a bad thing, in your opinion. You were fond of the man himself, but not of his wife, Lysa Tully. It was a struggle to get along with the woman despite trying to be kind to her.

You tried to tell yourself that this was just like any other time. Robert was away and left you by yourself for days on end. But you knew deep down that you would give birth alone. The King had barely been gone a day when your labors began.

You spent nearly a full day in the birthing bed, writhing with agony, without a word from the hunting party or Robert. You cried nearly the entire time. You cried for home, for your mother, for your father, and mostly for your first love, Alyn, who had died fighting during Robert's Rebellion. Then, at dusk on the third day of his absence, your child was born.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle said, holding the newborn child aloft after he had slipped free from the birth canal.

The squalling infant is quickly cleaned by some septas before being swaddled and brought back to you.

The boy is small and red-faced, and he entered the world howling furiously. He only stops wailing when he is put on your chest. You find yourself smiling when you gently cradle his small head of damp black curls as his Baratheon blue eyes stare up at you. Look at your little boy and feel that spark of happiness in your chest that you hadn't felt since you received news of Alyn's death.

"His name shall be Alaric," you tell the Maester without looking away from your baby.

You knew Robert wanted to name his first son, Stefan, after his father, and he would most likely throw a fit because of it. But he forfeited his vote in the matter when he decided to run around the Kingswood rather than be there for the birth of his heir.

_____________

A day after you gave birth, the hunting party arrived back at the Red Keep. Robert found that you had not come to greet him, just as you could not be bothered by seeing him off either.

He stormed into the castle, rather annoyed at this perceived abandonment. He entered your chambers without bothering to knock and found you sleeping in bed.

Right as Robert is going to start yelling, you turn in your sleep, and it becomes obvious to him that you are no longer with the child. A pang of fear echoes through him until he hears a soft coo and finds a child beside your bed in a cradle. The baby had a head of black curls and blue eyes and was rather large. The child had wiggled out of his swaddle while you slept soundly and was waving his small fists about.

"Hello," Robert says. He's utterly captivated by the little life that he played a part in creating.

He reaches a large hand out to the child and softly pets the head of black curls. The child gurgles contently at the touch of its father.

"His name is Alaric," you said, breaking the king's trance.

"I should have been here," Robert says.

The man had the decency to look ashamed of himself. You nearly tell him it's okay, but you know it's far from okay for a father to miss the birth of his first trueborn child.

"Moving forward, things will need to change," you reply and sit up.

Robert finally looks you in the eye. He seems hesitant about your remark.

"I cannot live a life where my husband and I are constantly at each other's throats. I don't want our son to be raised by parents who can't stand each other," you say.

You look at your son in his cradle and can't help but smile at him.

"What are we to do about it?" Robert asks, still skeptical.

"We shall dine together three times a week, and I would like to share our chambers. In the North, it is custom that a husband and wife share bedchambers, and I believe it will bring us closer," you said.

Robert looks at your face; your eyes are shining with optimism. You truly were willing to learn how to love him. Why couldn't he grant you this one thing?

"Okay," he said.

You're silent for a moment, somewhat shocked that Robert didn't try to put up any sort of fight. Not knowing what else to say, you nod quickly.

You change the subject smoothly: "Would you like to hold your son?"

It's Robert's turn to nod like a fool now.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #Robert Baratheon x reader #oc x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #the unwanted wife #ryswell!reader #stark!reader #northern!reader #queen!reader #young Robert Baratheon x reader

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turtle-paced · 9 months

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If Ned had already been bethroted or married by the time that Brandon died, what do you think would've been Hoster's next move regarding Catelyn's marriage and, indirectly, the Rebellion? Could Catelyn be the one to marry Jon Arryn, perhaps even paired with a Lysa x Benjen match to secure Hoster's ties with House Stark? Or, if Ned was only bethroted and not yet married in this scenario, the desperation to keep Riverrun's support to Robert's cause could be enough to make him break his vows and marry Catelyn anyway?

If Ned's betrothed when the Rebellion kicks off, that betrothal almost certainly gets broken upon his unexpected promotion to Lord of Winterfell. The sort of betrothal he'd attract as a second son is not going to stand up to his current circumstances. He'd be apologetic about it, but I think everyone would understand that Ned needed the Tullys.

If Ned was married on the other hand...

In that case, I don't think Hoster tries to match Catelyn to Jon Arryn. He can do better than Jon Arryn for Catelyn (but not for Lysa, who is quote unquote "soiled"), and so I don't think he rushes to get her married off. With only a little bit more waiting... Robert's unmarried, Lyanna's safety is very much up in the air, and even should Lyanna be retrieved safely or Jon Arryn make the case for the Robert-Cersei match, Robert has an unmarried brother around Catelyn's age. He can try to marry Catelyn straight into the new royal family.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #catelyn stark #hoster tully #hypotheticals

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esther-dot · 7 months

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lysa wanted to marry sansa and robert arryn, does that debunk the ashford theory?

I haven't read the Hedge Knight so this isn't my thing, anon, but Martin has talked about how much he knows regarding the as yet to be written story, and it is a lot. Not only do we know of certain mysteries he's unraveling across the series (R+L=J), he's spoken about how he likes to have things readers will catch on rereads, so it makes sense to me that Martin knew Sansa had been betrothed to to Joffrey, would be marrying Tyrion, that he also knew her endgame romance, and that while writing the novella, he created a little nod to it. Aligning it completely doesn't need to be the goal, anymore than we would expect a carbon copy of pre canon events replaying in canon in any other scenario, but we certainly see the echos and references of pre canon in canon, and I have to think that's the case here.

Also, Sansa is about to be present at a tourney in TWOW, she's talking about her favor, there's this whole pre canon thing about a Stark girl and Targ at a tourney, so it doesn't feel weird to think maybe Sansa was on Martin's mind. And of course, in canon, Sansa is the maiden fair which is interesting when the Ashford girl is referred to as fair maid, and this idea of a revolving door of champions is very reminiscent of Sansa's unfortunate experiences thus far, with men who help her, fail her/hurt her, and then on to the next (the Hound, Tyrion, Dontos, LF...).

A potential match with Sweetrobin doesn't feel like an obstacle to everything that does make this feel like a thing, especially when, it is not merely the matching names that connect the two, it's the details that create all sorts of parallels with Jon, making him seem like the canon Targ this will ultimately be about. Let's revisit that revolving door of "champions" for Sansa, who is the guy who killed her monster in canon? 🤔 butterflies-dragons wrote a lengthy meta in 2021 about all of the Jon hints, and I find there's too much pointing to it all as quite intentional, even with a missing Robin.

Since I've been digging around in old posts and saw a bit of the evolution on this theory, I'll just point out, a lot of people were happy to consider this foreshadwoing for Sansa and Aegon, but the "Sansa is going North" fans rejected that, and it's funny that when people started to consider that her likely path, the theory had to be abandoned when, there's a Targ in the North too.

I'll go ahead and link to a several more posts I saw about it, in case anyone is interested. 2017 post (show verse), possible reference to it in GoT, and a 2018 meta that also considers Jon.

These two 2015 gifsets use the Ashford theory for the Sansa x Aegon pairing (1, 2), these two use Jon or Aegon (2016, 2018), and here's a Jonsa one.

There's also a Jonsa fic inspired by the theory, originally posted in 2016.

#jonsa #ashford theory #dot chat

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catofadifferentcolor · 8 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #68: GOT, but make it bastards and broken things

Sometimes I have terrible fic ideas. Sometimes terrible fic ideas have me - such as this one, which crawled into my head the other day and has yet to let go. Mainly: what if Game of Thrones leaned into the cripples, bastards, and broken things motif?

Or: What if Tyrion Lannister and f!Jon Snow formed a marriage of convenience?

Aka: The Red Queen Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything happens as per canon, with two exceptions: 1) Lyanna Stark dies giving birth to a daughter whose "beauty matured as she grew older, and its was said that she was more beautiful at age seventy than at age seventeen" [x], who Ned named Rowena after Jon Arryn's second wife; and 2) The Greyjoy Rebellion takes place immediately before Robert heads north.

Things go slightly differently in the Greyjoy Rebellion. Everyone is a little older, reflexes are a little slower, and everyone has been on peacetime footing for just that much longer. Tywin Lannister dies in the fighting, with the Lord Paramountcy of the Westerlands falling to Tyrion. Theon Greyjoy dies alongside his brothers; his sister becomes Ned's ward instead.

Meanwhile, Jon Arryn has died of apparent old age back in King's Landing, so Robert choses to ride from war in the west straight to Winterfell, so Ned can wrap up a few things before being dragged back to the capitol as Hand. Tyrion is dragged along.

While there, Tyrion encounters awkward, angular, but strangely charismatic Rowena Snow in the library. They do not expect to hit it off, but they do, finding a genuine friendship and understanding in each other. It is not love, but it is enough.

As Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Tyrion needs a bride - and he was already turned down by most of the eligible families of rank while he was still heir. So rather than trod a well-known path, he proposes marriage to Rowena, who is at least tolerable and believed to be the bastard of Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne.

Rowena, realizing it's the best offer she'll ever get, agrees, and eventually convinces Ned to do so as well. After all, there's nothing a Lannister protects more fiercely than another lion.

Canon continues apace. Ned loses his head, war is declared, and Cersei can make very few open moves against her sister-in-law - who is, after all, a Lannister now - or Sansa - a hostage, yes, but under Rowena's protection. The latter still isn't having a good time, but at least she's not being beaten in open court. (Eventually Rowena does manage to get Sansa married off to Willas Tyrell, securing the Reach and her sister's safety.)

The Red Wedding happens, though it is planned entirely by the Freys and Cersei herself, who thinks Tyrion is too weak to do what must be done. No one is pleased.

The Purple Wedding happens. Tyrion and Rowena manage to avoid suspicion by missing the event entirely, the latter being confined to childbed as she labored with their first child, Joanna - though Cersei still tries to point fingers at them anyway. Few believe her.

Cersei's actions grow wilder while Tommen is king... to the point where Rowena and Tyrion realize if they don't act soon riots and revolts will act for them. So they stage a palace coup.

Tyrion, in addition to being Hand of the King, is Regent after the coup. He sits in the small council in the first of these roles and has Rowena sit in his place for the second. They manage to stabilize most of mainland Westeros - Tyrion strengthens ties with Dorne, despite the suspicious death of his niece; Rowena heads to the Vale, replaces Lysa Arryn and Littlefinger with Bronze Yohn, and sends Robert Arryn to be fostered with Sansa and Willas; forces loyal to Tyrion liberate Edmure Tully from the Twins and install him back in Riverrun - but the North and Iron Islands are still a mess when winter descends.

Margery dies of a winter sickness. Tommen goes mad with grief. He kills himself soon after... and Tyrion, his regent, is left as King of Westeros.

It should be a recipe for more revolts and uprisings - after all, it was bad enough a dwarf married to a bastard was Regent, let alone Hand of the King - but Westeros is tired of war. It's now the middle of the longest winter ever recorded, and rather than hoard food Tyrion does his best to distribute it evenly throughout the country. He makes concessions. He rules, allows widows and heiresses and young children to keep control of family estates, fills empty castles with good men rather than cronies, and generally acts like a decent king. It's a nice change of pace for a country so familiar with Targaryen drama.

Eventually word comes spilling out of the war-torn North about the Others. Rowena, being the fighter of the new royal couple, leads a force north and eventually defeats them, less through individual martial prowess than decent leadership and fresh troops

When Dany arrives after winter is over to stake her claim, few wish to join her. She harries Westeros from the Stepstones for a few years, but when she dies under suspicious circumstances - probably an assassination, but she had so many enemies at that point no one can say which got to her - her dragons take up residence on Dragonstone of their own accord, seemingly giving their allegiance to the new dynasty.

Bonuses include: 1) Later historians endlessly debating whether or not Tyrion was the bastard son of the Mad King. The evidence should be circumstantial but convincing and include his children's appearance. A few will try claiming Rowena was the daughter of a dragonseed - maybe even Rhaegar himself - but are less well received; 2) Rowena gaining her moniker Red Queen from her habit of wearing primarily Lannister Red after her marriage - and for occasionally becoming drenched in the blood of her enemies, as when removing Littlefinger from power in the Eyrie; 3) Tyrion and Rowena's marriage being one primarily of friendship. It should take at least a year - possibly closer to three - for them to feel genuine romantic love for each other. It should, however, be the ideal medieval noble marriage, filled with fondness and respect, even from the beginning; and 4) Cersei fading away into obscurity. She's never outright harmed or neglected or even strictly imprisoned, she merely retires to a strict motherhouse from which escape is unlikely if not impossible and fades from history. Her name, for all it is connected for four kings by blood and marriage, is largely forgotten by even those familiar with the time period in favor of Robert's first love, Lyanna, and Tyrion's reserved but unendlessly capable queen, Rowena.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow #female jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #tyrion lannister #house stark #house lannister #house targaryen #marriage of convenience

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atopvisenyashill · 6 days

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If asoiaf characters were to take a drivers test who would pass? Who would fail? And who would end up in jail for breaking so many traffic laws and also maybe running over someone?

who passes?

arya but she has so many tickets

nedcat both get perfect scores

brienne drives renly, loras, jaime, and pod around everywhere

robert, but only barely. he is known for being an angry driver, he’s gotten several tickets, and he sticks to a personal driver at jon arryn’s suggestion

oberyn - he actually has a class a license not for a job but bc he was bored

davos - he’s a smuggler, he’s got all sorts of licenses and most of them are legit

olenna has to retake the test every year bc she’s so old and she bitches CONSTANTLY about this

stannis is the only baratheon with a still valid license. he will NOT drive those freeloaders anyway, even if they’re going to the same place, he makes them call a car bc he doesn’t understand how they keep failing or getting their license suspended.

who fails?

lysa fails the written portion by like one question three times but gets the driving test in one go

edmure fails so many times blackfish buys him a bus pass for his birthday as a joke. jokes on him tho bc edmure has a million friends willing to give him a ride

renly is incapable of passing the written portion no matter how hard he tries. no one points out it’s so weird to be a lawyer and not understand road law

theon gets his license revoked constantly for drunk driving no matter how many times robb offers to pick him up when he’s drunk. he has been through several programs, he thinks they’re all goofy and claims he does not have a drinking problem

who gets arrested for vehicular murder?

aemond

euron

criston clearly goes to trial but gets off lol

joffrey, obviously, and he doesn’t have a license either

daemon did get arrested but he was found not guilty on all charges even tho everyone knows he did that shit and it was on purpose

gregor clegane but only after four trials for four separate incidents where he was acquitted

obara, but it Was genuinely an accident she’s just a speed racer. doran will Not let her drive if they have to carpool for family functions, his family is Banned from letting her drive, however nymeria Will let her drive if they’re together

where is x?

daemon’s license was revoked bc he refuses to pay child support because he lives with his two baby mamas, they’re just not married. laena has tried to get him to hire a lawyer to get it straightened out but it’s the principle of the thing, he refuses

none of the lannisters have drivers licenses, they’re too rich, they have personal drivers. jaime didn’t care enough, cersei thinks the test is beneath her, tyrion thinks it’s funnier to be a nuisance to everyone around him hitching rides. well - myrcella DOES have a license actually but she hasn’t told anyone in her family except tyrion bc she doesn’t want to have to give rides. she does not consider tyrion a nuisance, she will drive him anywhere.

i just feel like dany has never had to drive a car in her life. she is [modern day version of her storyline. some sort of refugee? idk] so she didn’t have Access to a car, then all of a sudden had a personal driver, so it’s never even been a thought in her mind. she does Not care either, like by the time she has the freedom to learn, she’s busy!! she’s smart enough, she Would pass it, but she just doesn’t have the time to learn

#asks #anons

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goodqueenaly · 11 months

Note

Hi! Thank you so much for your response! I have a follow up question though. How do you think the succession would play out if Catelyn and Lysa had only one son apiece? Would the lords be fine with their lord paramount also ruling another vast region? Brynden Tully is unmarried, and has no heirs, so would they look to an extended cousin with Tully blood? Also, would Catelyn and Lysa be okay with this, and would they be able to do something? After all Jon Arryn was the King’s Hand.

I think it would’ve been a very uncertain situation with a number of possible outcomes. While I doubt anyone (even Catelyn and Lysa) would have seriously accepted or pushed for Riverrun coming under the purview of Winterfell or the Eyrie, it’s possible that the heir would have been acknowledged as an eventual second son of Robb Stark or Robert Arryn. This plan might have appeared similar to Edward VI’s original vision for his succession - where his chosen successor would have been the eventual son of one of his Grey cousins, with their mother Frances Brandon taking over as governess of England until one was born - and may have also echoed shades of the Pact of Ice and Fire - where the Starks and the black faction agreed to a marriage between Rickon Stark and a princess who did not then exist, from a couple not then (or ever) married. At the same time, this would have been an obviously chancy prospect: no one could say if and when Robb or Robert would have had a second son, and even in a best case scenario it would have been years before an infant could be proclaimed Lord of Riverrun.

So it’s possible Brynden Tully would have been put forward as the successor instead. As an adult, male Tully and brother of the last lord, he would have made an obvious choice as successor, able to take and exercise power immediately (especially in a patriarchal world). However, Brynden had infamously refused a dynastic marriage even when commanded by his lordly brother, and there would have been no guarantee that, now lord in his own right, Brynden would have been any more amenable to such a political union - and if Brynden refused to marry and father heirs, then the Tully succession would have been no more secure after the current generation.

So it’s also possible that the successor would have been a more distant Tully cousin (to the extent one would have existed, which is completely unclear). Just as during the period of Gardener kings, Mern VI Gardener had, though a second cousin, been acclaimed in order to put an end to a civil war between rival factions supporting Garth X’s daughters, so perhaps the crown would have thought that it would have been better to avoid the drawbacks of Catelyn, Lysa, and Brynden altogether in favor of a less complicated Tully heir. Again, whether or not such a Tully heir would have existed is an unanswerable question, as is whether this person would have been a capable lord (because I assume the crown would have looked for a male heir - again, patriarchy).

#asoiaf meta #succession #alternate universe #house tully

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istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A FEAST FOR CROWS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part I)

Get in loser, it's foreshadowing time.

AFFC Part I: UNDER THE CUT

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Bowels of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Younger and More Beautiful Cersei

AFFC PART II: CLICK

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

Squid Game

AFFC PART III: CLICK

Chapter Transitions

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II

ASOS Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II / PART III / PART IV

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

SANSA STARK, QUEEN IN THE NORTH

The lady of the house has duties to perform.

"In the game of thrones, even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Sometimes they refuse to make the moves you've planned for them. Mark that well, Alayne. It's a lesson that Cersei Lannister still has yet to learn. Now, don't you have some duties to perform?"

She did indeed. She saw to the mulling of the wine first, found a suitable wheel of sharp white cheese, and commanded the cook to bake bread enough for twenty, in case the Lords Declarant brought more men than expected.

[...]

The solar next. Its floor was covered by a Myrish carpet, so there was no need to lay down rushes. Alayne asked two serving men to erect the trestle table and bring up eight of the heavy oak-and-leather chairs. For a feast she would have placed one at the head of the table, one at the foot, and three along each side, but this was no feast. She had the men arrange six chairs on one side of the table, two on the other.

[...]

It might be that the lords would talk late into the night. They would need fresh candles. After Maddy laid the fire, she sent her down to find the scented beeswax candles Lord Waxley had given Lady Lysa when he sought to win her hand. Then she visited the kitchens once again, to make certain of the wine and bread. All seemed well in hand, and there was still time enough for her to bathe and wash her hair and change.

[...]

Alayne met them in the Crescent Chamber beside a warming fire, where she welcomed them in Lord Robert's name and served them bread and cheese and cups of hot mulled wine in silver cups.

Petyr had given her a roll of arms to study, so she knew their heraldry if not their faces. - Alayne I, AFFC

"Then he has none to throw at me. Isn't there some work you should be doing? And you, Maddy . . . are all the windows closed and shuttered? Have all the furnishings been covered?"

"All of them, m'lady," said Maddy.

"Best make certain of it." - Alayne II, AFFC

"Lord Robert is feeling stronger," Alayne told the serving women. "Fetch hot water for his bath, but see you don't scald him. And do not pull on his hair when you brush out the tangles, he hates that." One of the squires sniggered, until she said, "Terrance, lay out his lordship's riding clothes and his warmest cloak. Gyles, you may clean up that broken chamber pot." - Alayne II, AFFC

Petyr Baelish was clear across the Vale, though, attending Lord Lyonel Corbray at his wedding.

[...]

Alayne understood all that well enough, but it meant that the burden of getting Sweetrobin safely down the mountain fell on her. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

JON SNOW, KING IN THE NORTH

Are you sure?

Mance's blood is no more royal than mine own. He has never worn a crown nor sat a throne. He's a brigand, nothing more. There's no power in brigand's blood. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Jon's acting like a king.

Lord Janos would have sent Snow ranging naked on a mule. 'Scamper on up to Craster's Keep,' he would have said, 'and fetch me back the Old Bear's cloak and boots.' We saved him from that, but now he has too many duties to drink a cup of mulled wine by the fire?"

Grenn agreed. "His duties don't keep him from the yard. More days than not, he's out there fighting someone."

[...]

Jon, he'd said, but Jon was gone. It was Lord Snow who faced him now, grey eyes as hard as ice. "You have no father," said Lord Snow. - Samwell I, AFFC

Only Robb and baby Rickon were still here, and Robb was changed. He was Robb the Lord now, or trying to be. He wore a real sword and never smiled. His days were spent drilling the guard and practicing his swordplay, making the yard ring with the sound of steel as Bran watched forlornly from his window. At night he closeted himself with Maester Luwin, talking or going over account books. Sometimes he would ride out with Hallis Mollen and be gone for days at a time, visiting distant holdfasts. Whenever he was away more than a day, Rickon would cry and ask Bran if Robb was ever coming back. Even when he was home at Winterfell, Robb the Lord seemed to have more time for Hallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy than he ever did for his brothers. - Bran IV, AGOT

+.+.+

Many monarchs are implicated, so we'll put it everywhere.

Should Jon fear his black brothers?

On the morning after the battle, the crows had feasted on victors and vanquished alike, as once they had feasted on Rhaegar Targaryen after the Trident. How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king? - Jaime VI, AFFC

+.+.+

Sounds like a steward with royal blood.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Did you know the Darklyns were kings in Duskendale before the Andals come? You'd never know t'look at me, but I got me royal blood. Can you see it? 'Your Grace, another cup of ale,' I ought to make them say. 'Your Grace, the chamber pot needs emptying, and fetch in some fresh faggots, Your Bloody Grace, the fire's going out.'" She laughed again and shook the last drops from the pail. - Brienne II, AFFC

"There is no shame in being a steward," Sam said.

"Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man's smallclothes?" - Jon VI, AGOT

+.+.+

Looks can be deceiving.

"Looking for mermaids, Slayer?" asked Dareon when he saw Sam staring off across the bay. Fair-haired and hazel-eyed, the handsome young singer out of Eastwatch looked more like some dark prince than a black brother. - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Sworn to protect the realm.

"The Iron Throne must defend the Faith," growled a hulking lout with a seven-pointed star painted on his brow. "A king who does not protect his people is no king at all." - Cersei VI, AFFC

+.+.+

JON (AEMON?) SNOW

Sounds familiar.

"He was a good man," he began . . . but as soon as he had said the words he knew that they were wrong. "No. He was a great man. A maester of the Citadel, chained and sworn, and Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch, ever faithful. When he was born they named him for a hero who had died too young, but though he lived a long long time, his own life was no less heroic. No man was wiser, or gentler, or kinder. At the Wall, a dozen lords commander came and went during his years of service, but he was always there to counsel them. He counseled kings as well. He could have been a king himself, but when they offered him the crown he told them they should give it to his younger brother. How many men would do that?" Sam felt the tears welling in his eyes, and knew he could not go on much longer. "He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out. He was Aemon Targaryen. And now his watch is ended." - Samwell IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Little Aemon Steelsong (he has a song!) with the royal blood will be passed off as a bastard.

Thank you, @sherlokiness!

"Maester is not a name. You could call him Aemon, though."

Gilly thought about that. "Dalla brought him forth during battle, as the swords sang all around her. That should be his name. Aemon Battleborn. Aemon Steelsong." - Samwell IV, AFFC

"I do," said Sam, "but I could lie in a letter. I'm better with a quill in hand. I had a . . . a thought. When things are more settled here, I thought maybe the best thing for Gilly . . . I thought I might send her to Horn Hill. To my mother and sisters and my . . . my f-f-father. If Gilly were to say the babe was m-mine . . ." He was blushing again. "My mother would want him, I know. She would find some place for Gilly, some kind of service, it wouldn't be as hard as serving Craster. And Lord R-Randyll, he . . . he would never say so, but he might be pleased to believe I got a bastard on some wildling girl. At least it would prove I was man enough to lie with a woman and father a child. He told me once that I was sure to die a maiden, that no woman would ever . . . you know . . . Jon, if I did this, wrote this lie . . . would that be a good thing? The life the boy would have . . ."

"Growing up a bastard in his grandfather's castle?" Jon shrugged. "That depends in great part on your father, and what sort of boy this is. If he takes after you . . ." - Samwell IV, ASOS

+.+.+

AHOY MATEY! ARYA STARK SAILS THE OCEAN BLUE

Did Princess Nymeria do anything other than sail on ships? It's hard to tell.

There were two seats on the dais, near twin to one another, save that one had the Martell spear inlaid in gold upon its back, whilst the other bore the blazing Rhoynish sun that had flown from the masts of Nymeria's ships when first they came to Dorne. - The Captain of the Guards, AFFC

He rolled off of her to sprawl staring at the ceiling. A great crack ran across it, from one wall to the other. He had not noticed that before, no more than he had noticed the picture on the tapestry, a scene of Nymeria and her ten thousand ships. - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

She leaned her back against a fluted pillar and wondered if her brother was looking at the same stars tonight, wherever he might be. Do you see the white one, Quentyn? That is Nymeria's star, burning bright, and that milky band behind her, those are ten thousand ships. She burned as bright as any man, and so shall I. - The Queenmaker, AFFC

We are in part, Your Grace. Nymeria's blood is in me, along with that of Mors Martell, the Dornish lord she married. On the day they wed, Nymeria fired her ships, so her people would understand that there could be no going back. Most were glad to see those flames, for their voyagings had been long and terrible before they came to Dorne, and many and more had been lost to storm, disease, and slavery. - The Queenmaker, AFFC

Arianne would have given much and more for a copy of Ten Thousand Ships or The Loves of Queen Nymeria, anything to occupy her thoughts and let her escape her tower for an hour or two, but such amusements were denied her. - The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

+.+.+

We could be like Nymeria, and sail beyond the Sunset Sea.

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. "Make me your king, and I shall lead you there," he cried. "We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen." - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

The ship has a name.

"Just so. Your father was oarmaster on a galley. When your mother died, he took you off to sea with him. Then he died as well, and his captain had no use for you, so he put you off the ship in Braavos. And what was the name of the ship?"

"Nymeria," she said at once. - Arya II, AFC

+.+.+

Arya dreams of home while on a ship.

His father was shouting orders. Sailors scrambled up and down the three tall masts and moved along the rigging, reefing the heavy purple sails. Below, oarsmen heaved and strained over two great banks of oars. The decks tilted, creaking, as the galleas Titan's Daughter heeled to starboard and began to come about.

The star of home. Arya stood at the prow, one hand resting on the gilded figurehead, a maiden with a bowl of fruit. For half a heartbeat she let herself pretend that it was her home ahead. - Arya I, AFFC

+.+.+

Like any other person who seeks adventure.

Arya never seemed to find the places she set out to reach. - Arya I, AFFC

+.+.+

Arya prefers the boat.

She had crossed the narrow sea to get here, but if the captain had asked she would have told him she wanted to stay aboard the Titan's Daughter. Salty was too small to man an oar, she knew that now, but she could learn to splice ropes and reef the sails and steer a course across the great salt seas. Denyo had taken her up to the crow's nest once, and she hadn't been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat. - Arya I, AFFC

+.+.+

Arya likes the sailors and harbors best of all.

Only Braavosi were permitted use of the Purple Harbor, from the Drowned Town and the Sealord's Palace; ships from her sister cities and the rest of the wide world had to use the Ragman's Harbor, a poorer, rougher, dirtier port than the Purple. It was noisier as well, as sailors and traders from half a hundred lands crowded its wharves and alleys, mingling with those who served and preyed on them. Cat liked it best of any place in Braavos. She liked the noise and the strange smells, and seeing what ships had come in on the evening tide and what ships had departed. She liked the sailors too; the boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed whiskers; the fair-haired Lyseni, always trying to niggle down her prices; the squat, hairy sailors from the Port of Ibben, growling curses in low, raspy voices. Her favorites were the Summer Islanders, with their skins as smooth and dark as teak. They wore feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow, and the tall masts and white sails of their swan ships were magnificent. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

+.+.+

No matter where she goes, Arya always comes back to the harbor.

Some days she rolled her barrow past the towers of the mighty to offer baked clams to the guardsmen at their gates. Once she cried her catch on the steps of the Palace of Truth

[...]

Customs officers from the Chequy Port would buy from her, and paddlers from the Drowned Town

[...]

One time, when Brea took to her bed with her moon blood, Cat had pushed her barrow to the Purple Harbor

[...]

Other days she followed the sweetwater river to the Moon Pool.

[...]

But she always returned to the Ragman's Harbor. – Cat of the Canals, AFFC

+.+.+

A young man hurts his hand, and has to become an oarsmen. I don't want to get into it, so you'll have to trust me that the Arya is strong on this one.

"You come work with me, Cat," urged Tagganaro as he was sucking mussels from their shells. He had been looking for a new partner ever since the Drunken Daughter put her knife through Little Narbo's hand. "I give you more than Brusco, and you would not smell like fish."

"Casso likes the way I smell," she said. The King of Seals barked, as if to agree. "Is Narbo's hand no better?"

"Three fingers do not bend," complained Tagganaro, between mussels. "What good is a cutpurse who cannot use his fingers? Narbo was good at picking pockets, not so good at picking whores."

"Merry says the same." Cat was sad. She liked Little Narbo, even if he was a thief. "What will he do?"

"Pull an oar, he says. Two fingers are enough for that, he thinks, and the Sealord's always looking for more oarsmen. I tell him, 'Narbo, no. That sea is colder than a maiden and crueler than a whore. Better you should cut off the hand, and beg.' Casso knows I am right. Don't you, Casso?"

The seal barked, and Cat had to smile. She tossed another cockle his way before she went off on her own. - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

+.+.+

BRAN THE BROKEN, KING OF WESTEROS

I bet they trade places.

"A letter to King Tommen?"

"At Winterfell Tommen fought my brother Bran with wooden swords. He wore so much padding he looked like a stuffed goose. Bran knocked him to the ground." Jon went to the window. "Yet Bran's dead, and pudgy pink-faced Tommen is sitting on the Iron Throne, with a crown nestled amongst his golden curls." - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

The five year gab is abandoned, and the author immediately produces new history of a 10-year-old Stark chosen to rule.

"My lord, when I was looking through the annals I came on another boy commander. Four hundred years before the Conquest. Osric Stark was ten when he was chosen, but he served for sixty years. That's four, my lord. You're not even close to being the youngest ever chosen. You're fifth youngest, so far." - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

He meant to call a council.

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return." - Jaime I, AFFC

+.+.+

A man who sounds a bit like Bran tries to win an election.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

The Farwynds there were even queerer than the rest. Some said they were skinchangers, unholy creatures who could take on the forms of sea lions, walruses, even spotted whales, the wolves of the wild sea.

+.+.+

Many monarchs are implicated, so we'll put it everywhere.

(Three-eyed?) Crows are dining on kings.

+.+.+

Jaime Lannister slays kings, and makes kings.

"They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon." Jaime closed the White Book. "They called him Kingmaker." - Jaime II, AFFC

The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove.

Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him. - Bran II, AGOT

+.+.+

Crowns switched to bells, then passed to a cripple.

Jaehaerys and his queen slept there during their journeys, it is said. For a time the inn was known as the Two Crowns in their honor, until one innkeep built a bell tower, and changed it to the Bellringer Inn. Later it passed to a crippled knight named Long Jon Heddle, who took up ironworking when he grew too old to fight. - Brienne VII, AFFC

+.+.+

HIGH SEPTON RICKON?

An eight-year-old boy is selected as High Septon.

"After that one died, an eight-year-old boy was elevated, once more at King Baelor's urging. The boy worked miracles, His Grace declared, though even his little healing hands could not save Baelor during his final fast."

Lady Merryweather gave a laugh. "Eight years old? Perhaps my son could be High Septon. He is almost seven." - Cersei VI, AFFC

+.+.+

Any number of boys.

Cersei did not doubt that there were any number of boys who would do more honor to the crystal crown than the wretch on whom the Most Devout had chosen to bestow it. - Cersei VI, AFFC

+.+.+

Might not have to look too hard.

Are you a priest or a greengrocer? "And what might I do to make it . . . riper?" If he dares mention gold, I will deal with this one as I did the last and find a pious eight-year-old to wear the crystal crown. - Cersei VI, AFFC

+.+.+

PICK YOUR POISON: THE TWINS MEET THEIR END IN THE BOWELS OF CASTERLY ROCK . . . OR KING'S LANDING

You're going to need the original theory to make better sense of this.

If you want to read the theory in its entirety (including the new evidence below), click on the link. I strongly suggest this option.

If you're familiar with the theory and only want the AFFC additions, keep reading.

To summarize:

Jaime and Cersei will intentionally drink poison as a castle crumbles above them.

The valonqar prophecy.

The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei wakes from her valonqar nightmare choking in the same manner as Joffrey. . . when he drank poison.

The valonqar shall wrap his hands about your throat, the queen heard, but the voice did not belong to the old woman. The hands emerged from the mists of her dream and coiled around her neck; thick hands, and strong. Above them floated his face, leering down at her with his mismatched eyes. No, the queen tried to cry out, but the dwarf's fingers dug deep into her neck, choking off her protests. She kicked and screamed to no avail. Before long she was making the same sound her son had made, the terrible thin sucking sound that marked Joff's last breath on earth. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Like what?

Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy's curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. - Cersei V, AFFC

He touched one of the crystals lightly with the tip of his little finger. Such a small thing to hold the power of life and death. It was made from a certain plant that grew only on the islands of the Jade Sea, half a world away.

[...]

Cressen no longer recalled the name the Asshai'i gave the leaf, or the Lysene poisoners the crystal. In the Citadel, it was simply called the strangler. - Prologue, ACOK

+.+.+

The twins are dry, and need some wine.

It's ill luck not to eat the pie," he scolded as he filled his mouth with hot spiced pigeon. "See, it's good." Spitting out flakes of crust, he coughed and helped himself to another fistful. "Dry, though. Needs washing down." Joff took a swallow of wine and coughed again, more violently.

[...]

The boy's only thirteen. Joffrey was making a dry clacking noise, trying to speak. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

The little queen is making excuses for her brother. Cersei's mouth was dry. I need a cup of Arbor gold. - Cersei VII, AFFC

"I was just . . . remembering." Her throat was dry. "You are a good friend, Taena. I have not had a true friend in . . ." - Cersei VII, AFFC

"It was. I know it was." Cersei shuddered. "My throat is raw. Be a sweet and pour me some wine." - Cersei IX, AFFC

So passed the longest night that Cersei Lannister had ever known, save for the night of Joffrey's wedding. Her throat was so raw from shouting that she could hardly swallow. - Cersei X, AFFC

"I've sent him wine."

"Wine?" Brienne was lost. "Robb? Or . . . Theon Greyjoy?"

"The Kingslayer." The ploy had served her well with Cleos Frey. I hope you're thirsty, Jaime. I hope your throat is dry and tight. "I would like you to come with me." - Catelyn VII, ACOK

+.+.+

Ser Ilyn keeps mocking Jaime.

The boy's only thirteen. Joffrey was making a dry clacking noise, trying to speak. - Tyrion VIII, ASOS

Ser Ilyn opened his mouth and made a clacking sound. A laugh, Jaime realized. Something twisted in his gut. - Jaime III, AFFC

The pockmarks on Ser Ilyn's face were black holes in the torchlight, as dark as Jaime's soul. He made that clacking sound.

He is laughing at me, realized Jaime Lannister. - Jaime IV, AFFC

He made that clacking sound that might have been a laugh and drew his sword up Jaime's throat till the point came to rest between his lips. Only then did he step back and sheathe his steel. - Jaime V, AFFC

"If I keep at this for another year, I may be as good as Peck," Jaime declared, and Ser Ilyn made that clacking sound that meant he was amused. "Come, let's drink some more of Hoster Tully's good red wine." - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei's feeling tight.

It is blood I need, not water. Tyrion's blood, the blood of the valonqar. The torches spun around her. Cersei closed her eyes, and saw the dwarf grinning at her. No, she thought, no, I was almost rid of you. But his fingers had closed around her neck, and she could feel them beginning to tighten. - Cersei I, AFFC

Seated on her gold-and-crimson high seat beneath the Iron Throne, Cersei could feel a growing tightness in her neck. - Cersei VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei's going to have Jaime kill the younger and more beautiful queen.

Cersei is the younger and more beautiful queen. (Next section)

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime Lannister, The Kinslayer.

He never said he meant to kill our father. If he had, I would have stopped him. Then I would be the kinslayer, not him. - Jaime I, AFFC

The height of folly was reached when a plump fool came capering out in gold-painted tin with a cloth lion's head, and chased a dwarf around the tables, whacking him over the head with a bladder. Finally King Renly demanded to know why he was beating his brother. "Why, Your Grace, I'm the Kinslayer," the fool said.

"It's Kingslayer, fool of a fool," Renly said, and the hall rang with laughter. - Catelyn II, ACOK

+.+.+

A dragon's coming for the twins.

"The puppet lions grow greedy and arrogant as this treasonous tale proceeds, until they begin to devour their own subjects. When the noble stag makes objection, the lions devour him as well, and roar that it is their right as the mightiest of beasts."

"And is that the end of it?" Cersei asked, amused. Looked at in the right light, it could be seen as a salutary lesson.

"No, Your Grace. At the end a dragon hatches from an egg and devours all of the lions." The ending took the puppet show from simple insolence to treason. "Witless fools. Only cretins would hazard their heads upon a wooden dragon." - Cersei V, AFFC

+.+.+

But where will it happen: King's Landing or Casterly Rock?

King's Landing

Cersei's asking for a storm to rock the Red Keep.

"No one wants rain," said Cersei. For herself, she wanted sleet and ice, howling winds, thunder to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. She wanted a storm to match her rage. - Cersei III, AFFC

"Even if Tyrion were still hiding in the castle, he won't be in the Tower of the Hand. We've reduced it to a shell."

"Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle," said Cersei. - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

God forbid dragonfire enters into the equation.

Jaime ignored that. "If these flames spread beyond the tower, you may end up burning down the castle whether you mean to or not. Wildfire is treacherous." – Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei's front row seat.

The Tower of the Hand gave out a sudden groan, so loud that all the conversation stopped abruptly. Stone cracked and split, and part of the upper battlements fell away and landed with a crash that shook the hill, sending up a cloud of dust and smoke. As fresh air rushed in through the broken masonry, the fire surged upward. Green flames leapt into the sky and whirled around each other. Tommen shied away, till Margaery took his hand and said, "Look, the flames are dancing. Just as we did, my love."

"They are." His voice was filled with wonder. "Mother, look, they're dancing." - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Who's going to die beneath the Red Keep?

Unless my brother murdered Varys too, and left his corpse to rot beneath the castle. Down there, it might be years before his bones were found. - Jaime I, AFFC

Tyrion hung back a moment. Varys had already betrayed him once. Who knew what game the eunuch was playing? And what better place to murder a man than down in the darkness, in a place that no one knew existed? His body might never be found. - Tyrion XI, ASOS

+.+.+

A dragon has been waiting for Jaime beneath the Red Keep.

He remembered the sullen orange glow of the coals in the iron dragon's mouth. The brazier warmed a chamber at the bottom of a shaft where half a dozen tunnels met. On the floor he'd found a scuffed mosaic of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen done in tiles of black and red. I know you, Kingslayer, the beast seemed to be saying. I have been here all the time, waiting for you to come to me. And it seemed to Jaime that he knew that voice, the iron tones that had once belonged to Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone. - Jaime I, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime's going to have some problems if he's ever down there again.

Jaime had led a dozen guards below, with torches and ropes and lanterns. For hours they had groped through twisting passages, narrow crawl spaces, hidden doors, secret steps, and shafts that plunged down into utter blackness. Seldom had he felt so utterly a cripple. A man takes much for granted when he has two hands. Ladders, for an instance. Even crawling did not come easy; not for nought do they speak of hands and knees. Nor could he hold a torch and climb, as others could. - Jaime I, AFFC

+.+.+

Casterly Rock

Tywin's under the Rock. Is he asking for company?

Her brother was growing his beard again as well. The stubble covered his jaw and cheeks, and gave his face a rough, uncouth look. He might at least have waited till Father's bones were interred beneath the Rock. - Cersei II, AFFC

There were watery caverns deep below Casterly Rock, but this one was strange to him. "What place is this?"

"Your place." The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Lannisters since Lann the Clever, who'd lived at the dawn of days. But most of all it was his father's voice, and beside Lord Tywin stood his sister, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. - Jaime VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Cersei's place.

Her uncle was unmoved. "If you are resolved against another marriage, I will not force it on you. As to the other, though . . . you are the Lady of Casterly Rock now. Your place is there." - Cersei II, AFFC

+.+.+

Rolling thunder echoed off the Rock.

She was ten when she finally saw her prince in the flesh, at the tourney her lord father had thrown to welcome King Aerys to the west. Viewing stands had been raised beneath the walls of Lannisport, and the cheers of the smallfolk had echoed off Casterly Rock like rolling thunder. - Cersei V, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime practically asks for it.

Harrenhal had seen more horror in its three hundred years than Casterly Rock had witnessed in three thousand. - Jaime III, AFFC

+.+.+

Makes for a big target.

She's known no home but Harrenhal, he reflected. Every castle in the realm will seem small to her, except the Rock.

Josmyn Peckleton was saying the same thing. "You must not judge by Harrenhal. Black Harren built too big." - Jaime IV, AFFC

+.+.+

What will the queen do?

"This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock."

"That would be an even greater folly than burning the Tower of the Hand. So long as Tommen sits the Iron Throne, the realm sees him as the true king. Hide him under the Rock and he becomes just another claimant to the throne, no different than Stannis."

"I am aware of that," the queen said sharply. "I said that I wanted to move the court to Lannisport, not that I would. Were you always this slow, or did losing a hand make you stupid?" - Cersei's III, AFFC

+.+.+

YOUNGER AND MORE BEAUTIFUL CERSEI

Thank you for the theory, @agentrouka-blog!

The prophecy.

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

One more time.

The younger her.

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

While dreaming of her encounter with Maggy the Frog, Cersei frequently switches to third-person narration, giving the impression the girl is someone else.

She dreamt an old dream, of three girls in brown cloaks, a wattled crone, and a tent that smelled of death.

[...]

Cersei watched the girls huddling, whispering to one another. Go back, she tried to tell them. Turn away. There is nothing here for you. But though she moved her mouth, no words came out.

[...]

Lord Tywin's daughter was the first through the flap, with Melara close behind her.

[...]

Leave her be, the queen wanted to cry out. You little fools, never wake a sleeping sorceress. Without a tongue, she could only watch as the girl threw off her cloak, kicked the witch's bed, and said, "Wake up, we want our futures told."

[...]

The girl with the golden curls put her hands upon her hips. "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."

[...]

Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement.

[...]

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." Even then she would not stop, willful child as she was.

[...]

"What is a valonqar? Some monster?" The golden girl did not like that foretelling. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

One more time.

"Begone," she told the girls, in a croaking whisper.

"We came for a foretelling," young Cersei told her. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Are there two queens present?

"Here," she whispered, "give it here." When Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. The queen could still remember how queer and cold her mouth had been.

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."

Go, the dreaming queen thought, hold your tongue, and flee. But the girl did not have sense enough to be afraid. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

In the middle of the dream, we're told Maggy the Frog was young(er) and (more) beautiful when she arrived at Lannisport, but age and evil had left their marks on her.

Sounds familiar.

The old woman's eyes were yellow, and crusted all about with something vile. In Lannisport it was said that she had been young and beautiful when her husband had brought her back from the east with a load of spices, but age and evil had left their marks on her. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

"You are being foolish. I am only here to help you."

"To help me to my grave. I asked for you to leave. Will you make me call my gaolers and have you dragged away, you vile, scheming, evil bitch?"

Cersei gathered up her skirts and dignity. - Cersei X, AFFC

+.+.+

In a later chapter, Taena Merryweather reassures Cersei by telling her she was young(er) and (more) beautiful than the hateful Maggy.

Taena took her hand and stroked it. "This was a hateful woman, old and sick and ugly. You were young and beautiful, full of life and pride. She lived in Lannisport, you said, so she would have known of the dwarf and how he killed your lady mother. This creature dared not strike you, because of who you were, so she sought to wound you with her viper's tongue." - Cersei IX, AFFC

+.+.+

Immediately after waking from her dream, Cersei calls on old Pycelle. Younger Pycelle used to be a magnificent man, but the cells and razor ruined him.

Sounds familiar.

Pycelle had been old as far back as Cersei could remember, but there was a time when he had also been magnificent: richly clad, dignified, exquisitely courteous. His immense white beard had given him an air of wisdom. Tyrion had shaved his beard off, though, and what had grown back was pitiful, a few patchy tufts of thin, brittle hair that did little to hide the loose pink flesh beneath his sagging chin. This is no man, she thought, only the ruins of one. The black cells robbed him of whatever strength he had. That, and the Imp's razor.

"How old are you?" Cersei asked, abruptly.

"Four-and-eighty, if it please Your Grace."

"A younger man would please me more." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

She screamed and kicked and howled until her throat was raw, at the door and at the window. No one shouted back, nor came to rescue her. The cell began to darken. It was growing cold as well. Cersei began to shiver. How can they leave me like this, without so much as a fire? I am their queen. - Cersei X, AFFC

They brought lye soap, a basin of warm water, a pair of shears, and a long straightrazor. The sight of the steel sent a shiver through her. They mean to shave me. A little more humiliation, a raisin for my porridge. She would not give them the pleasure of hearing her beg. I am Cersei of House Lannister, a lion of the Rock, the rightful queen of these Seven Kingdoms, trueborn daughter of Tywin Lannister. And hair grows back. - Cersei II, ADWD

+.+.+

Another prophecy.

Cersei and Jaime will intentionally drink poison.

+.+.+

Cersei says she'll have her brother kill the younger and more beautiful queen. In other words, Cersei will have Jaime kill Cersei.

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei wakes from her valonqar nightmare choking in the same manner as Joffrey. . . when he drank poison.

+.+.+

Cersei fears the prophecy because Maggy foretold Melara's death, yet it was Cersei who chose to kill Melara that evening. Cersei's actions are making the prophecy come true.

Cersei did not want to hear that. "This maegi made certain prophecies. I laughed at them at first, but . . . she foretold the death of one of my bedmaids. At the time she made the prophecy, the girl was one-and-ten, healthy as a little horse and safe within the Rock. Yet she soon fell down a well and drowned." Melara had begged her never to speak of the things they heard that night in the maegi's tent. If we never talk about it we'll soon forget, and then it will be just a bad dream we had, Melara had said. Bad dreams never come true. The both of them had been so young, that had sounded almost wise. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

A young girl sat beneath a fountain, drenched in spray, and stared at her with Melara Hetherspoon's accusing eyes. - Cersei II, ADWD

+.+.+

Cersei is destroying herself.

"You would not believe half of what is happening in King's Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now . . . it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

The beginning of the end.

In her final chapter, Cersei is imprisoned, but not before claiming the younger and more beautiful queen is finished.

Maggy the Frog should have been in motley too, for all she knew about the morrow. Cersei prayed the old fraud was screaming down in hell. The younger queen whose coming she'd foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last. - Cersei X, AFFC

+.+.+

AFFC: Part II

Touch me.

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

Squid Game

+.+.+

#operation stumpy re-read #foreshadowing smorgasbord #affc summary #sansa stark #jon snow #bran stark #ship girl #rickon stark #house lannister #asoiaf

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j-morgan-fly · 1 year

Text

Colored version of Lysa and Robert from my fanfic The Snowbound Dragon on AO3.

Please check it out if you want to know how and why these two got together if you don’t know already.

#a song of ice and fire #lysa tully #robert baratheon #lysa x robert #asoiaf au #asoiaf fanart

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

Text

ASOS; Steel and Snow: 12 TYRION II (pages 161-172)

Tyrion visits Varys to arrange a date with Shae, then sics Bronn on a bard.

The eunuch was humming tunelessly to himself as he came through the door, dressed in flowing robes of peach-colored silk and smelling of lemons.

lemon(s) = 🥛

also I have just had the best mental image of Modern Day AU Varys as a Drag Queen. Probably runs a club with all the best gossip.

"I am full of surprises. Are you cross with me for abandoning you after the battle?" "It made me think of you as one of my family."

Ha! that is both a sick burn, and also really sad.

... damn. Maegor: 3 x Grand Maesters by Axe Aegon II: 1 x Grand Maester by Dragon Digestion

That "maesters wrecked the Targaryens actually" theory sounding more and more likely. Look at all this extra motive.

Bronn had turned up all he could on Ser mandon, but no doubt Varys knew a great deal more... should he choose to share it. "The man seems to have been quite friendless," Tyrion said carefully. "Sadly," said Varys, "oh, sadly. You might find some kin if you turned over enough stones back in the Vale, but here... Lord Arryn brought him to King's Landing and Robert gave him his white cloak, but neither loved him much, I fear. (...) Ser Barristan was once heard to say he had no friend but his sword and no life but duty... but you know, I do not think Selmy meant it altogether as praise.-"

OOOHHHH!!!! I just had a conspiracy theory.

Cersei didn't hire Moore to kill Tyrion, Moore was taking a chance to kill who he believed was responsible for Jon Arryn's death after getting news from the Vale from on old friend who still lives there re: the very rigged Trial and Lysa's (very loud and false) claims. Moore was taking the first opportunity for vengeance that he thought he could get away with.

What do you think? Feasible? Too much crack?

One day, I am going to come up with a conspiracy theory that contains so much pure crack, the cops will break down the door for a drug bust.

But also, given how this series uses perceptions and assumptions, even if we're in some one's POV, we don't always get the full story, but it is the best way to be sure someone actually did something for realsies.

... You know, I'm actually kind of surprised they let Lollys keep the foetus (or are forcing her to keep the foetus) to term. You'd think, given how they treat bastards and such, that they'd remove 'such a stain' before it became a problem.

(Or at the very least they wouldn't force a young woman who's been violated to carry a baby she never asked for. But then again this series does not care very much for the female members of the cast. The kind ongoing of trauma and dysphoria that is probably giving her, whether it looks that way or not in her current mental state...)

"To guard the king's life, you surrender your own. You give up your lands and titles, give up hope of marriage, children..." "House Tyrell continues through my brothers," Ser Loras said. "It is not necessary, for a third son to wed, or breed." "Not necessary, but some find it pleasant. What of love?" "When the sun has set, no candle can replace it."

D&D suck at their job = 🥛

I'm sorry, but can we just take a moment and appreciate the depth of Loras' grief? Like, I have no trouble believing Book!Loras loved Renly for real. Truly, honestly loved him first and foremost before he saw him as a pawn to get at the throne.

Show!Loras and Renly? I forgot they even fucked.

Loras being gay in the show felt like a background joke. "LoL, Sansa has a crush on a gay boy," or "LOL, Cersei is getting married to the gay boy."

Even between Loras and Renly, in the show, the first time we really saw them together, Loras was talking Renly into vying for the crown and Robert wasn't even dead yet. It was manipulation and titillation. Were they in love or was Loras just using him? Who knows, but after Renly died no one really cared, and I forgot they fucked, forgot Loras was even gay until it was shoved back in my face like a poor tasting joke.

Book!verse though? I can believe those two were in love, I can believe Loras is grieving that loss so quietly because he can't say what he's lost, what he feels, he can't express the depth of it and he has to listen to everyone around him belittle that affection and connection, and oh my gosh that poor boy.

A woman sidled into the light; plump, soft, matronly, with a round pink moon of a face and heavy dark curls. Tyrion recoiled. "Is something amiss?" she asked. Varys, he realized with annoyance.

Drag Queen!Varys is canon. Pry it from my cold dead hands. Just cross-dressing, I know, shhhh, let me have this.

"He's gone," Shae said. Tyrion turned to look. It was true. the eunuch had vanished, shirts and all. The hidden doors are here somewhere, they have to be.

You wanna bet they're under the giant stone slab of a bed? You know, that thing that our attention was directed to the last time he was talking about hidden doors?

(also, it made me think of that scene from the animated Secret Garden, with the secret door under the window seat when they were talking about it earlier, but it probably slides like that giant coffin door from... oh gish, what's the movie... it's going to come to me right as I'm drifting off to sleep. It's like an entire trope to be fair, "giant stone altar/coffin is actually a sliding door" so I'm probably thinking of several movies.)

Her cunt gave him a little squeeze, and he started to stiffen again inside her.

'cunt' = 🥛

... you know, the longer Shae talks about Lollys, the more I prefer Show!Shae to Book!Shae, just for the fact that the show version has some level of empathy for other people. I understand it's probably a coping mechanism for some kind of hidden backstory trauma (no one in this series is without), but damn the way book!Shae treats sexual assault is icky AF.

Then he made a round of the walls, tapping on each in turn, searching for the hidden door. Shae sat with her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, watching him. Finally she said, "They're under the bed. the secret steps." He looked at her, incredulous. "The bed? the bed is solid ston. It weighs half a ton." "There's a place where Varys pushes, and it floats right up. I asked him how, and he said it was magic." "Yes." Tyrion had to grin. "A counterweight spell."

Ha-ha! I was right... about the location. Not the door type, though. The magic in this series is so low key or background I tend to forget it's a thing.

This does explain how he got out of the room without being heard. half-ton stones are not quietly moved, even if they have mechanisms to help them.

!! Alayaya made it back to her mother's brothel! Phew, I was low key worried something had happened to her on the walk back. you know, after she was whipped and kicked out the Keep naked?

"There is a singer who calls himself Symon Silver Tongue," Tyrion said wearily, pushing his guilt aside. "He plays for Lady Tanda's daughter sometimes. "What of him?" Kill him, he might had said, but damn the man had done nothing but sing a few songs.

You'd think Bards would do better in life, what with being a Charisma class, but no, no one likes Bards here.

And fill Shae's head with thoughts of doves and dancing bears.

... well now I have "Once Upon a December" from Anastasia (1997) stuck in my head.

Dancing Bears Painted Wings Things I almost remember. And a song someone sings Once upon a December.

#a storm of swords #steel and snow #a song of ice and fire #tyrion lannister #a chapter a day reading #asos #asoiaf

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hauntedheroines · 3 months

Note

What are your ships in Game of thrones?

OT3 of unrequited love and tragedy (My most beloved love triangle)

Petyr x Catelyn

Petyr x Lysa

Daenerys

Dany x Jon (See more below)

Dany x Jorah (Unrequited love, unconditional loyalty and service)

Dany x Drogo

Jon

Jon x Dany (Specially with the possibility that she might turn dark)

Jon x Ygritte (Star crossed lovers of youth)

Jon x Arya (See more below)

Jaime

Jaime x Brienne (Love heals, slow burn)

Jaime x Cersei (Love is poison, codependent siblings, unholy couple)

OT3 of forbidden love and tragedy

Lyanna x Rhaegar (A love that started a war)

Lyanna x Robert (Unrequited love)

Rhaegar x Elia (Unrequited love)

It’s next generation

Arya x Jon (From his side, suspiciously over-protective brother; or a Rhaegar/Lyanna that loved each other platonically and didn’t disgraced themselves because of it)

Arya x Gendry (A Robert/Lyanna that worked out)

Other ships:

Arya x Jaqen (Unrequited lust from his side. Sorry, not sorry)

Sansa x Sandor (Books only)

#villain x heroine #unholy couple #asoiaf #Petyr x Catelyn #Daenerys x Jon #Brienne x Jaime #Cersei x Jaime #Sandor x Sansa #Jon x Ygritte #Arya x Jon #Lyanna x Rhaegar #Lyanna x Robert

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mkstrigidae · 2 years

Text

A Past Worth Having

Author: Honorificabilitudinitatibus, mkstrigidae Pairing: Jon Snow x Sansa Stark When the eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark is stolen from her bed as a child, the Westerosi media seize upon the investigation, dubbing it ‘the case of the century’. Several years later, tragedy strikes the family again, as Lysa Arryn vanishes into thin air with her son, Robert. Eighteen years after the Stark Kidnapping, WBI Special Agent Oberyn Martell- investigating the Arryn case- walks into a small coffee shop in Braavos, nearly tripping over his own feet when his order is taken by the girl whose face has been on every 'missing child' poster in Westeros for the last two decades. When Sansa discovers that she is the missing Stark child, she's suddenly and violently thrust into a media spotlight that she’s in no way prepared for. Amidst reuniting with a family she doesn’t remember and steeling herself to testify against the man who raised her, she meets Jon Snow. He isn’t family- not biologically at least- but he’s a calming presence in the storm that has become her life, and he might be the only person in the world who doesn’t expect anything of her. The one where Sansa Stark is discovered to be the Westerosi version of the Lindbergh baby, but things turn out better, if more complicated.

Read on Ao3: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

#jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #asoiaf fanfiction #got fanfiction #Sansa Stark #APWH #A Past Worth Having #Sansa Stark-Centric #Jon x Sansa #Jon x Sansa Fanfiction #my writing #it's shameless self-promotion weekend guys

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peterjakes · 1 year

Text

Theon x Sansa - ‘we learned our truth too late’ - Chapter 1

Theon Greyjoy is Ned Stark's ward. He's also an opportunity. For the Iron Fleet, for an alliance and for a son-in-law. Sansa and Theon have been promised to each other, much to their dismay. They are to marry and make their way to the Iron Islands. This seems a bad idea to everyone but Ned Stark. Regardless of their feelings, Theon and Sansa are bound by their duty to their houses. And maybe something more.

wanted to try something a little different!

I think the idea of theon wanting to be part of the stark family by marrying Sansa is quite interesting - obvs not for romantic reasons but I wanted to explore that

also interesting to see what would have happened if Robert had never came to Winterfell and the result of that

thanks for reading x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45896344/chapters/115515175

“She’s just a girl, Ned. Our girl.” Catelyn Stark was sitting at the table of her chambers, the one she shared with her husband. Her husband, Eddard Stark. Warden of the North. Father to her five children. Her Ned. Her husband had just suggested one of the most ludicrous things Catelyn could think of. Marry Sansa, her eldest daughter, to Theon Greyjoy. It just sounded ridiculous, even thinking about it.

Ned sighed, clearly foreseeing his wife’s argument and disagreement. “She’s sixteen, Cat. She won’t be a girl for much longer, no matter how much you want it.” This was always going to happen, one day. Sansa was going to marry someone. She would be betrothed to someone. Just as Cat was. Just as her sister Lysa was. It was part of their life.

“But…it could be anyone else. Why would you marry her off to a Greyjoy?” Catelyn clearly couldn’t think of anyone worse. The Greyjoy’s were a high-born family, it was true. But Catelyn had never trusted Balon Greyjoy, let alone his son. Theon had lived at Winterfell for many years, he’d almost become part of the furniture. But Catelyn always thought there was something not quite right about him. He didn’t belong.

Still watching his wife’s irritated expression, Ned moved to stand behind the opposing chair, allowing his hands to grip onto it. He could understand how she was feeling. It wasn’t as if he loved the idea, but it was a good one regardless. Betrothing his daughters to a high-born Lord was inevitable. Cat had known this. Ned had. Even Sansa. He had approached the situation with Arya, but that didn’t end too well. “Not any Greyjoy. Theon. We know Theon. He has lived here since he was a boy.”

Maybe Theon wouldn’t have been Ned’s first choice for Sansa, certainly wouldn’t be his wife’s, but it made sense. The North needed alliances, particularly with non-Northern houses. Theon had lived in Winterfell for over half of his life, in a way, he was more Northern than he was not, though Ned was not going to announce that to anyone.

“You should never trust a Greyjoy.”

“Cat.” The stubbornness of his wife never seemed to end, but that didn’t seem to change the way Ned felt about her. She loved her family, more than anything. Loved her children. Loved her daughters. Loved Sansa. Ned understood, he did. But it had to be done.

“Ned!” Catelyn slammed her hand down onto the table, making her husband flinch. His wife may be Lady of Winterfell, but she was a Tully, through and through. Sighing to herself, realising she wasn’t going to win this one, Catelyn retracted her hand and placed it onto her lap. “There’s no point arguing, is there?”

“She’s my girl, too. My first girl. I love her more than life itself. But,” Moving himself around the table so he was only inches away from Catelyn, Ned placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder, to watch her lean herself onto him, feeling the touch of his rough hands on her cheek. “It has to be done.”

“Ned…” Catelyn almost whispered this, as if she had just wanted Ned to hear her words. She wasn’t happy, that was true enough, but he was her husband and she trusted him. Even if she didn’t trust Theon Greyjoy.

“I promise you; it will be alright. I will.”

Theon, still unaware of what Ned Stark had planned for him, was sparring with Robb in the courtyard. This was a weekly occurrence, though it was something that Theon knew he wasn’t terribly skilled at. He knew this and was sure Robb did. Robb seemed to take pride in the fact he was better than Theon. It was true that Theon would often boast of his archery skills, telling the tall tales of how he could shoot a man over 50 metres away. But they were not using a bow and arrow, they were using swords. Wooden ones where usually what Ser Rodrik would allow them to use, particularly growing up. But they were not young boys anymore, young men were more appropriate.

But Robb was far more skilled with the sword that Theon would ever be. Theon had accepted this, though would never openly admit this to the eldest Stark boy. Ironborn were known for their archery skills, which gave Theon a link to his birthplace. Growing up in Winterfell meant many of these connections or link to the Iron Islands seemed to be lost. Theon was Ironborn, he was born there, grew up there for a while but he lived in the North, dressed like a Northerner, even spoke like one. It seemed Theon didn’t belong to either, he was just floating between the two. This was certainly not something Theon would ever admit, not even to Robb.

Theon didn’t see why they still had to practice now. Robb was as skilled as he ever would be. And Theon wasn’t going to win any prizes, but he’d accepted that. It was true that Theon could enjoy it at times, but today was not one of those times. He kept losing his footing, couldn’t swing his sword the way he wanted, and it almost looked as if he was letting Robb get him at any opportunity he had. Something felt off. But Theon wasn’t quite sure why.

Robb had noticed this but made sure to take advantage of his opponent's weakness, as he so often did. “Come on, won’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Oh, I won’t, don’t you worry your pretty head.”

“Calling me pretty? How sweet.”

“Stop. Trying. To. Distract. Me.” Through gritted teeth, Theon finally managed to hit Robb in his upper arm, though you wouldn’t have noticed. Robb carried on, as if he hadn’t felt the hit. Theon wouldn’t be surprised if it was actually the case. Robb’s arms had grown in the past few months, no longer stood the scrawny boy, yet the strong, broad man. Theon’s muscles were also non-existent compared to Robb. He couldn’t help himself sometimes, he would often look at Robb and then himself, seeing how the two compared. It was a habit of Theon’s, one he seemed to be doing more regularly now.

“No girl waiting for you back home? Surely, you should keep your compliments for her?”

“Piss off, Stark. No girl.”

“No, that’s good. You can leave them all to me.”

“Oh, no, the second I call, they’ll come.”

“Unlikely!” Robb shouted out, getting a quick hit at Theon’s side. He grinned, obviously pleased with his performance.

“You’re in for a shock, my boy.” Ser Rodrik was watching the two, as he often would. Clearly something was amusing him, but Theon couldn’t see what. Chuckling away to himself, Ser Rodrik backed away from the two boys, still keeping an eye on the two. There was something about the way he looked at Theon. And Theon didn’t like it. He couldn’t focus properly after that, every time he swung the sword he was holding, it just seemed to slip out of his hands. Robb nearly took his arm off when he called a time-out, having enough of it.

“Wait...wait. Give me a moment.”

“Giving up?” Robb started to smile, one of those aggravating ones when he thought he was winning. Yes, it was true, Robb nearly always won whenever the two sparred together. But it wasn’t a fair fight today. Theon was distracted. And anyway, it was only nearly always, not just always.

“No, no. Just…” Theon was getting himself into a bit of a tizz. His sword suddenly felt very heavy, and he kept dropping it. Great. Theon had got himself all angry, the stupid sword. It was the sword’s fault. Definitely not Robb or Ser Rodrik.

“What is it?” Robb’s expression had changed now, his eyebrows furrowed. He could clearly sense something was wrong, something had irritated Theon. Surely not Ser Rodrik? It was true that he never did warm to Theon, but these kinds of comments were a given. Or maybe it was Robb. Maybe Robb had irritated him. He hoped not. It was all just in jest after all.

“What did he mean?”

“Who knows?” Robb shrugged, clearly unaware as to what Ser Rodrik was referring to. Robb didn’t seem to question it, as if it didn’t even matter. Theon, however, could sense something was wrong. Frowning at Ser Rodrik, he watched as he left the two to finish sparring. Ned Stark, that was who. And soon, Theon would too. He was intended for Sansa.

Lord Stark spoke to Theon himself, which Theon knew could only mean something – it was serious. The Warden of the North wasn’t in the habit of making small talk with Theon. It was true he didn’t ignore him but didn’t make a habit of speaking to him. Theon was just there, as he always had been. Though Theon didn’t want to admit it, he had been treated well at Winterfell. He was taught how to fight. He sat in the Great Hall during feasts. He was given an education. His life had been better than most. But that didn’t stop that little niggling feeling eat away at him. The feeling that he didn’t belong. That he was an imposter. That he shouldn’t be there.

But maybe things would change now. He was to marry Sansa; someone he had known almost all her life. She was part of the Starks, an important member of the family. This wasn’t exactly what Theon had wanted. He was Lord Stark’s ward, not his son. So, the thought of having an intended had never crossed his mind. Robb would, as the oldest and heir to Winterfell. Arya would likely be sworn off to some Northern Lord; she would definitely put up a fight. Bran still dreamt of becoming a knight. And Rickon was still so young. But Theon, he wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a Stark. He wasn’t Ned Stark’s son, not even his bastard. But he belonged to him regardless. There was no point arguing this, it would happen even if he had. But Theon thought it unlikely Sansa would be best pleased. If he knew anything about Sansa, it was that she would not want to leave her home, especially for someone like Theon. It seemed Ned Stark knew this and decided that this was going to happen anyway.

There was another problem. Robb. Theon had spent almost 10 years of his life following Robb Stark around. He knew him, like he was his own brother. They were brothers in a way. Theon knew everything about him. He knew what he liked to eat for breakfast. The type of girls he fancied. The way he would dodge a sword in a fight. He also knew his opinions, his feelings and even his thoughts sometimes. Theon knew Robb was not going to be happy. Robb knew Theon, knew what he was like. And Theon doubted he wanted that for his sister. There was no point trying to avoid Robb, he would catch up to Theon eventually and then he’d be sorry. Theon didn’t like to blow his own trumpet, not that often, but he knew his archery skills were well-known in Winterfell. Robb, however, was one of the best swordsmen Theon had seen. Particularly for someone so young. Theon wouldn’t want to challenge him to a fight. Unluckily for Theon, when Robb found him Theon’s bow and arrow were hidden away, out of reach.

Theon could see Robb coming but knew there was no point running or hiding, Robb would find him regardless. It wasn’t that Theon was scared of Robb, oh, no. Theon wasn’t exactly a betting man, but on the right day, he could take him. He waited, almost eagerly, sitting by the door in the Great Hall. Robb was frowning and Theon noted he’d never seen him walk so quickly and with such determination. His mission? Get Theon. Whatever that meant.

“You.” This was all Robb could manage, he was seething. Wagging his finger at Theon, Theon could sense this wasn’t going to bode well for him. Robb’s breath was quick and haggard. Well, three guesses what he’d just been told. Theon understood how protective Robb was over his younger sister, something Theon could never truly understand. Yara was older than Theon, and if Theon was being entirely truthful, he didn’t remember much about her. He was the baby of the family, but never felt as if his siblings tried to protect him. Let alone his family. They all just let Ned Stark take him away, as if it was nothing.

“Robb…” Theon moved his right hand up, outright, as if to guard himself from whatever Robb was going to do. He didn’t think he would do anything, but you could never be sure.

“My sister.”

“It’s not my choice. Do you think I want to marry your sister? Little Sansa…” Theon stayed seated, watching Robb’s body grow bigger by the second. Robb was never that intimidating, not to Theon. But there were times when he would use his family name against him. Being heir to Winterfell, the young Lord, meant a lot in the North. It meant a whole lot more than being Balon Greyjoy’s son. Being ward of Winterfell.

“If you-“

“If I what? What would I do? If you’re going to be angry with someone, it should be your father.” Theon regretted it the moment he said it. Blaming Lord Stark was not a good idea. But Robb didn’t seem to notice. Or at least he only saw it as blaming his father, not the Lord of Winterfell. It w as his father’s idea. Why on earth would Theon propose to marry Sansa?

“You…I’m not done, you know that, Greyjoy.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, Stark.”

Robb made a beeline for his father, ignoring everything else in his path. He was angry. Angry that his father hadn’t even spoken to him. Angry that his sister was going to leave their home. Angry that it was Theon, someone he had known for so long, that Sansa would be married off to. Robb knew he couldn’t be angry at Theon, he hadn’t wanted this, not truly. And Sansa...how did she feel? Robb hadn’t seen her that day but imagined she had been told. None of it made any sense. And if Robb was being honest with himself, he was a little hurt, too. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe the thought of his sister leaving. The thought of Theon, someone who had always being by his side, being so far away. Or the thought of his father, deciding all of this, before asking Robb for his opinion. Of course, Robb couldn’t make this decision for anyone. But he was to be Lord of Winterfell after his father, he imagined he would confine in him, at least about some matters. But clearly, that was not the case.

As if Lord Stark could sense his arrival, he led his eldest son to an empty chamber, one that hadn’t been occupied for a good while. Ned seemed to make a conscious effort to not look in his son’s direction, finding a place to sit himself down, feeling Robb’s eyes on him. Robb didn’t sit, he didn’t shut the door, as if he wanted someone to hear the conversation. He was angry, he knew his father could see this, but he wouldn’t look at him. This angered Robb more. How could they talk about this if he wouldn’t even face his direction?

“Theon? Really?” Robb asked, still watching his father. Theon, who had been at Winterfell since Robb was a boy. Theon, who had spent almost all of his childhood with Robb. Theon, who was like a brother to Robb. It wasn’t that Robb couldn’t think of someone worse, he was sure there were many out there, not as close to home as Theon was. But it was the fact it was Theon. It just felt all wrong. He didn’t truly understand what his father was trying to achieve. He’d also seemed to set on keeping Theon where he could see him, have that hold over the Greyjoys. Why would he want to send him away?

“Robb… sit down.” Robb followed his father’s orders, finding a place by the right corner of the table. It was clear to Robb that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

“I don’t know why-“

“The North needs allies.” Ned wasn’t going to lie to his son. This was the real reason, what other reason would there be? Robert was King, but that didn’t mean he’d be King forever. Not everyone in Westeros would be happy with that, even after all of those years. The talk of the Targaryen girl across the sea proved that. As Warden of the North, Ned had sworn to fight by the King’s side if the time ever came. And if it did, they couldn’t do it by themselves. They needed Theon.

“It doesn’t make sense. Greyjoy bent the knee.” Robb had grown up on stories of Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. What the Targaryen’s did to his aunt, his uncle, his grandfather. What Theon’s father had done during the war. How Theon had to pay the price for his father’s crimes. Robert was King. Greyjoy back in his box. And Theon was at Winterfell. Unless his father was scared, scared that everything would eventually catch up to them. But Robb didn’t like to imagine that. His father was not the man who would scare easily.

“And when he dies, what happens to Theon? He’s his last remaining son, heir to the Iron Islands. Just as you are mine.”

Robb frowned, as if he was thinking for a moment. “You haven’t promised me to anyone, have you?” He hadn’t even thought about this, about the potential of Robb being sworn to someone. Of course, this was bound to happen. But Robb’s attention had be so tightly crossed on Sansa and Theon, that he hadn’t even thought about himself.

“Not yet, my boy. It makes sense. Theon will be Lord of the Iron Islands. Sansa will be Lady, connecting our houses together and cementing the alliance.” Lady of Pyke. Lady of the Iron Islands. Robb imagined that wasn’t what Sansa had thought would happen to her. And Theon...Robb seemingly had forgotten that eventually, Theon would go home. He would be Lord of the Sea. The Theon Robb knew, the one that ate with, laughed with him, fought with him, that wasn’t the heir of the Iron Islands. But Robb supposed he’d have to be. He had a duty, as did the Starks.

“But Theon ?” Robb was still having some difficulty wrapping his head around the idea, though however he felt about this, it couldn’t be as bad as Theon and Sansa’s feelings. Maybe Robb was being selfish, only thinking about himself. But it would change everything. The thought of Theon not being there, not being at Winterfell, not sitting beside Robb during feasts...it was an odd one. Robb had gotten used to having Theon, it would be strange without him. He’d have one less person to tease, one less person to ride out with, one less person to spar with.

“Yes, Theon. You know him.” Ned mused, but the thought crossed Robb’s mind that his father did not know Theon in the slightest. He knew Balon, his father. He knew what the Greyjoys did. But he didn’t know Theon. He had no real idea what Theon was like, not in the way Robb did. His father, to Robb’s knowledge, hadn’t made any real attempt to know Theon. But why would he? He was only his ward, not important enough for Lord Stark.

“He’s like a brother.” Robb nodded, his eyes focusing on anything but his father. Robb couldn’t remember whether he had openly admitted that before, to anyone, not even Theon. They were like brothers, there was no doubt about that. They argued like brothers, fought like brothers, laughed like brothers. Sometimes he felt closer to Theon than he did Jon, even when they shared their father’s blood.

“Well, there you go. I won’t hear any further arguments on this Robb.” Ned sighed, clearly from his wife to his son, he had enough of listening to their worries. Sansa would marry Theon. They would go to the Iron Islands. The North would have an ally in Balon Greyjoy. They would have access to the Iron Fleet.

“How did she take it?” Robb asked, watching his father’s movements. He seemed agitated, which Robb could understand. But no more agitated than Sansa would be hearing of this all. Robb knew his younger sister was like their mother, bound by duty to their house and family. But he couldn’t imagine his sister, who was so stubborn, and always had to be right, would be very pleased with what she was required to do. Robb made a mental note to find Sansa later. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would say to her, apologise perhaps? Regardless, he knew it was important to speak to her, to let her know.

“Your mother’s speaking to her now.”

“Good gods.”

“Theon couldn’t stay here forever. it was easier when he was a boy, but he’s almost a man, just as you are. I keep forgetting. He has to go home eventually.” Robb didn’t know that was part of the bargain. When Balon Greyjoy bent the knee to Robert Baratheon, swore him as the King and shipped his youngest son to Winterfell, was it only temporary?

“Do you think it wise? With Balon still alive.”

“The two of you will deliver the news.”

“Will we?” Robb and Theon travelling to the Iron Islands to tell Balon Greyjoy his son is to wed Lord Stark’s eldest daughter. Robb doubted this would be the most pleasant journey. He’d heard tales of what the Iron Islands were like, what Balon Greyjoy was like. Conflicting reports from both Theon and Northerners. His father never spoke much about the Ironborn, but whenever he did, he didn’t speak highly of them. This would, however, be an opportunity to see where Theon was from, at least. See if the rumours were true. See if Theon was exaggerating or not.

“Yes, this type of information won’t bode well within a raven.”

“Father…”

“What did I say? No more arguments.”

Theon had found Sansa sitting by the Godswood. She must have been praying; how tedious. But Theon couldn’t blame her for finding solace here. The Godswood was one of the only places you could go and not be disturbed. Particularly if you are Lord Stark’s daughter. She was constantly being bothered by someone. Her mother, her sister, Septa, even Old Nan. It was probably relatively exhausting, especially speaking to Old Nan. Theon was sure any conversation he had with her had aged him about 10 years. It must be nice to have some time alone. And Theon Greyjoy was just about to spoil that.

“Lady Sansa.” Not wanting to startle her, Theon spoke to announce he was in her presence. She was facing the Weirwood tree, her back to the entrance of the Godswood. Her auburn hair was loose, which even for Theon, seemed a little odd. Not that Theon took much notice of Sansa’s hairstyle, she always seemed to have it up in some kind of braid. But not today. She was wearing one of those pretty dresses she always wore. He imagined she probably made it herself. It was one of the things Theon knew about Sansa. She was good at sewing and made sure everyone knew that. He couldn’t argue with that, though. Theon would often boast about his archery skills, and no one could deny he was one of the best.

“Theon.” Sansa didn’t turn as he spoke his name. Technically it should have been Lord Theon. Theon may be Ned Stark’s ward, he may not be in the Iron Islands, but he still deserved some respect. But Sansa never called him a lord. None of them did. Robb only called him ‘Lord Theon’ when he was feeling jovial. None of them meant it. None of them saw him as anything but just Theon. There was a harshness to her tone, Theon noted. She was clearly annoyed, and Theon knew exactly why. He doubted she wanted to marry him, though he was unsure why it would be such a bad thing. Yes, it was decided by her father. But most high-born girls had arranged marriages, it was part of their way of life. It wasn’t as if she was being forced to marry a complete stranger. She knew Theon. Theon knew her. They had grown up together. They’d spent time together. But clearly that was not enough for Sansa.

Theon sighed, not making any attempt to get closer to the girl sitting below him, at least not yet. Theon didn’t think that would be a good idea. “He’s told you then.”

Sansa turned her head to face Theon and watched as he knelt against the tree beside her. She glared at him, choosing not to answer. Theon understood, of course he did, but Sansa was being quite childish about it all. Theon was definitely not the worst person Sansa could marry. It was true that he probably wasn’t her first choice. But Sansa wasn’t his either. Not that Theon had often thought about who he would marry. If the thought ever did cross his mind, Theon couldn’t imagine what high-born girl he’d have to marry. The girls he surrounded himself around were not what he’d imagine appropriate for marriage. But he was young, he was going to enjoy himself. The thought had only just occurred to Theon that Sansa would have never been allowed to act the way Theon had. She was a high-born girl, and there were certain standards. But that wasn’t Theon’s problem. It was quite irritating, actually, that Theon would have to stop doing what he was doing. It was true he would save himself some money, even whores in the North weren’t exactly cheap. But he couldn’t imagine his new wife would be too pleased.

This led to another thought. Marriage meant a lot of things. And one of those things was lying together. Damn. He didn’t particularly want to think of Sansa in that way. Theon was many things, but he wasn’t disrespectful, at least not to the Stark girls. It wasn’t that he saw Sansa as a sister, because he never had. It was true Robb was like his brother, but that was where it ended. Theon wasn’t naïve enough to believe he’d been in love before, not naïve to believe you had to love who you married but, in a way, that would be nice. Theon did not love Sansa, and he very much doubted she loved or even had any warm feelings towards him. The two paths never crossed, or at least hadn’t recently. They lived very separate lives. It wasn’t always like that, however. As a young boy, Theon and Robb would often tease Lord Stark’s bastard and his eldest daughter. Sansa was a few years younger than Theon, and was incredibly uptight, even then.

As an eight-year-old pulled away from his home, Theon struggled to fully understand what it meant. He knew his father had done something wrong to Ned Stark but didn’t really understand what that was. Pyke was no longer his home, but Winterfell. He was an outsider; he wasn’t a Northerner. Constantly he was treated with dirty looks, sneers and unfriendliness. Since he was born, Theon had heard tales of what people were like on the mainland. How they would never accept Ironborn, how they had trapped them and couldn’t be trusted. But as soon as he arrived in Winterfell, it was the complete opposite. It was the Ironborn who were backward. It was his father’s fault, and therefore Theon’s fault. The Ironborn were an embarrassment to all of Westeros. There was a point where Theon started to believe that, started to see himself more of a Northerner than Ironborn. But growing up, he was constantly reminded that this wasn’t the case. This in turn, seemed to force Theon to keep his real feelings close to his chest. He may look like a Northerner, may sound like one, but he wasn’t. He was Ironborn, through and through.

Theon understood one thing. He was being punished for his father’s mistake, whatever that was. His two brothers had been killed in the rebellion. His father forced to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon. And Theon, little Theon, was torn away from his home and family. His brothers had lost their lives. His father had lost his pride. But what about Theon? What had he lost? He remembered bits and pieces about his life before Winterfell, but so many memories seem to drift away as he grew older. It was only the North he could truly see.

Robb was the only one, the first one, who really accepted him. He didn’t seem to care too much about what Theon’s father had done, or at least, he didn’t understand either. They were the same age, and Robb seemed to befriend him almost immediately. And then that was that. They were as thick as thieves. As close as brothers. It was always the two of them. Proper comrades in arms, not that they’d ever had to fight in a battle before.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t constantly remind him that Theon wasn’t a Stark, he wasn’t a member of the family, and he wasn’t a Northerner. It was mostly done in good spirits, a little tease or joke. But Theon could tell it had an underlying meaning, it was as if Lord and Lady Stark were communicating through their son. Theon knew what it meant.

But it was Sansa who surprised Theon the most. Sansa, the little 6-year-old, who first saw this strange boy from the Iron Islands in the courtyard. Her curious nature was clear then, even if she had tried to hide it. But that wasn’t it. Sansa, who has seemingly ignored Theon for the past few years, finding more interest in anything but him, had gifted him something all those years ago. It was only small, seemingly insignificant, but she had still done it. A direwolf, doll, Theon supposed it was. Why? Theon didn’t have a clue. He didn’t want that anyway; he’d wanted to go home. But perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that Theon had kept it, right until this moment. He hadn’t thought of it until recently, but now he supposed he should give it back to its rightful owner. But for some strange reason, he couldn’t part with it.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. I don’t like it either.” It. Theon thought how stupid it was. The fact that neither of them could even say the words out loud. We’re getting married.

“You don’t know why I’m upset? You’re not the one being shipped off, sent away from your family, from your home. ” Did Sansa have any idea how ignorant she sounded? That was exactly what happened to Theon. He didn’t choose to live at Winterfell, he didn’t choose to be prisoner of the Starks. He didn’t choose for his brothers to be killed, for his father to bend the knee, to be sent away forever. Sansa really didn’t have a clue. She was so self-involved that she didn’t see anything around her. But she was young, not much younger than Theon, but still young. She really had no idea.

“Do you think I wanted to be your father’s ward?”

Sansa shook her head, but Theon could tell she wasn’t listening. “But you’re going home. Back to the Iron Islands. I’ve never even travelled across the sea.” Her eyes darted towards her lap and stayed there. Ah, Theon supposed that did make sense. It was true that Sansa had lived a sheltered life, Theon admitted that. She had never left Winterfell, never left the North. It was bound to be difficult for her. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult for anyone else. It was true that Theon was a Greyjoy. He was born in Pyke, spent his early years playing with his brothers and his sister, he supposed. But that was all taken away from him. He’d grown up in the North, with the Stark children.

Surely, he should be happy? Pleased that he’s been given the chance to go back home to where he belonged. There was once a time when he had a silly, childish fancy about marrying Sansa. Marrying the oldest Stark girl would mean something. It would mean, after everything, Theon would finally be a Stark. He’d be included, he’d be one of them. But that was so long ago. That was when Theon still dreamed of being accepted. He was young and foolish. He didn’t care about that, not really. He was wise enough to know he’d never be one of them. Lord Stark wanted something, and he clearly thought marrying Theon off to Sansa would allow him to get it.

“It’s not that bad. You get used to it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, you’ll have to.” Theon’s words came out harsher than intended, but she wasn’t listening. Theon realised he sounded like a child. but Sansa was irritating him. He was trying to understand, see her point of view, but she was making it so bloody difficult. Neither were too pleased about the situation, but they would have to live with it. And surely Sansa must realise it wasn’t great for Theon either. He was going to go home, if he could even call it that. He hadn’t been back to Pyke since he was taken, snatched away from his family. He had changed and he’d imagined things had changed there too. This stirred up some feelings of anxiety in Theon, which wasn’t something he was accustomed to. At least not recently. He’d learn how to block that all out. But he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do that this time.

“I’m sorry, I got angry.” Robb had found Theon again. This time after dinner. Theon had decided it was probably best to avoid Robb for a few hours, but this hadn’t exactly worked out for Theon. Robb had found him outside in the courtyard. He’d wanted to practice his archery, something he hadn’t for a while. Hitting the bullseye three times sufficed for Theon and he was soon cornered by the oldest Stark boy.

“It’s alright, I suppose I forgive you.” Theon glanced towards Robb, who was finding his way to sit beside him. The two boys looked at each other for a moment, smirking, as if they knew a secret no one else did. Robb wasn’t angry at Theon, not really. He knew deep down it wasn’t Theon’s fault, but he wouldn’t dare blame his father, not in public. And Theon supposed from Robb’s perspective, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They’d be brothers-in-law now. And Robb knew Theon. He wasn’t a random lord being thrusted onto his sister. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was a good thing.

“You forgive me? If you weren’t promised to my sister, I would…”

“I’m sure you would.” It seemed Robb was getting relatively skilled at threatening things and not finishing his sentences. They were all empty promises. What would Robb do realistically?

Robb sighed to himself, fidgeting in his seat a little. “At least it’s not for a while. Sansa will get used to it. And who knows? She might like Pyke.”

Theon gave his friend an incredulous look. “I find that unlikely.” Sansa had no idea what it was going to be like in the Iron Islands. It seems none of the Starks did. It wasn’t like the North. The Ironborn ways of life were very different. Surely, Ned Stark knew that. Surely, he knew what he was sending his eldest daughter into. But he was going to do it anyway. Clearly, that Iron Fleet was more important.

“You get to go home. Where you belong.” Robb was ignoring Theon’s eye. Surely, he wasn’t angry at him too? Gods, Theon was finding it hard to keep up with who wasn’t annoyed at him. He hadn’t asked for any of this. If it were up to him, he would still be in the Iron Islands. But this was how it was going to be, and they’d all have to get used to it.

“Yes.” Home. Where was that exactly? Theon wasn’t so sure.

“Did father mention…our trip?” Oh, yes. Theon and Robb had the delight of informing Theon’s father, Balon Greyjoy, current Lord of the Iron Islands, of the news. Theon couldn’t wait. It was quite conflicting, if Theon was being completely honest. On the one hand, he was finally being given a chance to go home, back to Pyke. He’d spent the past 10 years at Winterfell, being constantly reminded how he didn’t belong, how he wasn’t one of them, how he’d never be part of the Starks. And why would he want to be? He was a Greyjoy, not a Stark. But still, even now, Theon feared going back. 10 years was a long time. His brothers were gone. His father...his father had given him away. His last boy. Everything he had ever told Theon about the Ironborn, it all seemed like lies. He bent the knee so quickly, so easily. Shipped off his heir like it was nothing. Theon didn’t know how his father would take the news either. Not great, most likely. Theon also didn’t know how he’d be received back home. Like a Lord? Like a Prince? Like a stranger? He had no clue. It made him feel uneasy, which was a feeling he didn’t like.

“You’ll be able to report back to Sansa. Tell her how delightful the Iron Islands are.” Imagining Sansa on Pyke was not something Theon had ever had to do. And if he was being completely honest, he still couldn’t. She belonged in Winterfell, in the North. He was sure this was what her mother would tell her, had always tell her. Theon knew Lady Stark didn’t favor him, just as she didn’t the Stark bastard. But at least Jon had some connection to the family. Theon had next to nothing. Which he was sure Lady Stark would instill in Sansa, as she had done since Theon arrived.

“I can’t wait.” Well, at least someone found it amusing.

“You know, I wasn’t intended for your father.” Catelyn was sitting in her chambers once again, but this time was accompanied by her eldest daughter, Sansa. Ned had been the one who had wanted to tell Sansa the news of her impending marriage. But Catelyn, regardless of her own feelings, knew it should come from her. It would be clear to Sansa that it was her mother who opposed the idea more than her father. So, it was important that Catelyn spoke to Sansa directly. She understood in a way. She was once intended for someone, another, but things turn out in mysterious ways. Sansa was sitting beside her mother on her bed, watching her as she finished the last line of her threading.

“Uncle Brandon.” Sansa nodded, hearing this story before. Though her father never spoke of his sister, Lyanna, she had heard the story of what had happened to his brother, Brandon, and his father. He rarely spoke of them, but clearly it was less painful that Lyanna. Sansa wondered what truly happened to her, and whether they would ever find out.

But her mother and Uncle Brandon, she knew about them. Catelyn Stark was intended for Brandon Stark, her father’s older brother. He was to be Lord of Winterfell. But when he and his father was killed by the Mad King, Catelyn was intended for the younger Stark, Eddard. Sansa heard tales of how they first met on their wedding day but loved each other regardless. Sansa wondered how true this really was.

“That’s right. And your Aunt Lysa…”

“Would have been father’s wife. That always sounds so wrong.” Shaking her head, Sansa moved to watch the skies from her mother’s window. It was a small one, could only be a few inches long, and the evening light was starting to set in. She knew exactly where this conversation was going and knew she couldn’t avoid it no matter how much she wanted to.

“Oh, it does. But your grandfather knew the importance of alliances, as does your father.” It was true that at the time, young Catelyn liked the idea of being betrothed to Ned’s older brother. She would be Lady of Winterfell, her family would be connected to another great house, and she admired Brandon. It wasn't until he died, was she intended for his younger brother, Ned, was that she realised that fate had led her to that path for a reason.

“You don’t like Theon.” Catelyn had known she had made this abundantly clear. She didn’t trust the Greyjoys. Didn’t trust Balon Greyjoy. She didn’t trust his son. There was just something about Theon. The way he strutted around Winterfell. That smirk he would often wear. It always put Catelyn on edge. But she knew that overlooking this would be best. There was no point arguing. Sansa would wed Theon. And that was that.

“I… what I believe doesn’t matter, Sansa.”

“Yes, it does.”

Catelyn sighed, Sansa was proving difficult, of course she was. Catelyn would often spend much of her time berating her youngest daughter, Arya, who seemed intent on not doing things her mother wanted. It seems she spent so much time on Arya, she had forgotten how stubborn Sansa could be. “Sansa…”

“It’s not about Theon. I don’t… dislike him. I just want to stay here, with you.” Sansa hadn’t spent much time thinking about Theon, he had always been there, for as long as she could remember. But this wasn’t what Sansa was upset about. She didn’t care about Theon. It was this castle, this place she was currently sitting within. Winterfell was her home. She had never imagined herself anywhere else. It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to leave? Why couldn’t they stay in Winterfell, or at least the North? Sansa had no idea what the Iron Islands were like, but by the way she had heard Theon speak about them in the past, Sansa could tell her wouldn’t like them.

“Sansa, this was always going to happen. It’s what happens to high born girls.” Focusing all her attention on her daughter, Catelyn moved so she faced Sansa, grasping their hands together. “And besides, being Lady of the Iron Islands, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“Lady…but not of Winterfell?” As soon as those words escaped Sansa’s mouth, she already knew the answer. She would never be Lady of Winterfell. Her children wouldn’t be Starks. Her home wouldn’t be where she had grown up. And her family would be scattered across the country. Robb at Winterfell. Jon at the Wall. Arya married off to some lord. Bran a knight. And baby Rickon? She couldn’t imagine him as anything else than he was now.

There was a time when Sansa was much younger that she dreamt of being a queen, not a great lady. This was a stupid childhood fantasy, one that of course would never come true. She also remembered a time when Theon would spout on about how he was not a Lord, but a Prince. Before Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon had taken the Iron Islands, had so-called forced Balon Greyjoy to bend the knee, the Iron Islands was an independent kingdom. To Sansa, this all sounded like a lot of rubbish. Theon seemed to exaggerate a lot when he was younger, and this was just another example. In a way, Sansa thought it quite amusing now. Maybe she was going to get what she wanted after all.

“No, Robb’s wife will hold that position.” Robb’s wife. Oh, yes. Why hadn’t Robb been forced into a marriage? Why was it only Sansa? Sansa pictured Robb’s face when he heard the news. He knew Theon, more so than Sansa ever could. What would he think? Would he laugh about it? Commiserate Theon? Would he be angry? Maybe. He was protective of his siblings, even still now, when he no longer needed to be.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You will always be here with me, I promise.”

Sansa looked up at her mother, she looked into her eyes and saw nothing but sadness. Sansa felt that sadness, but she felt something else too. Sansa felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She was to marry Theon Greyjoy, and that was that.

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