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rise-my-angel · 11 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

1 - Wolves of the Lone Stag

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

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, secret relationship, arranged marriage, injured/sick child mention, smut, p in v, slight dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity

Notes: Reader is firstborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon, based off the show but will include direct book elements, slight canon divergence. First Chapter is really long due to set up, subsequent future chapters won't be quite such a massive read. Chapter Two Here.

Travelling along the Kingsroad was far longer and more tedious with this company. Normally you would spend only so much time on here from White Harbour, most of the journey done on sea. Yet now, there were far too many people and it’s leader insisting on treating the journey as it’s own adventure. By the time you reached Winterfell it would be a month on horseback and no one to entertain your morose demeanour. Though perhaps you had to consider that it wasn’t just the company of the others that was less then ideal.

You had the supposed misfortune of being the daughter to the less favoured of the three Baratheon brothers. Robert, King Robert to those in public company, was a more complicated man. A mix of a man who successfully kept the peace for over twenty years but also was as unhappy on the throne and was unafraid to show it. He did however, have enjoyment in wine, hunting, and did hold a jovial laughter that kept people around him.

Your other uncle, was much more agreeable. Renly was the youngest of them and was charismatic and well liked. He was naive, not really a man suited for leadership but he did the best with what he knew to do. Closer to your age, you often found yourself spending time with him and it was right now that you were annoyed he chose to stay back in Kings Landing. A month with the King, his own family and the entire royal brigade and not one of them knew how to get a smile from you.

That was a trait from your father no doubt. Stannis Baratheon was the middle child, and he was easily the most disliked. He was cold, distant, unemotional and seldom allowed laughter at his table. He took his job seriously, more seriously then the King did his sometimes. In his prime, he was a proven battle commander and he never lost that. Robert was a warrior and he was happiest as such, but Stannis had never stopped being a commander and whether it made him liked or not, it taught you to be who you were now.

A Lady of the House Baratheon, firstborn daughter to Stannis and heir of Dragonstone was your current position and you were taught to uphold that name. Often found with a flat expression, close to a scowl as you walked the capitol you found nothing to enjoy there. Not that Dragonstone was where you’d find happiness either. The only place that had never been your home was the one you felt it in.

You had turned eight when your father had begun sending you out. Brought up, he ensured you had a Lord’s education as well as what all girls were taught. If you were to take up the mantle after him, he wanted you to learn from those that would teach you to be like him. That was when he sent you to Winterfell for the first time. Not a friend of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but your father did respect him the most. Two men both stern with upholding honour and justice, always doing what is right and what is honourable rather then what they wanted.

You spent seven months in Winterfell, and it was the first time your mother and father hadn’t been there for your name day. At the time, it made you sad but you had long since gotten over it. Over more then a decade had passed since your first stay in the north and many name days had been spent there with no word from your family. Well, at least your parents. The only family member you spoke too and more fondly with then Renly, was your baby sister. Shireen Baratheon was not just the light of your life but your fathers too. Some used to say that you were the only one who could make Stannis smile but you were nothing compared to how he smiled at that little baby.

You were fine with her being the favourite, she was your favourite family member as well.

Not long after baby Shireen had beaten a bout of horrific illness, your father had been summoned to Kings Landing. The King telling him that he was of no use to the realm shut away on Dragonstone, and he was to come to the capitol and sit on the small council as Master of Ships. He had taken you with him, and thus your new home was the wretched city full of backstabbers and manipulators.

Back and forth you went from Kings Landing to Winterfell, each stay growing longer and each stay you grew closer to the Starks then you did anyone in the Red Keep. Lord Stark was the perfect example of a good leader, warden of the North and inspired nothing but loyalty amongst the northerners and made you as welcome as anyone in his home. You followed him around most days, learning from him, watching how he handled diplomacy and made his lessons your own.

It was that how you got to know his ward, Theon Greyjoy. A rambunctious lad who listened diligently in formality and was crass and brash outside of that. You knew he would hate Kings Landing but often found yourself at your fathers side wishing the smart ass was next to you, nudging you with his elbow every time you were too closed off for your own good. It was easy to forget that he was technically the Starks prisoner, he fit into their family, the north as well as you did.

Not quite a leader as you were being taught to be, but you were confident once he had the chance to prove himself, you’d expect great things from him. You’d gotten a raven from him while on the road, and in his usual style he spent some time making fun of you for having to be “shacked up with the lamest of the three”.

Right. The reasons your company headed to Winterfell. The King had one, you were being forced into another though. The news shocking you as Stannis told you of your new duty the night before you left was double. That he was leaving for Dragonstone and you were to return to Kings Landing with Lord Stark and serve as acting Master of Ships in his absence.

He wasn’t just dumping his responsibilities onto you with no explanation of his distant behaviour and secrecy, your father had also dumped a marriage onto you and told you that you were to marry and come back. As if he didn’t just dictate your entire life to be like his. “You will marry the Stark boy, and with or without him you are to return in my place.”

Trying to reason with him, “You’re expecting me to have, what? A night maybe two with my new husband and then leave for however long you decide?”

Not even the slightest change of expression, but there was a twinge of regret in his eyes that was soon covered up. “I didn’t decide this alone. My brother, our king, has decided it with no room for question. I’m sorry, but you’re a Baratheon. You’re my daughter. And sometimes our duty requires us to marry not for love, but for the good of the realm.”

You had spoken to your betrothed since the announcement, but had yet to see him in person. A major reason as to why you wished Renly had come with you. Have someone to ease your nerves on the months ride, instead you were entirely on your own lost in what you were losing.

After all, you received a raven from not just Robb after the announcement. And it was that second one, and the finality of it’s contents that shattered the still remaining rosy dreams you once felt as if you had a lifetime to indulge in. Who your betrothed was, wasn’t the upset in any way. It was the unavoidable conclusion of the love in your heart that simply wasn’t allowed to be.

As the party approached Winterfell, your heart begun to race.

The crisp cool air on your face that once relaxed you, only stoned it further into a solid expressionless pose. Reminding yourself that you weren’t just here as yourself, you were to represent your father and you wouldn’t do so by falling apart. You rode into the walls right up near the very front alongside your craven of a cousin. He represented the luxurious royal side of the family, and you the steadfast duty and justice.

The House guard stood all around the courtyard as well as many people who simply worked close by or wanted to just see the King. Riding into the main area, you refused to look. The Starks all stood with their closest men behind them but you looked nowhere but above the heads of everyone with a straight back atop of your horse.

The carriage which carried the Queen and the other two of her royal children filed in and revealed the King following suit. Your eyes forcing to stay nowhere but him, and it struck part of you that his deep scowl seemed to just be a trait that was shared amongst much of this family. As your party stayed atop their horses, you watched everyone near kneel down as Robert was assisted off his horse.

Watching him make a straight line towards the Starks, he stood in front of the kneeling Lord Stark beckoning him with his hand to stand. Everyone around them rising in toe as you watched the two old friends look stoically at one another. The quiet in the courtyard as everyone waited.

King Robert, it seemed, left posing the stoic formality of the Baratheons to you. Looking down at his friend’s frame and casually commenting, “You got fat.”

Two magnets, designed by the gods to be brought together your eyes met without any thought. His grey ones widened with a playful glint and a raise of the sides of his mouth as if to say, “He got fat?” You, broke just as easily. Quirking your eyebrows up slightly, trying and failing to cover a smirk as you flickered your eyes in gesture to the King, agreeing with his silence as you both instantly looked away from the other. Knowing neither would smother such a begging grin if you kept glancing at each other.

Robert greeting each member of the family, making polite chat with the Stark parents you climbed off your horse. Your head angled enough to see your cousin, Joffery, staring at the direction you just had with a smirk you would describe in private as slimy.

You weren’t the only one with a betrothal in mind for your King, but it was the other Stark which would suffer. Somehow whatever genes made the Baratheons so respected, had skipped Joffery in every single capacity. He was more Lannister then he was his father, and not even with the decency to be like the one lion which you could speak to without agitation.

You couldn’t say Sansa was the one you got along with the most, but watching the way the prince looked at her, you pitied what she couldn’t possibly know she was in store for.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, barley made an effort to toss any level of genuinity in her voice. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Her term of endearment sounding as fake to your Uncle as it did you, he ignored her and summoned Lord Stark anyways. The Queen glaring as they walked away, and directed it towards the youngest Stark daughter, Arya as she without any care of properness, asks where the “Imp” was. The Imp being the Queens younger brother, Tyrion.

Were you to be honest, as you unpacked some of your things from your horse you could only think of one place he would go. And he certainly would not find such a place inside the castle walls. Seeing the Queens twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard to “go and find the little beast.” Holding another smirk back, you heard footsteps approaching.

Not the ones you normally would expect, he wouldn’t come to you here. Not now, not in front of the royal family, all these people, and certainly not after learning you’ve come here to marry. Instead, the voice that spoke behind you was the only other person you’d care to see, calling your name.

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest true born son stood tall behind you. His northern accent deep and thick, and drenched in a soothing warmth that always felt comforting yet unfitting of the cold he lived around. Turning to face him, you could still see the trailing remnants of the Queen and her children in the distance.

Play your part, your fathers voice told you. With a slight nod of your head and a smile you clearly amused Robb with such a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

A raise of his eyebrows, he had less care of hiding such a smirk. “Is that how we are playing it, my lady?”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling, but still failed somewhat. Robbs smirk growing more playfully smug as he watched you lose your static composure. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord. I am here with the royal company, we are nothing if not with our courtesies at all times.”

Dropping the act, Robb rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Well if you’re people have a problem with it, they will just have to get over it.” Pulling you into a hug, you felt part of your racing heart and screaming nerves settle a bit.

You’ve known Robb since that first visit when you were eight. No matter what you were both being shoved into, he wasn’t anything near a stranger. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as your face was snuggle tugged into the deep browns of his cloaks fur. Soft as anything, they helped sooth your heart more and he seemed to hold you for as long as it did his as well. His voice low in your ear this time, “We’ll talk in private.”

Pulling away with a deep inhale, you nodded. Face falling back into a stoic composure. It sometimes took you a little bit to drop the harsh demeanour you lived with once you got to Winterfell, but with this company in toe you felt bad that the Starks weren’t going to really get you in any relaxed form. Nodding at Robb you fell quiet, but he was happy to take up the mantle with enough volume for those around to be satisfied with. “Let me help bring your things up, my lady.”

In the corner of your eye as Robb slung the heavier of your bags over his shoulder and you insisting on carrying at least the lighter one, you caught sight of his mother. Lady Catelyn Stark, originally born to House Tully, was something of a complicated relationship for you. You admired her in countless ways, and you saw her more as a mother then you did your own for many years growing up. But there was no mistaking the slight rift that was caused by the only other member of the family you were closer too then her eldest son.

That one though, was nowhere to be seen. You both knew full well that such a meeting was going to have to happen in private, and you hoped you would find time to sneak away from the feast tonight to get it. You two had to talk, you needed to talk to him before you marry or your resolve might crumble.

She watched you and Robb politely walk through the court towards the main doors. Describing their home as a castle felt odd after living in both Dragonstone and Kings Landing. The Starks castle in Winterfell was home in your heart, not a fancy collection of stonework designed to impress. Robb had written that the news came as surprise to all of them, that Lady Catelyn had tried to protest saying that the King shouldn’t just force this on you.

Her husband had to remind her, that they married of duty and look where they are now. You hoped that your companionship with Robb’s brother had not soured her opinion of you being capable of being a good wife. Robb didn’t have your heart the way he did, but he would be the one to keep it from now on and you hoped Lady Catelyn wouldn’t hold it against you.

Falling in love with Robb was not the impossible, in fact he could make that quite easy.

Making small talk of the trip here as you and Robb passed a numerous amount of servers and maids scurrying about the halls, you were thankful for how well you knew him. That the tensity in his stature would only relax the second the door would shut and you both would drop this growing painful act.

Your room was in a corridor away from the main family, closer to where Theon stayed. Many times the main four of you would stay in either his or your room to drink, laugh and get into trouble all without the keen ears of the Stark parents. Your room in Winterfell was a place that you could stop being the daughter and first born heir of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and just be you.

The room had been freshly cleaned, new sheets draped on the bed frame as well as a cozy fur begging you to plop down onto it with a sigh and a nap to boot. Robb dropped your bag down by the window, holding his hand to take the one in your hands to join it. Turning to you, he watched as you let out a shaking sigh.

Your face dropping, finally free to shine in a tinge of shame and exhaustion as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your palms flat on your thighs. Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a sharp edge. “Don’t apologize.” Your brows narrowed in question, but Robb paced over to lean against the wall across from you. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest as he looked into your eyes. “You were about to say sorry for all of this, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Head dropping, you bit your tongue more and nodded. Hands clasping together in a fidget before returning to rest flat on your thighs. His eyes shined blue, and out of the sunlight his hair looked far closer to a Stark brown then it did a Tully Red, if your heart didn’t weigh a thousand pounds you might have spent more time admiring him. “I just,” Sighing again you looked away, unable to cope with the unblinking seriousness in his eyes. “I only found out before you did. I don’t want you thinking I asked for this, or am trying to force you into this.”

Robbs sigh wasn’t defeated, but annoyed. You hadn’t the courage to look again yet. Your name slipping from his tongue with a seriousness. “No one here thinks that.” Glancing up at him, you felt your resolve slip even more. “No one.”

Not that Robb would have any reason to suspect it, but you were desperately hoping that one person in particular didn’t think that out of everyone. Robb took a few steps forward, hoping to beckon you to look up at him, but instead chose to sit down next to you. Enough space between you to not be intrusive. Your voice was small, quiet like a whisper and you knew this was not the words of a proud lady, but just a girl. “He hadn’t even brought up marriage in years. Not since..”

You faded off, both of you know what you were going to say but luckily Robb knew that reliving it would not make you feel any better. He leaned closer to you without breaking your personal space. “Your father has talked to you about marriage more then he has me, at least. In some ways you’re more prepared for this then I am.”

Laughing out, you didn’t turn to see the soft smile on his lips at the sound. “Oh I doubt that. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my parents. Between them, and being around the King and Queen’s marriage? It it weren’t for yours I’d assume every married couple is bitter and unloving to the point of near contempt.”

A breathy laugh leaving him, you were thankful once more that at least your husband to be was someone whom you didn’t have to hold you thoughts around. Robb leaned back on the bed, his palms outstretched to rest against the furs and look at you partially from the back and side. “We could get separate beds if it makes you feel better.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at the mocking in his tone. Quick to turn around with the intention of snarking back he took you by surprise. Lurching forward to wrap his hands around your waist and drag you back with him, both of you laying now back against the bed as he respectfully moved his hands from you. His eyes shined with laughter however, and it loosened yours enough to laugh out loud.

Playful words sat at the tip of your tongue, but what came out was far from it. “It feels like he’s planning something,” turning to look at Robb’s profile against the light coming from the window. “My father. He and Lord Arryn have been doing something in secret, and he kept me away from it on purpose. Both of them seemed to be worried about something, and then...”

“Then he died.” Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and a long time friend of both the King Robert and Lord Stark had passed from a fever that took him in one night.

You nodded. Glancing up to the ceiling as your hands rested along your stomach. “He was fine one day, and then he just...not even a day later was when my father called me to his office. Told me everything, about coming here, about your father, then just..ended the conversation with this.” Your eyes narrowed as you recalled the sternness of his rasp.

“You’re to marry the Stark boy then return here in my place. I won’t have any more questions on the matter.”

Robb was lost in thoughts of his own, tone light yet distant when he spoke up. “He wants my father to be Hand of the King. He hasn’t even been in Kings Landing since the war.”

You understood why. Not just the horrors inflicted on Lord Starks father and brother, but it was a den of vipers all wanting you to play a game that a man like him would want no part in. None of the Starks belonged there, too good for a disgusting place the capitol was. Sighing yourself, you shrugged. “He’ll hate being there as much as my father does, as much as I do. At least I’m the Kings niece I’m supposed to belong there.”

Robb turned onto his side and you followed suit. Your dress hardly made for proper warmth like his attire was, but the Queen insisted that you dress properly to impress your to be husband. As if the man in question hadn’t seen you covered in dirt, mud, bruises and knocked you into the dirt countless times over the years. You didn’t feel like yourself anywhere but here, and yet with the royals all here you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Just a plaything meant to look pretty and play the part. For once, you felt like a normal highborn lady you supposed. Born and bred to be a wife that's born to breed. You were looking at Robb, and yet you reminded yourself with a lurch of your heart to push back the other face in your mind.

Later you told yourself.

Robb’s voice was low, soft, and with an affection that at the very least, wasn’t unusual for him. “You haven’t belonged there in a long time.”

Your tone dropped quieter then his. “Where do I belong then?”

To his credit, it wasn’t with himself that he said. “Here. You belong here.”

By nightfall you still hadn’t seen him. You’d seen many of the others. Arya being the first, practically running past Robb into your room and leaping into a hug with zero sense of formality. You knelt down somewhat to meet her with a loud laugh. With a zillion questions about if you’re staying, did you know, does this make you her sister, you were blissfully reminded of the only other girl who held your heart like that.

Shireen wasn’t a trouble maker like Arya had a tendency to be, but they had a similar spirit. She felt as much like your sister as the one back on Dragonstone was by birth. Sansa had to call her away, annoyed as ever and with a fluster as she addressed you. The paintings of a crush all over her face from the blonde haired fowl faced cousin, and you wished it was any other boy Sansa was to be promised too.

Well, as Robin Arryn briefly popped into your mind you laughed to yourself. Maybe not any of other boy. Starling the handmaiden attending to your dress as you shook your head in apology. You could dress yourself easily for a normal night in the North, but alas the Queen insisted that you impress your husband to be. As if he wasn’t someone you had known for over a decade as one of your very closest friends.

You did however, stop them fervently as they reached for your hair. The Queen could dress and paint you up like a doll and you wouldn’t really fuss at the treatment, but you would rather cross the wall and throw yourself into a frozen lake before you’d let any of those southern up-dos go anywhere near your hair. If judging by the look you got from the Queen during the feast, she wasn’t pleased in any way, but then again she rarely was ever pleased by anything.

Sat next to Robb during the feast, you were thankful that he and the other guys at the table treated you like they always did. To a degree, it was a bit off putting by your much more distant attitude but judging by the glances you made to the Queen they gathered enough that you were more on guard. The hall was filled to the brim with people, ale, music and laughter.

Off in the distance you could see King Robert laughing with a group of men, and his hands happily exploring a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Most didn’t care, and the ones who did never would say anything. He was King he could do what he wanted. Lady Catelyn much to your sympathy was stuck up at the main table sat next to the Queen herself and struggling to find any conversation that didn’t make the woman utterly miserable.

“Out of all the Northerns, you get stuck with this one?” Theons voice rang out, a lightness in his eyes and ale in his veins. You leaned your elbow on the table and pointed at him with a playful raise of your eyebrows.

“At least this one’s pretty, Greyjoy.”

Laughter from all around the table, and even finally sneaking one from yourself. Theon would sometimes flirt with you, but never in a serious manner. It almost was a game. He would start with a flirtatious comment and it quickly spun into who could jokingly insult the other more after you deny him with a snarky remark first. “Aye, but you’d get some nice experience with me.”

Robb tossing a ripped piece of bread at him with a half hearted protest of his own experience, but you leaned back in your seat bringing your mug to your lips. “What experience is that, exactly? Paying women to pretend to moan for you isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my wedding night.”

Pushing it back down, if you joked about it you didn’t have to think about the reality. With no experience of your own, you weren’t immune to the whispers of girls and women of their nights with pain and blood. At least you would get one single thing right come time for that part of the wedding. You almost didn’t though, and the longer you kept trying to not think about it, the more you felt yourself looking for someone you knew wasn’t there.

You had to talk to him, but the first day in Winterfell was just far too busy for it thus far.

Opportunity luckily, arrived in the form of Arya being unable to behave. You and Robb had been joking and laughing about something when the sight of food flinging from another side of the room caught your eyes. The food in question splatting directly onto Sansa’s face as she yelled out indigently.

The quickness of Arya smiling and going back to pretend as if she didn’t do anything got a laugh out of you, but also drew the attention of Lady Catelyn. Gesturing to Robb over, his face fell more serious as he brushed a hand over your lower back as he stood up. Grabbing Arya around the sides and hoisting her up. “Time for bed.”

Glancing around the room, Lady Catelyns eyes elsewhere, as was the Queens. Lord Stark talking to who you recognized as his brother Benjen and now Robb gone you took the opportunity you really shouldn’t have. Standing up, you made your way slowly to the entrance, downing the last of the ale before slinking out unseen.

Or rather, unseen by all but the watchful eyes of a golden Lion.

Alone for once, you allowed yourself to be annoyed. The chill of the air hit you with a sting as you were entirely undressed for the cold of the night. Not even graced with a seat at a lower table, no he was put out here as if his existence was so offensive to anyone but her. His birth wasn’t his fault, and as much as you admired and liked her?

It never failed to chip away at something angering in you, how Lady Catelyn treated Jon Snow.

You heard his voice before you saw him, but it the second voice that took you by surprise. “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Lord Tyrion Lannister in your sights slowly walked up to Jon, who was faced away from you. There was a bluntness in his words but also a sympathy in his eyes. Leaning back against a stone wall, you watched in quiet.

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

And yet, just as so many liked to remind him, Lord Tyrions words were those that many have said in response. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, a bastard.”

Watching him with narrowed eyes, you held back any defence in your blood. Likely he was the only Lannister which you didn’t entirely distrust towards him. Jon Snow had more then enough people ensuring him he would never be like his brothers and sisters.

Your arms crossed over your chest, and breathe visible in the cold you listened to the man tell him wear what he is like armour. Jon, however, did not seem to be in such a mood. His voice was low, a thick northern accent that came out more like an entrancing rasp then Robb’s warm soothing one. It also, was lined with that of a temper you knew the older Jon got, the more he struggled with. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Fingertips itching to reach out, but you stayed put. Listening to Lord Tyrion’s final comments before departing to whatever plans he had for the night. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

Jon wasn’t heartless, nor stupid. Somewhere inside him, you knew he sympathized with the Lannister but being shut out of a feast in the cold, on top of what you knew was looming? Jon had little room left to care about simmering that temper.

Lord Tyrion caught your eye as he passed, a tilt of his head and question in his eye you simply looked flat and unblinking. He wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t store his curiosity about your sudden watchful appearance for later.

Slowly approaching, you called out only once the sound of doors closing behind you left the courtyard in silence from the muffled party behind you. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning to face you at the sound of your voice, you hated how unable you were to quell your heart looking at him. Walking towards him, you saw Jon put the sword away entirely before circling around to meet you halfway. It took less then second for both of you to glance around, watch for the no eyes any could see before he closed the rest of the gap.

Scooping you up into his arms, almost spinning you in place as you both held the other tightly. “I missed you.” Your voice muffled in this luscious dark curls, he put you down gently on your feet. His hands on your upper arms still before glancing up. Changing his mind, he turned. Pulling you along with him with a hand on your lower back.

Jon was the only man who could silently drag you away into a dark corner in the dead of night and you wouldn’t question him in any way, shape or form. Neither of you said anything, but out of everyone Jon was the one person who you didn’t need it with. Both of you were always on the air of more quiet, and it was never more appreciated then alone with the other, never worried about having to fill the air with talking to be comfortable.

Once you had reached far enough away, Jon led you into a small building, mostly empty save for some storage and one lit lantern. Door closed, he turned to face you once more with silence. His eyes begging to say too much, but neither of you could handle it in that second. Once more you found the others arms. This time, the desperation was felt both ways.

Both of you letting your eyes shut, and your hands rest freely and yet far to intimate to be platonic as you stood together. It was minutes before he pulled back. One hand resting on your waist and the other back on your upper arm. He watched as your hands wrung together, afraid to touch him. You hated how gently he always said your name, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes.

One of you had to say something, and you ripped the bandage off first. “You’re really joining them?”

His nod was confident, and it broke your heart that much more. “The St-”

Shaking your head you felt your eyes sting, you hated feeling this way. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched wanting to reach out, and he caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was his response a diversion from the truth, or an answer you didn’t know for sure. “You’re marrying Robb.” Like no other, Jon could tell right away that you bit your tongue in anxiety. The hand on your arm moving up to gently trace over the side of your jaw until he felt you relax under the touch. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly left your hands drift forward until the very tips of your fingers rested against his stomach. Much like earlier with Robb, were you not wracked with too much in your head, you might have paused to enjoy the feeling of how sturdy and firm his muscles had grown. Instead you let your head hang, knowing he wanted you to look at him. “And you feel like The Night’s Watch is the only place you belong?”

Were you anyone else, Jon would have pulled away in frustration. But his time with you was limited, and his hands always ached to touch you when you were near. “It is now.” Head rising up to look at him, your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

Something rushed up, and an anger almost yelled out instead of reason. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He sighed, jaw clenching as his hand on your waist held you a slight tighter. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a while you both just stood there, looking at the other. In your heart, you felt stolen from, but your mind reasoned for the best. Just as the silence between you was too much, Jon slowly leaned in.

Your back pressed against the wall and he having moved to crowd you against it, his head dipping down enough as you exhaled shakily. The nerves in you, always managing to make him smirk. But just as you felt the others breath on your faces, a door in the distance opened. Music and laughter and the sounds of a group making drunken rackets paused Jons movement.

If it were any normal day, you’d just say not here.

But you and Jon knew better, in a few days, he would stand in the godswood and watch you marry his brother. And soon after that he would join a group that cut your love off from him for life. You couldn’t kiss now, and not ever again.

It didn’t stop either of you from seeing the other after the night was over. But with the royal company here, with you and Robb spending more time together, you only had time to see each other in the secrets of the dark. What made that much harder though, was how little suddenly anyone looked forward to a wedding.

Bran had climbed the walls and towers thousands of times with a firm grip. And yet, while climbing the one tower which no one use in decades, Bran somehow fell so far to the ground, no one yet knew if he would wake up.

And amongst all that, the Queen insisted, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

The entire family was on edge. Maester Luwin has monitored him closely, and Lady Catelyn even closer having not left his side. You didn’t blame her one bit. It was before anyone else was really awake when you went to go see her.

Slowly peeking in, asking if it was alright you come in for a moment and you were thrown back over ten years ago. Looking at your own mother, Selyse, and how broken and lost she was as Maester Cressen warned her to prepare herself for Shireen to be sent away for good.

Walking by her side, you sat gently on the bed beside Bran. It was cruel. Only a boy of ten, and with the softest, most adorable little face you’d ever seen and yet he lay in bed broken in too many ways. If he woke, he’d never walk again. You thought to yourself, maybe if you were to be a proper northern, you should start praying to the Old Gods. Because it certainly seemed like praying to the Seven had done nothing. It left your baby sister disfigured for life, and so far they seem to have left Bran a cripple should they even allow him to wake.

Laying on the other side was his yet unnamed Direwolf. Hardly more then puppies when you first arrived, you had been shocked to see how they had grown. Sitting asleep by his masters side though, you hoped he would bring little Bran any comfort.

Lady Catelyn was silent beside you, working away on something you hadn’t quite understood. You didn’t ask, you weren’t a mother and you didn’t want her to have to explain her grief to you. Your hand gently ran over Brans wrist, your thumb feeling his pulse weak but still beating if you pressed firm enough. “My sister had greyscale as a baby.”

You felt her look up at you, but your eyes were trained on the adorable boy soon to be your brother. “My father bought her a doll from a merchant, and next thing we knew it was spreading fast over the side of her face. She was just a baby she didn’t even understand what was happening to her, but we all did.”

You felt your eyes sting, but forced them back with a harsh swallow. “I’ve never heard my mother cry like that. She lost four boys in the womb, and yet that was the most I’ve ever seen her cry. And my father?” You stumbled. Voice coming out harsh, and cracked slightly from the pressure to appear steady. “People used to say the only thing that he would ever smile for is me, but they don’t understand. They didn’t see the desperation in his eyes, how far and hard he searched to bring people to Dragonstone just for a chance to save her life. And none of them saw the tears in his eyes when he was finally allowed to hold her again.”

Reaching up with your other hand you ran your hand over the side of Brans face, brushing some hair to the side. “I’m sorry. Me and Robb both tried telling them to put it off, but the Queen insisted that a wedding might do everyone some good.” She tried saying your name, but you interrupted her. “It’s okay if you don’t come. If I were a mother, I don’t think I’d leave him either.”

Looking back at her, there were tears in her eyes and a soft smile that broke your heart. Your relationship with her was always complicated, but in this moment, all you saw was what no one had given to your mother when it was Shireen.

Leaning over to her, you hugged her tightly. The pain in her heart evident in how both weak yet tightly she hugged back. Pressing a kiss to her forehead you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Passing by the busy servants and suspiciously watchful Queen you paid no mind to the preparations that were to be for you tomorrow. At first it had felt like you and Robb were to be wed for some unknown plot of your fathers, but now it felt like a distraction.

Don’t look at the broken boy in bed, look at the happy couple. For their own pain, you had to hand it to the three of them. Lord Stark, Robb, and Jon truly what Starks were made of. Strong willed, and keeping calm acting as a pillar for the much younger and more worried siblings. Arya clearly a big influence on her direwolf Nymeria, as the wolf was agitated and struggled to sit still the past days. On multiple occasions, you found the wolf almost trying to rile up her own siblings to varying success.

Her and little Rickons direwolf Shaggydog had the most energy. As if getting out their tension by chasing and play fighting. Sansa’s Lady was truly an apt name. Stuck by her side and was poise and put together, only getting in the way to provide any comfort to the redhead in what Sansa thought were moments no one was looking.

Grey Wind was as strong headed as Robb. Their mother gone, he had taken up the mantle of leader of the pack and seemed to be a calming presence for the others. Much like how Robb’s confidence in ensuring his siblings Bran would be alright, provided such comfort to them. The more time you spend with Robb during the day, the more used to Grey Wind you got.

He grew larger then the others, a gorgeous mix of greys and browns in his colour and the more comfortable with a new closeness which Robb grew with you over the past few days, the easier it was for Grey Wind to come to your side when not with his own master. Lord Stark had joked that they seemed to sense you were about to become a wolf yourself.

It was the final direwolf however that you enjoyed the most. Pure white with striking red eyes, Ghost was smaller then the rest but quick and silent. He made very little noise if ever, but was always aware of his surroundings. Keeping out of the way without sacrificing his watchful canine eyes from their view, and listened to his master better then any of them.

Jon and Ghost it seemed, were one in the same. From the same family, but not truly one of the pack as the others were. While the others followed their master like an animal companion, Ghost and Jon were almost like friends instead. Certainly he took Jons feelings around people seriously, considering that as you sat out in the godswood while the moon set itself up in the night sky, you were suddenly almost thrown off balance.

Looking down, the small white direwolf had leaped into your lap. Leaning up to give your cheek a lick before settling in. You scratched at his back, “I don’t know what you’re asking for, but I’m getting up in about ten seconds.”

“Maybe he just likes how soft you are.” Looking up, you utterly failed to fight back both the fluster in your eyes and the embarrassed smile that you tried to hide, turning away from him.

Jon’s curls looked more wild and free again, growing out quickly from the clean cut given before your arrival. The wilder look suited him better. His cloak around his shoulders had a bright closer to white fur around him that you knew first hand was warm and comforting. Coming to sit next to you, he reached over and ran his fingers over Ghosts ear, making him shake his head with a barley audible huff at being disturbed. You both laughed gently, were it not a wolf in your lap, a commoner would mistaken you both for that of a couple with their newborn.

You were to be married tomorrow, and in two days you and Jon would part ways for what could be life for all you knew. Two days, but tonight was your last. Tomorrow you would be Lady Stark, wife of Lord Robb Stark, and there was no room in that duty for another or fairness in your heart.

Leaning against his shoulder, you knew in the eyes of the old gods there was no judgment as you rested your head there. His arm coming to pull you into his side as he looked down to you, your own trained on Ghost.

More then once you and Jon had almost kissed, it would be too easy. To fall into it again. You didn’t fall into it the first time, it was just a bond that always existed. The last time you had ever kissed, was when you came close to giving him something else.

The opportunity was right there, and no one would have been there to stop you, but neither of you were people who could so easily push past the honour you were raised with. Deep down in his mind, Jon knew you could never just marry someone like him, not for who you were. He just didn’t expect to come to the finality of it all, only months after almost having you.

Not that he told it to you, but there was a smugness in Jon that said that at least if he had one thing over Robb, or two, was that he was your first kiss. Knew what your lips tasted like, and knew what a cruelly addicted sight your bare body looked like. Though, not if he asked you, you’d say that wasn’t a perk.

Reminding Jon that he was muscle and you weren’t. Only receiving a dark, undoubtedly lustful look as he muttered that your softness is exactly what he dreams about before kissing you, having pushed you back into the furs of his own bed.

A far off moment, sitting together now, cuddled with his cloak around you against the Weirwood tree for the last time. “We never had a chance did we?” Pulling back, Jon tried looking at you with a slight question in his narrowed brows, but you just continued to run your fingers gently over the slumbering Ghost. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed in deeply. “No. No we never had a chance.”

The truth didn’t make it hurt any less. But you weren’t children anymore. You would marry Robb, return to Kings Landing and serve on the small council at the Hand of the Kings Side, in place of your own lord father and Jon would become a man of the Night’s Watch.

In what world did those two things have a chance at crossing over?

Turning your head, you rested further into his neck and his warmth was unyieldingly comforting. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Jon had enough, moving to pull your face up to look at him by your chin. “I know. And you do too.”

Your heart skipping a beat you smiled partially, “You know it’d be a whole lot easier not to kiss you if you weren’t so handsome.”

Smirking, Jon pulled you closer. Your back more pressed against his chest as he wrapped the edges of his cloak around your front, hiding the blissfully unaware Ghost from the cold air. “Oh I’m handsome, am I?”

Rolling your eyes, you relaxed in his touch. “I’m not blind, Snow. It’s an unfair thing about you Stark men, you, Robb and your father, all way too handsome for your own good.” You had always done that. Included Jon when referring to the Starks without question. It was something that only his youngest siblings would still do, and that's just because they weren’t yet mature enough to truly understand why he was treated different.

You were though. You knew why, but you and him were always the closest even before the messy feelings of early teenage hood started to take place, and since then you were only more steady in that belief. He was a Snow, but his blood a Stark. And no matter what he called himself, he would always have the blood and integrity of his father. “Should I be worried? Marrying my brother, and running off to Kings Landing with my apparently handsome father?”

Pinching your sides, you tried elbowing him but Jon was far stronger and held you still with a laugh, your voice high and defensive. “I didn’t mean- sorry next time I’ll call your family ugly, alright?” With a pause, it slipped out before you could stop it. “Jealousy another Stark trait I should be worried about?”

You could feel the smirk still plastered across Jons face in his voice at your ear, “When the girl looks like you, any man with half a brain would be jealous of letting you go.”

It was far later then you should’ve been awake, but peeling yourselves apart for the last time was too difficult. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the quiet hums of the woods to pass the silence. His voice rasped in your ear, a small shiver down your spine at its closeness. “Where’d we meet?” He chuckled at your blatant confused face. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we not still us?”

You enjoyed hearing him so light and casual, it felt like I’d been months long amount of days since you’d seen such casualness. “No, well I mean I’m still me and you’re still you. But we’re not highborns, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom, where’d we meet?”

Eyes squinting in thought, you considered something that was the opposite of the horrible paranoia of Kings Landing, and far from the darkness of Dragonstone. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.”

Jon nodded against your head, “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

Laughing loudly you tried pulling away, “Excuse me, why am I a barmaid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

With such a tone of seriousness you felt light at how easily it came to him, as if it was something he’s thought of before. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.”

“That’s aggressive of you.”

“Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you went, what is job was, how you’d fall in love, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many kids you’d have to which you certainly had protests as to how easily Jon kept raising the number each time he mentioned it. By the time you had planned out a new life, it was late enough that you needed to go back.

You needed some sleep, and Jon wasn’t the only brother who you wanted to talk to before this was all over.

Ghost lept out of your lap and shook his fur out on the ground as you both watched him with a fond smile. Looking back at him, you held onto his wrists and he your waist. This time, neither moved in or even tempted the idea of a kiss.

Raising a hand to cup the side of your cheek, he ran a thumb over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Before you had a chance to spiral, he leaned down to meet your eyes more level. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the wall. I want you two to be there for each other, no matter what. Besides, it’ll be easy.” You tilted your head. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

The hug you shared wasn’t the last before you departed, but it was the last one just for you.

He sent you off first, not wanting you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, needed to just get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the wall to grieve about you.

The handmaiden was quite mad at how you ignored her. Something about the Seven, not seeing the bride but you went towards Robbs anyways. You were to be married at the Weirwood under the eyes of the old gods, it didn’t matter what the Seven wanted anymore.

Not quite dressed up, Theon looked you up and down as he opened the door. “Didn’t think you were that much of a bore.” You pushed him out the way with a roll of your eyes, he laughed as he closed the door behind him. You were glad that the northerners weren’t so dramatic.

With his mother tucked away with Bran, he escaped what would’ve been her insistence of shaving and another trim. His facial hair growing thick and his curls much more Tully Red in the daylight. “I want to ask you a favour.”

Nodding once, he said anything. Taking a step to you as you sighed out shakily, hands ringing together, he said your name as he came into your space. Looking up at him, you sighed out again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Taken back, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “That’s not a favour.”

Somewhat flustered, you pulled away. Sitting down on his bed, unable suddenly to send away the thoughts of the very next time you’ll be in this room. “I- I don’t want you thinking I don’t want this, or you, but we didn’t plan this, or talk about it before it happened, and now we’re here and,”

Robb knelt down to your level, not yet touching you in your panic, but speaking slow and in a low, comforting tone until the edge fell from your lips. His steady energy slightly bringing you down a little bit as you tried again. “My parents are miserable together.” Your hands started to wring together in front of you, “They barley tolerate each other, I’ve never seen any love between them. And same with my Uncle. He and the Queen basically hate each other I’m shocked they could stand each other long enough to have three kids together.”

His brows narrowed as you put it all together. “Everyone I know whose married for duty, married because they had to...I think your parents are the only ones I know who ended up happy, who actually love each other.”

Robb leaned in slightly, “Are you worried you’ll never love-”

Shaking your head you felt the anxiety in your chest boil up like never before. “Robb, look at me. I’m Stannis Baratheons child, daughter of the supposed most miserable man in Westeros in the most loveless marriage, are you sure you’re okay with marrying me?”

There it was. The first true hint of insecurity that you’ve allowed yourself to be honest with since you had been told of this arrangement. Two out of three Baratheon Lords were in miserable marriages, and when you looked at Robb, you hated the idea that you were forcing him into just another of that cycle.

The girl in you wanted to cry at losing one love, and the woman in you hated yourself for possibly dragging another into something he’d come to hate. You’ve known Robb for as long as you’ve known Jon, and you watched him grow into the man he is now. Both of you could do great things together according to Lord Stark, but what if you were too much like your father to ever inspire love?

Robb stood up, sitting down next to you as he turned his body close. Your name falling easily from his lips. “You’re not your father. No- look at me. You are not him, you’re not any of them. I’ve known you since you were eight. You’re stubborn, and strong willed and always willing to do what duty asks but that isn’t all of you. I’ve also seen you laugh, get into trouble with me more times then I can count, you care about my little sisters and my brothers like their yours too. My father already sees you like your his own, and despite everything, I know my mother does too.”

Running a hand over your hair, he watched tension in your shoulders deflate ever so slightly. “I’m not worried about marrying you, because I know what I’m getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

Gently you raised your hand, enough to slightly lay over the arm Robb had flat on the bed, your thumb finding this pulse, unlike little Brans, his was steady and strong. “You shouldn’t be. You get told your marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

Your heart raced, as Robb twisted his arm, holding your wrist the same way you were his. An easy, charming, boyish smile on his lips. “And we’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

Deep in your mind, you wished Robb would make this harder. You wished he wasn’t so easy to be charmed by, but you knew him too well to trick yourself into thinking he wasn’t being genuine or honest. “So about that favour...”

Narrowing his eyes, there was a flush in your cheeks that you hated was making him smirk. “What about it?”

You sheepishly tried pulling away, but he yanked you closed by is hold on your wrist. Looking down anywhere but his face you felt like a little girl again, only that time you didn’t have to be the one to ask for it, Jon kissed you before you knew what was happening.

Robb though? Oh Robb knew exactly what you were trying to ask, but was almost sadistically enjoying the process of making you say it out loud to him. You flushed more at what other implications this potential side of him would bring. “I, okay I’m not some innocent flower.”

He raised his eyebrows and you smiled indigently, “I mean, I’m still- I haven’t- shut up.” Robb was flat out laughing at that point but let you fail at getting this out with composure. “I know you’ve been with women before, physically..”

“Does that bother you?”

Shaking your head no, it was no lie. You may have to get used to the idea of being married to him, but again, you weren’t blind. You had eyes, you knew exactly what women saw in Robb Stark. “What I’m trying to say, I’ve kissed someone before but not you.”

Much more serious, Robb clearly did know what you were asking, but watched with his gorgeous comforting blue eyes intensely as you whispered. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of all of them.” His family, the royals, all those you didn’t know, the old gods, and even Jon. A first kiss in front of him felt too personal, to intimate.

Moving close, you felt his breathe on your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you? Here?”

The room slipped away though, Robb’s voice was so warm and so was he. The hand on your wrist moved to rest at your waist while the other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. His lips would brush against yours if either spoke, but he waited for a single nod before kissing you.

His kiss was different. Soft, but coaxing. Like he knew what was holding you back, and just let you fall into it on your own. It was simple and gentle at first, but as soon as you let out a tiny sigh, something in Robb slipped for a moment. Kissing you again, harder this time. His hands tighter and his kiss a little deeper.

Leaning into his front, your hand found the back of his neck and into his curls, and your other against his chest as if they always knew what to do. It wasn’t until you let out what might just have been a small moan, Robb close to pulling you into his lap did he pull away. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and running his hand once more over your hair.

“Can you live with that? For the rest of your life?”

Robb smiled softly at the very new venerability in you. Pressing one more kiss to your cheek, he knew you didn’t mean only having a kiss. But was he happy with such a kiss was your question. “Wait until tonight, I’ll tell what about you I’ve been fantasizing about living with.”

The grin on Robbs face as he pulled away wasn’t the charming boyish one earlier. No, this one was far more that of who he was really, a wolf. A wolf who looked you up and down and made you realize that Robb Stark just might not be as dashing and honourable as he’s led you to believe.

A thought that should’ve made you nervous, but as you walked back to your room, ready to let the girls doll you up and argue about not touching your hair, you started to think that maybe that wolfish grin, actually excited you.

Just when you thought you were going to die of a heart attack, your to be lord father gave you a reason to have a whole new panic. The ceremony was more fancy then any of you involved wanted, not the Starks nor you, but your own father insisted on marrying you off with the royals in toe.

He wasn’t here. Your mother neither. Both of them, Lady Catelyn and Selyse were either sickly or caring for the sick and weren’t here, but Ned Stark was. He was here, and your own father wasn’t. Stannis was not a consistently comforting father, but part of you felt hurt that he wasn’t here to see his oldest daughter, his own heir, marry for the first time.

Instead, the man who had seen you raised half your life here, the one who would be your father by marriage once this was done was the one who approached you. Looking out into the distant woods as you clearly struggled to hold your nerves back. “I didn’t think this was the thing that’d worry you so much.”

Spinning around, Lord Stark reached out to steady you with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot..was it this nerve wracking when you married Catelyn?”

Not pushing you towards the woods, he stood beside you an arm around your shoulder as he rubbed your upper arm gently. “Terrifying. I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted someone as delightful as the Queen at mine either.” You huffed a single laugh out and swallowed the rest. “And I know I certainly wouldn’t want the person I love watch me marry someone else.”

Blood in your veins froze, your heart stopped and nothing but nausea flowed up your lungs. “I-”

He wasn’t even angry, or disappointed. He chuckled with a fondness. “I’ve seen you spend half your life here, sweet girl. Watched you grow up alongside my own sons, and I’ve watched Jon be in love with you since the first day you ever arrived.” If you cried, you’d mess up the annoying amount of makeup they insisted on, but you felt a sob in your chest. “You made him happy, and he made you happy. For a time, a long time I thought that was enough. But I also know for a fact that Jon never saw marrying you as an option. He always was painfully aware of who you were.”

You felt the stinging, and you stood still in his hold. Forcing deep breaths to push away the panic.

“There’s a good number of things I regret about how I raised him. It doesn’t feel good knowing that he’s always felt inferior to Robb and now the woman he loves is marrying him too. If I could do it again, would I even be better. Force Roberts hand harder, be more honest with Cat, let him just be a Stark and there’d be nothing in his way for you. But I didn’t do that, nor do I know if I ever should’ve.”

Looking down, your arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want you to assume I’m just thinking of Jon while I’m with Robb, it’s not that. I’ve known Robb for just as long, and we’ve always been just as close, save for, you know.” His hand was soothing like a true fathers comfort running up and down what he could reach of your arm.

“Here’s whats going to happen. I’m going to walk you out there to my son, you’ll kneel together before the Weirwood and pray and when you rise you’ll be a Stark. Part of you will always be a Baratheon, but you’ll also be our family now. And no matter what, wolves always protect those in their pack. I’m not going to assume the worst of you, because I know you better then that. You and Robb will be good for each other, and just because losing Jon hurts doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not willing to love Robb.”

Looking up at him you frustratingly wipe at the tears, and he pulled you into a hug. One that you hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had been too long since you felt the hug, the love of a real father. Muttering into your hair, you could feel the same smirk that you could always sense on both brothers. “Besides, I can tell you for certain, having one night with your spouse before being dragged halfway across the country will do wonders for your heart.”

You laughed a lot at that one. Pulling away he looked you over, gently wiping away the rest of the tears on your cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You have a wolf waiting for you.”

If you were being honest, it was a blur. There were so many people, and most of them you’d never want present at your wedding in any lifetime. The golden hair of the Lannisters mocked you, the bored and judgmental sneer of your cousin annoyed you, and the silent watching of an Uncle who you barley knew anymore, but you were thankful that this wasn’t in a sept.

The crowd silent, no words spoken by anyone except you and Robb. He looked tall and fierce, curls shining more red in the peeking sun through the leaves, eyes bright and blue like the sea as he looked at nothing and no one but you. The fur around his shoulders making him look large like the wolf he was said to be, and soon it too would be yours.

Whatever small words you exchanged, you heard none of it but the blood in your veins. Thankful when Robb took your hand and knelt down with you, facing away from the crowd. The Seven was what you were raised to pray too, but you were a wolf now. And the wolves answered to the Old Gods.

A fate you were perhaps always meant to have, feeling much more heard in your silence of the Weirwood then you ever did in a sept. Eyes open, looking up the carved face at the same time, the crowd was silent, Robb grabbing both your hands to stand as he kept your eyes.

Draping the very fur he wore over your shoulders, he gently pulled you in with two fingers under your chin. This kiss was far softer and fairer then the one you shared in private, but this was also all your anxiety could handle. And Robb knew it.

Were it a more jovial occasion, it was tradition for a northern groom to carry the bride to the feast but Lord Stark had the sense to give you two a moment alone and King Robert was more then happy to direct the crowd to where the wine and food sat.

Your heart racing, Robb gently held your waist with his forehead pressed to yours. Eyes both shut as your hands rested on his chest. You left tomorrow, so all you had was now and tonight.

It’s what he demanded of you, and what he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt Jon Snow a great deal to watch you marry his brother, and not once did he ever see the transfixing beauty in your eyes.

You didn’t look at him once, and Jon couldn’t get to the wall fast enough.

Truth be told, the first big laugh you had was at the sheer idea of your father here. Meals with him, there was no laughter or rambunctious behaviour. Just silence, diplomacy, and the mind numbing dings and clogs of Patchface. No joy in a meal under Stannis’s watch, except for the fool himself. Patchface there who was only lucky enough to be in a job, because gods help her, for whatever reason the fool made Shireen laugh.

You couldn’t imagine your father here. The drinking, the laughter, the never ending line of food, talk, and fun. Truth be told, you and Robb spent little time there. You glanced nervously at him more then once, and in your bubble of privacy he would rest a hand on your thigh firmly and a whisper in your ear to at least eat something.

Arya tried many times to come and talk to you, but Sansa yelled at her each time. Telling her to leave the two of you alone, the three of you girls would be in Kings Landing together anyways.

King Robert, on now one too many drinks made an innocuous comment about beds, or sex, or something vaguely incoherent and you and Robb looked to the other. You wide eyed and nervous, but there was something in his that settled it. Leaning to your ear, his voice felt like a rumble. “Normally I’m for tradition, but I’ll be damned if I let this lot see any of you like that.”

One of the men in the crowd had seen you like that, but with the way Robb looked at you, for once, Jon hadn’t crossed your mind. Too much nerves, too much wine, and a fat load of worry about being in a mans bed proper for the first time.

By the time the crowd noticed, Ned just chuckled at Roberts comments about the bride and groom slipping away before a gods honest tradition. “I told Cat I wasn’t going to let their be a bedding ceremony because I didn’t want to hurt someone on our wedding night.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned almost proud. “Glad to know my son’s the same.”

The worries of what was to come, ended up being broken slightly by the fact that as soon as Robb opened his door, Grey wind was sat in the middle of the bed. Large body splayed out like it was already bed time. Rising his head up at the sound of the door, you ended up bursting into laughter at Robb having to tell him twice to go.

Shutting it behind the growing direwolf, Robb shook his head something snarky on his tongue that died as he looked to you. Draped in his furs, furs that made you look far smaller and the gentle almost innocent look as you stepped around his room. You’d been in here countless times, slept in here countless times, but never like this.

Trying desperately to hold back your nerves, you looked out the open window focusing on steadying your heart. But the warmth of Robb enveloped your back as he reached over you, closing the windows and sealing you both alone. The crackling of a fire almost enough to hide the shaky breathe as Robb gently ran his hands down your arms.

Resting both on your waist, Robb wrapped one around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He didn’t let you ruminate on the worry, dipping his head to level his mouth with your ear. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me.” Freezing in his arms, he spoke almost quieter but it raged so close to your ear. “We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

You felt light on your feet. You’ve never heard this tone from Robb before, never so intimate in your ear and the deep rumblings of his voice felt as if something strong inside was being held back. The act itself scared you, it always had. But another part of you wondered if you should be fearful of the young wolf behind you, or if that fear excited you.

The arm around your stomach rose up, tilting your head to turn slightly to the side, enough that part of him was within your sight as he murmured your name. “I know you’ve never done this before, is it just that, that scares you or is it me?”

Shaking your head fervently, you startled him. “No, no it’s not you. It’s just- I should know what to expect by now but,” Taking a deep breathe you shut your eyes. “The girls in Kings Landing all talk about men and their first time like it’s painful, violent.”

Robb chuckled deeply, vibrating through his chest into your back and down between your legs. It was a dark laugh, and you felt overwhelmed at how little you really considered what he might be like. “It’s only painful if the man is a worthless, brute who thinks getting off is better then getting their lady off.”

Was your chest heaving with you hard you felt yourself breathing, your eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted you felt more waves between your legs and having it all be because of Robb was more then enough to leave you speechless. Reading your body like a book, Robb leaned down more, brushing his lips against your neck. Grinning at the sigh you unknowingly let out.

Turning slightly more you could see him a bit better. “Will it hurt?”

Smiling like a predator, he pulled you closer to him. “Only if you want it to.” Laughing at your breathless expression, asking why some women would want it to hurt. He moved a hand to your hip and pressed his lips closer to your jaw. “Don’t worry. If you want it, we’ll get there. Tonight’s not about that though.”

Suddenly pulling away he yanked his cloak enough that it slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the ground. Turning you in his arms, Robb gripped the sides of your dress tightly in his fists before pulling it up and off you. The fact that you let him do that, not telling him how little you had on underneath might have been a dangerous idea.

Usually such a dress was worn with layers underneath, and yet, all that remained on you was that which covered your most lower regions. Your softness, plush skin, and tits all on display. Holding your hips, Robb closed his eyes breathing deep for a moment. “For a girl whose never done this before, this is awfully naughty of you.”

Indeed was the charming boy no longer here, but a man, a wolf looking at his mate like prey.

Swallowing the pounding in your heart, you reached up to Robb, slowly pulling layers up and off of him for yourself. His hands were much more confident then yours were currently, but he stood still watching and letting you undress him at your own pace.

Staring was impolite, and yet Robb didn’t mind as you looked at his chest now totally free. Just as your fingers reached for his pants he snatched your hands. Raising them in the air as you gasped in surprise.

“This is about you. Lay down for me.”

Watching you with dark eyes, you couldn’t ignore how intensely he looked you up and down as you lay back on the top of his bed. Your palms bracing you up before being tossed back down as Robb suddenly climbed up the bed and over top of you. A hand on each side of your head as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Do you trust me?”

Without even considering it, you answered the raw truth. “Always.”

One hand reached up, grabbing your jaw roughly as he pulled your lips back to his. This time he kissed you nothing like before. His kiss was rough, demanding and deep. Guiding your every move and commanding that you obey. He tugged your hip with his other hand up to press into his own and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Lightheaded, you surrendered to his touch. As if all will of your own bled out onto the bed leaving nothing but Robb to command you as he pleases, and yet the idea didn’t scare you the way it was described by others. Your hands reached up and grasped his waist, a small sound leaving your mouth into his.

Switching between tasting you with his tongue and biting at your lips it, Robb let go of your jaw and ran it behind your head and grasped your hair tightly. Pressing his body down firmly, his hips naturally rutted into yours. He smirked as you gasped.

The rougher he kissed you, the more your hands moved on their own. Reaching behind his neck and wrapping around it to sink into his hair he ground his hips into you harder. A gentle moan leaving you, Robb left your lips, running the same ferocity down your neck. His lips and teeth no doubt leaving marks that a proper lady should be ashamed of.

He didn’t quite stop, kissing down your neck more until he reached your breasts. Grinning at how hard you were breathing, he stopped that right in it’s tracks as his hands cupped your chest. A needy cry left your lips, turning to a longer moan as Robb ran this thumbs over your nipples. Just as one hand grasped one, did he lower his mouth to bite at the other.

Pleasure shooting through you, your back arched into his body and limbs felt like they seized from the pleasure. His teeth switching between a gentle nibble and a harsher bite just to pull a gasp from you, he played you like an instrument. Getting every sound from your pretty lips that made his cock that much harder.

Pulling away, he hovered over you looking down at the almost in awe expression. You weren’t used to such a side to this man, and he seemed to reveal in your innocence over it. Leaning back more, you followed the sight of his dark eyes, parted lips and down his chest to where he hands slowly pulled at his pants.

Swallowing hard, he tilted your head up his a hand firmly at your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me.” Not letting you look down as he stripped himself bare. “Good girl, keep them on me and only me.” Slowly moving down the bed he pulled your hips to, grabbing your underwear and pulling them down.

The coolness of outside did nothing to take away how warm and wet you were between your legs, and Robb forced you to stay on his face. Making you look at his eyes, greedily pushing your knees apart and expression turning dark as he stared at you. A slightly whimper leaving you, he leaned back over you, one hand running over your thigh, first on the outside, then inside, and slowly upwards.

Just as he reached you, Robb bit at your bottom lip. Using the chance to slip his tongue inside you just as he ran his hand over you. Cupping you entirely and already he smirked into the kiss at how soaked you were. Lips brushing yours as he pulled back enough to speak, his fingers gently running back and forth across your soaked slit. “Good girls don’t get this wet, do they?”

Shaking your head no, all you could do was hear his voice. Eye slipping closed as your legs shook and a coil within you twisted at such an easy touch. Robb continued. “No, good girls are sweet and innocent. This doesn’t feel very innocent to me.” Two fingers now soaked danced up and ran across your clit.

Jumping at the shock of pleasure, you grasped him by the shoulders with a whine. “It’s all for you-”

Stammering the words out as Robb now rubbed tight circles against your clit. Your muscles tensing and his own hips refusing to let you close them you had to just take it. His other fingers still soaking up whatever you drenched him with. “I know it is. You ready for me to open you up? Make you cum before you take me?”

You’d say yes to pretty much anything Robb asked of you right now. Nodding, you leaned up to kiss him, making him smile into your lips as he slipped two soaked fingers deep inside to his knuckles. You gasped so loudly, were the windows not closed no doubt the outside world would’ve heard you. Sinking them deep in one go, you writhed in his touch.

Robb slowly slid them out and back, the wetness between you making the sound obscene, but it was the only music Robb could stand to hear. He never picked up the pace, but he did, right as you tensed in his touch? Stopped rubbing at your clit, and slit a third finger down to sink inside you with the others.

You cried his name and he kissed down your neck as he slowly pumped them inside of you. Clenching around his fingers he bit your skin harder trying to force his cock to shut up. Screaming at him like a howling wolf to just take you already.

Pulling back from your lips he looked you in the eye, feeling you clench around him as your sounds grew higher. Something burned hot inside of you as the other twisted and turned so tightly. One free hand, Robb ran over your lips, and something sweet inside you, pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers as he did so.

In return? He ran his thumb roughly over your clit as pumped his fingers slow and deep into you as you came around them. You moaned his name, but muffled it as Robb gently sunk two fingers into your mouth at the same time. One hand grasped his wrist, and yet even as you came something inside you obeyed like you were a submitting prey.

Robb almost snarled at how well you sucked on his fingers, and how he wished you two had more time then tonight. He couldn’t stop the thought of how beautiful you would look on your knees before him, obediently sucking on his cock with his hand guiding you up and down his length tight in your hair.

Pulling out of you Robb pulled your body up to press against his bare one and kissed you full of tongue and a greedy desperation. A desperation you yearned for back. It was a strained rasp of your own in his ear that had him shudder. “Please, Robb. Please fuck me.”

It didn’t even occur to you to try and be sweet or innocent about it. You could feel his cock pressing against you between your still shaking legs and you felt lightheaded at how thick it felt against you. Kissing your ear, he murmured much more gentle, “Are you sure?” As you nodded he bit your earlobe and hissed into it. “Out loud.”

Nodding again, your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. “I’m sure, I want you.”

Kneeling up on the bed, Robb ran his hand gently down the side of your body. His dark eyes soft for just a little while longer, as you felt something in your chest at him. Pulling your hips more up into his lap you think you understood why he kept his eyes on you.

His chest led down to coarse, rough hair surrounding a long, thick cock that you wondered if it would even fully fit in your hand. Your chest heaved as you stared, and he slipped into a deeper tone. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Slipping a hand behind your head, Robb kept you looking down, watching as he ran the tip of his cock over your entrance, up brushing against your clit and back down. Barley sliding in each time until you begged his name once more. This time Robb watched your eyes, as he kept your head looking down to watch him slide his cock inside you.

He was thick, and the stretch itself stung in a way that made you gasp but not a pain that you had feared from it. No, the deeper he sunk the more you soaked his cock. Only halfway in, Robb tugged your hair to look up at him before he in a much more punishing thrust, bottomed out.

His face snarled at how tight, how warm and soaking wet you cunt was and he pulled you right back into an equally as rough kiss. He didn’t go fast, but part of him reasoned to go more gentle, and yet?

Your cries, your begs of his name as each slow, rough fuck had your arching your back into his body all the more. Each pound of his cock inside of you slapped loudly in a way that had him grip your hips so tight, you could already feel the bruises.

Sweat built up on both your bodies and you ran your hand through his own increasingly damp curls, scratching his scalp with your nails that had him fuck into you harder each time. For all his talk, little thoughts came to his mind as Robb fucked you.

Like something of an animal took over and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck you more, harder, faster, fill you until his cum spilled out of you and then fill you more. You cried out, nails scratching down his back without even realizing you were doing so, but muffling each sound as you bit into the meat of his shoulder. Robb, fucked you harder and struggled to stay slow.

You clenched tightly, enough that he had to pound into your cunt roughly just to sink as deep as he could inside and pulling away enough he could see tears at the side of your eyes but you rather then begging for mercy, begged for more as you kissed him.

His hands held your knees, pushing as wide as possible as Robb lost composure. Fucking you faster and just as one hand moved to rub at your clit you came around him. Robb leaving your other knee to press his hand against your mouth at how little you could contain your cries.

Fucking into you once, twice, five more times he pushed inside as deep as he could sink and filled you with him. His cum warm and thick, it felt like there was so much more of it then a normal man would have but you let Robb pull you into another kiss, this one rough and sloppy as he filled you with his cum as his tongue did your mouth.

Never leaving, his hands eventually turned soothing, his kiss softer and his voice not commanding but assuring. Telling you how good you did, how perfect you were. Holding you in his arms and him yours, it was just the two of you in that moment and nothing more.

It was only when you started to laugh, did Robb laugh. Yanking you into his chest as he flopped onto his back with you on top of him. Kissing you gently as he ran a hand over your hair. “Aye, a man could get used to this.”

He should’ve let you rest, but he took you once more that night. This time, far less able to hold back how fast and greedy he wanted to be about fucking you. The only downside, was how exhausted the night made you.

Slipping into a deep sleep, that only meant morning would come quicker. And too quick it did.

That morning, you both stayed in bed as long as you could. Robbs back against the wall and you against his chest, far less worried about the lack of clothes either of you still had. “You were born for this, Robb. It’s not in you to fail.”

Kissing the side of your head, things were feeling a bit easier, a bit more normal between you even in such an intimate manner. “Everyone says that right up until they fail.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned. Leaving his grasp to gently face him, your body in his lap. Hands on his chest, your eyes often trailed over him. He didn’t question your gaze, you had to get used to him as much as he was getting used to you. It was still new, no matter how much a decade and a half of friendship had formed the foundation.

No joke was in your face though. “I’m serious, Robb. Even if you don’t believe in yourself?” Shrugging one shoulder you smiled softly, “I’m your wife now, so I’ll just do all the believing for you.”

Squeezing your hip, he rolled his own eyes. “And let you do all the work? We’re a team, remember?”

Saying goodbye to Robb however, was easier then what waited for you outside.

Packing up your hose, you heard the two of them in the distance. “My mother?”

“She was very kind.” You tensed slightly, hoping no one noticed but you very much doubted kind was the genuine word Jon should be using. He didn’t deserve her ire, not now, not ever.

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

“It was always my colour.”

Your eyes closed, trying to tune their goodbye out. You had no right to invade their privacy.

Part of you hoped he would ignore you. You wouldn’t have to handle this and you could ignore it, but Jon knew you way better then that. You’d hate yourself if you left it at this. Reaching over you, Jon pulled part of your things up and secured it without even saying a word. Looking up, he was closer then you thought.

Looking at each other, the responsible thing would be to nod, shake hands, say a cordial goodbye. But Jon stood with his bright eyes, a grey so deep they looked black at times and you wanted to cry. You felt pathetic for being hardly able to hold back such a display of emotions, but the love that Jon had looked at you with for so many years was as strong as it always was.

You had no doubt that you looked just the same.

Jon pulled you into a hug, one too tight and too emotional for the company around and yet neither of you cared. Neither of you knew if this would be the last time, and both of you resented the world for forcing that as a possibility. His hand held you to him from the back of your head as you sunk your face partway into his neck and the other into the fur around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

Already, even in the others arms, the grieving already begun. Pulling back, you held at his shoulders and he shamelessly cupped the side of your cheeks. “Think I could get to the wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

You burst into a laugh, one bordering too close on a cry. But you tilted your head. “Now or never, Snow.”

The kiss was pressed to your cheek, slow and unrushed before hugging you once more. For too many years you and Jon ignored the inevitability of having to separate like this, and it sat deep and uncomfortable in your stomach to do so. Like leaving the other behind would be a mistake in the long run, but you couldn’t understand why your soul screamed at you to not make it. You knelt down, kissing Ghost on the forehead as he licked at your cheek, whispering to him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me? Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

Seeing the other Starks approaching, you two looked at the other one last time so close you could feel the other. You took off with the company as they all headed out to the Kingsroad, giving enough space for Lord Stark to speak to his son alone before they too parted ways.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about, but you knew Jon Snow better then anyone to guess. As his father turned to leave, you and Jon looked from the distance at the other once more. You said nothing and neither did he. His life was up north now, and yours is both by Lord Stark’s side and your future with your husband. A future you wanted, and one Jon didn’t want to get in the way of. But as you both rode off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling in your gut just screamed louder, the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark

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arcielee · 8 months

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Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of how the rays danced against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, like drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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fandom-puff · 10 months

Note

Anything Ned Stark. Second wife, first wife, fluff, headcanons anything. 💚❤💚❤💚 -Maris

Omgg!! Haven’t written much for Ned and haven’t written game of thrones in a while so I rlly liked this one!! I went with 2nd wife HCs for this one.

Being Ned Stark’s second wife would include…

Warnings: AU where Catelyn dies, reference to death, political/arranged marriage, age gap, reference to smut, but it’s skipped over

Gif creds to owner

Almost a full year after catelyn had passed, Ned decided that Winterfell needed a new Lady, and his children needed a maternal figure

Of course, no one could replace Cat, who was the mother of five of his children and kept Winterfell running smoothly while he tended to his duties as warden of the north

So after much deliberation in the Godswood, he visited Lewin’s Solar and had ravens drawn up to the northern Lords

And one to King Robert himself.

it takes several moons, but soon his new bride arrives at Winterfell, accompanied by your Lord father and two of your brothers

The wedding itself is a small affair, with your vows said in the Godswood before the old gods

The children are in attendance, and the eldest among them seem aged beyond their years following the death of Lady Catelyn.

The feast afterwards is quiet, the music played quietly, the guests not yet rowdy.

You sit at the head table at Lord Eddard’s right side, your shoulders weighed down by the great grey cloak of House Stark, and the new responsibilities of the Lady of Winterfell

Soon the children are herded off to bed, and it’s time for the bedding

Your mother had discussed what would happen in the marital chamber in scant detail, so you knew the mechanics

Your father had only told you to do your duty to your house, his jaw tense

But when a rowdy fiddle player tried to liven up the festivities with his bawdy hollering and calls to strip you through the halls, Eddard stood from the table

A cool look from his stern grey eyes was enough to silence the musician

“You may continue the festivities,” he addressed the wedding guests. And although his voice was low and quiet, it commanded respect from all in the Hall.

He then offered his hand to you, and when you slipped your hand into his calloused palm, he guided you up and then down from the platform, through the hall of well-wishers, all bowing their heads to the Warden of the North.

The walk to your new chambers was silent, but not uncomfortably so, and when Eddard held the door open for you, you thanked him in a quiet voice.

“These are your chambers,” he said lowly, gesturing.

They were beautiful, in a rustic, comforting way. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the furnishings.

“In here is your sitting area, with your Solar just ahead. Your bed chambers are through that way. Your things have been brought up already, but you have plenty of time to sort all of that out. And you’ll have help, of course,”

You smile gratefully as he explains that you are free to change the appearance of the chambers as you please.

“My own chambers aren’t too far from here,” he adds with a small smile, and you notice the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

Together you sit before the fire, sharing a cup of ale, talking of not much at all, but easing into one another’s company.

“Thank you,” you say, setting your cup down. When he looks at you quizzically, you expand. “For before. My younger brother teased me before I came here, telling tales about bedding ceremonies. I knew you wouldn’t allow it, you didn’t for-“ you catch yourself. “You defended the Lady Catelyn’s honour. And I am thankful that you defended mine too, Lord Stark,”

Eddard watches as you talk, the way you handle talking about Cat, his Cat. There is no scorn, no resentment at being a second wife, at being a replacement, at knowing that he did not love you

Not yet, at least

“I would never dishonour you, My Lady,” he tells you, and you smile gently.

He is silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “I will not make you consummate this marriage tonight My Lady. Not if you don’t want to. We can proceed in the coming weeks, if you would prefer,”

“What if I want to?” You asked. “I must do my duty to House YLN and now to House Stark as well. You and I both know this marriage cannot go unconsummated, otherwise our houses are not formally allied,”

Eddard surveyed you for a moment, relieved he had wed a Lady with a wise head on her shoulders, and not a skittish young maid.

“Then I will go at your pace, my Lady, and you must tell me to stop should your mind change,”

You nodded your head in agreement, and together you made your way to your bedchamber

He keeps his word, and the marriage is consummated slowly, dutifully, gently

Afterwards, he holds you, never leaving to return to his own chambers, and had a servant bring wine for you

But when he returns to your bed, he finds you asleep, snuggled into the fur, your face serene and your hair mussed up

With a gentle smile he slides back into bed with you, though it takes him much longer to fall asleep, killed by your gentle breaths

#eddard stark x reader #ned stark x reader #Ned stark imagine #ned stark headcanons #game of thrones headcanon #game of thrones au

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justagirlwholikesadam · 1 year

Text

The Wolf Among Men

WARNING : RATED M, Smut, and Death

A/N: This will be my first GOT fanfic, I will being going along with the plot on the show with my own twist. I haven’t read the books so if I get something wrong or the plots are all over the place. Let it be. My story my rules. Please note comments are welcome. Enjoy! -L

Summary: Jon was told that his eldest sister, Y/n arrived to Castle Black. He was surprised when Y/n arrived with The Hound, Sandor Clegane.

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Chapter One

Jon stood by the door as he watched the most feared and best fighter in the seven kingdoms worried at your bedside.

He was lost for words when he saw his sister, Y/n laid on a wagon being pulled by Sandor on his horse. The band of brotherhood stood behind them. A couple of wildings had found them around the perimeter and were about to hold them in a cell when Sandor told them about you.

“We have Y/n Stark of Winterfell. Where the fuck is her brother?” He hissed at the men then pointed at your body on the wagon. They were allowed to enter.

Jon thought you were dead after Sansa told him that you left King’s Landing with the hound during the battle of Blackwater. Jon was cautious of the hound. He heard the stories of Sandor and his brother. Sandor told Jon how you became ill during the trip to Castle Rock. You had a horrible fever during the journey. You became more ill and passed out.

Jon watched as the maester looked over at you with Sandor standing in the corner watching. Jon looked over at Beric and Thoros who stood behind the door frame of the room. Jon sensed they had come to care for you very much. He still felt unsure, you were Jon’s older sister. His favorite, he would tell everyone. You had been there for Jon since he was a young child. Catelyn had hated him for being a bastard while you had nothing but love for him.

Jon walked outside the room to know more about the situation. He asked Beric and Thoros about Sandor and you. Beric told Jon how they met both of you. They tried to convict Sandor for his crimes along with his brother's.

“Y/n told us everything as she begged us not to fight Sandor.” Beric said.

“They had escaped from King’s Landing after the Battle of Blackwater. She even had asked us for any news on Sansa or you. Sansa didn’t want to join her.” Jon nodded, they were telling the truth. Sansa had come to Castle Black as well after she escaped from Ramsey.

“Your other sister was there too, Arya.” Thoros mentioned Jon.

“What happened? Why isn’t she with you?” Jon asked, looking at the men.

Thoros shook his head and sigh. “Girl was mad at her because Y/n refused to leave Sandor behind. Told Y/n to fuck off because she was with the man that killed her friend.”

“Arya ran away. Sandor and Y/n tried to look for her but it was no use. Little girl is quick. Afterwards they left too. We found them again after the murder of septon Ray.” Beric told Jon how they got Sandor and you to join them and travel up here.

“Why is he so attached to her?” Jon asked but no one spoke. He looked over at Beric, who looked away from his gaze. Thoros did not speak as well and it made Jon very angry, all the horrible possibilities ran through his mind of you being alone with him. He’s the brother of the mountain, the murder and the rapist.

Jon was quick to unleash his sword as he turned into the room. Sandor was watching you as the maester checked your pulse when Jon walked inside the room and pushed Sandor against the wall with the tip of his sword digging into his neck.

“Jon!” Beric yelled as he walked inside.

“It’s not what you think.” Beric told Jon before looking away from Sandor’s harsh stare.

“What are you to my sister?” Jon screamed as his eyes narrowed. Sandor didn't say anything but stare at Jon.

Sandor didn't know what to say. How can he tell Jon that he’s in love with you? He didn't want to fall in love with you at first, the eldest daughter of Eddard Stark but he did.

“Well?” Jon shouted as Ser Davos entered the room when he heard the commotion from outside. The older man went up to Jon and spoke to him trying to get him to calm down.

“Jon, this isn’t the time or place. Your sister is what matters” Ser Davos said, looking between Sandor and Jon.

“Jon, please.” Ser Davos pleaded.

“If you want to kill me do it then, bastard. Kill me and when Y/n wakes up tell her what you did.” Sandor said. He knew his words worked when he saw Jon's eyes soften when he mention you.

“Take him to the cell.” Jon said, removing his sword from Sandor’s neck then walked away from him. Jon stood by your bedside as the frighten maester kept looking at you.

Ser Davos signaled Sandor to the door. Beric and Thoros watched as Sandor took one last look at you and walked away following Ser Davos.

Sandor doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the ceiling of the cell while he laid on the cold bench. He tugged on the thin blanket around his body, he felt horrible and tired. He needed a warm bath and a bed. He needed you. Months traveling with you and sleeping next you had him missing your company and your warmth. He was missing you. Sandor was about to drift into sleep when he heard someone walking towards his cell.

“Are you ready to tell me?” Sandor looked over at the sound of Jon’s voice.

Jon stood in front of the door looking at Sandor through the metal bars. Sandor rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up to sit. He spread his legs as he leaned back against the wall.

“You're not the same as before, bastard.” Sandor admitted as he stared at Jon. Remembering the naïve look on Jon’s face when he visited Winterfell with King Robert. Now, Jon stood in front of him as a man. He can tell Jon had done and seen some shit that can change a person.

“Have you changed?” Jon asked. Sandor did not respond.

“I can just send you back to King’s Landing. I know Cersei would like that.” Jon said, making Sandor nod knowing all too well the bounty on his head.

“Beric said you’re close to Y/n. Do you care for her?” Sandor looked away from Jon cursing silently at the one eyed man for telling his business.

Sandor looked back at the sound of keys. Jon opened the door and walked inside, sitting down on the bench across from Sandor who had a surprised look on his face.

“I thought she was dead after the news of my brother and father. I wept for her.” Jon said, looking down at his hands on his lap.

“She wept for you too.” Sandor added. “She missed you especially during her stay at King’s Landing. She prayed for you.”

Jon let out a sad smile. “She told me you were close with her. Closer than anyone.”

Jon nodded, “Aye, we were. She never treated me or called me a bastard. Always treated me like her brother. Sansa and their mother would fight over that.” Jon stood quiet for a moment as he looked over at Sandor.

“Thoros said you had protected her in King’s Landing. That's what Y/n told him. You protected Sansa and her.”

‘Bald cunt yapping his mouth.” Sandor mumbled.

“That bald cunt saved your life.” Jon answered back.

Sandor frowned at Jon. “I wanted to execute you but he was the first to vouch for your name. They all did, the brotherhood without banners.”

Sandor couldn't believe they had vouch for him. All he did was shouted and called them names but of course, you were always there to calm him down and ease the tension. Sandor knew he had to tell Jon the truth. He had too because he needed to get back to you. He wasn't going to leave you alone not after everything both of you have been through.

“She started to talk to me after your father and sisters arrived at King's Landing.” Sandor said and shook his head with a small smile.

“Couldn't get the girl to shut up or quit following me. She kept telling me people there were all snakes. She didn't trust no one.”

“She trusted you.” Jon said. Sandor couldn't stop thinking about you in King’s Landing. He could remember you crying over Sansa after she was humiliated in court, when the news of Robb and your mother's death arrived. He frowns at the memory of Joffrey slapping you as he showed you and Sansa your father’s head on a stick.

“I wish I could have protected her more.” Sandor blurted out. “Joffrey had it out for her when your father died. He hated Sansa more since she was weaker.”

‘What did he do to Y/n?” Jon asked as he felt the uneasiness coursing through his body.

Sandor took a deep breath before answering. “He hit her around, he showed her the head of her father on a stick. He threatened to have her raped.”

“Did he ever…” Sandor shook his head at Jon’s question. Rage filled Sandor at the though of it.

“Fuck no. I would have murder everyone who tried to touch the woman I love."

Jon’s eyes widened in surprise at Sandor's answer. He couldn’t believe it.

“You love her?” Jon watched Sandor who looked down at the ground as his cheeks turned pink from the sudden outburst.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Sandor spoke. “A dog like me with someone like her. I have told her many times. I’m not good for her, I told her my kind don’t get to have a woman like her.”

“Your kind?” Jon asked as rising a brow at Sandor.

Sandor looked at Jon with a look and pointed at himself. “A killer, a hideous monster. Fucking got nothing to offer her.”

“It’s funny.” Jon said with a smile. Sandor was about to curse Jon out when Jon spoke out.

“Father wanted Y/n to get married for so long and she kept refusing. She practically went down on her knees, and begged him not to marry her off. She never liked any man that father brought home. She would tell me how she doesn’t trust them and she would rather be dead than be with any man she didn’t trust.”

“If my sister trusted you. It meant she liked you. You even offered her protection.” Jon said as he rose up. Sandor looked up at him as Jon walked closer to him.

“You offered her something that many women wished they had. Do you love her?” Sandor nodded at Jon.

“Can I trust you that my sister would be well and happy with you?” Sandor quickly rose and nodded.

“Aye, I don't know why she loves me but she does and I finally have the balls to admit it now. I couldn’t before but now seeing her all laid up and not moving. I regret not saying it sooner.”

Jon smiled at him for a second. “Alright.” He said as he began to walk to the door of the cell. He looked over his shoulder at Sandor.

“You can see her if you want. The maester went to check up on her again.” Sandor followed him but froze when Jon pointed a finger at him.

“You hurt my sister, Clegane. I’ll kill you.” Sandor let out a chuckle at Jon’s threat and followed him.

-After escaping King’s Landing -

If someone had told Sandor that he would be with a lady in the future. He would have laughed and cursed them out. Sandor sleeping with someone with a name would have been the last thing he would have done.

However there you were laying next to him. You’re on your back in a deep sleep. Hair tousled, bite marks on your neck and chest were red on your skin. He felt like a creep watching you sleep. Your chest softly rose up and down with each breath you took.

Your nipples were hard from the chill air in the room. Your lips were slightly parted, Sandor couldn't help but raise one of his hands up to your face, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. Same lips that were around his cock not so long, same lips that kissed him. Sandor was the first to be up since he was a light sleeper. Both of you were finally able to rest well for the first time in a long time since Sandor and you fled from King’s Landing. It’s been a few weeks since Sandor finally found a friendly Inn. No one knew who both of you were. He could finally fuck you in a bed instead against a tree or on the ground.

He couldn’t help but remember last night's events with you as he stared at your sleeping body.

You, Y/n Stark from Winterfell, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Catelyn Stark had confessed your love for him. He wanted to say it back, but he couldn’t. He was scared. Scared that it wouldn’t be true. When he didn’t say it back, you kissed him and told him that he didn’t have to say it back. You told him the day you arrived at King's Landing and officially met him was the day he plagued your mind in a good way.

When everything went to shit, your father was killed. Sansa and you were tormented by the king. You tried to endure the tournaments from Joffrey so Sansa didn't have too but Joffrey didn't like it one bit. You wouldn't crack down and cry in front of him like Sansa did. You held your head high as he had his men beat you down. If it wasn't for Sandor who brought Tyrion Lannister to your aid, who knows what would have happened. As the maester tended your wounds Sandor was in the corner of your chambers along with Tyrion who was giving you his deepest apologies. It fell to deaf ears though, Tyrion knew that when saw you looking at Sandor. He looked over at the bulking man to see him looking back at you as well.

During the Battle of the Blackwater, Sandor came back inside the castle mid war and looked for you. You were with Sansa in her room when he found you. He begged for you to come with him. Sandor vowed to return you and Sansa back home. You trusted Sandor but Sansa didn't. She was afraid of him and had said that Stannis wouldn’t hurt her. Sansa hugged you when you were contemplating on whether you should stay or go but Sansa had seen how Sandor looked at you. She saw how you were with Sandor. You weren't afraid of him and as much as she wanted you to stay with her. She knew Joffrey would have kept bullying you into an early grave. She gave you one last hug and held you tight. She kissed your cheek and told you to leave right away.

Sandor held on to you as you rode in front of him. The journey for the first couple of days was the hardest but both of you managed. You were the first to kiss Sandor. He took you on the ground that night between the trees. He had gotten a cloak from the knight he killed the day before. He laid it on the ground and you gave yourself to him.

Sandor was lost in thought as he stared at you.

“I can feel you staring.” You mumbled in a sleepy tone as you shifted on bed.

You opened your eyes and smiled at him. "Did you sleep well?” You asked Sandor as you brushed his hair out of his face.

“Aye.” Sandor said, kissing the palm of your hand.

“But It's a bit hard when you're there looking like that.” Sandor told you as you stretched your arms over your head, arching your back.

“Looking well, I hope.” You said as you let out a yawn. You hummed when you felt his large callous hand on your stomach. The tips of his fingers caressing your skin. You feel his hand go down between your legs.

“Sandor.” You moaned as he leaned down to kiss you while he rubbed your clit. He grunt in your mouth as he felt your slit wet. He dipped two fingers inside of your cunt, he can feel his cum from last night still inside.

“Such a tight wet cunt.” He said as he pulled away to kiss your neck. You laughed as his beard tickled you. You held on his arms as he fingered you softly. He knew you were sensitive from the night before.

His thick fingers were soaking wet as he fingered you. The sound of your sopping pussy echoed through the room. You spread your legs wider for him.

“Such a dirty girl.” He said as he pulled his lips from your neck. You blushed hard from his words.

The bed creaked as Sandor moved between your legs. You looked up at him as you spread your legs for him. Sandor watched as your mouth dropped when he slipped inside of you. He leaned down to kiss you as he started to thrust inside of you. He moans in your mouth when you wrap your legs around his waist.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulder, tugging him down and closer to you. You felt him moan your name against your neck as he fucked you hard.

“Fuc-ck.” You moan as you hear him groan, he held you tight as he continued to fucked you. You felt his balls slap your ass as he fucked you.

“Cum in me, Sandor. Please. Please.” You whispered in his ear. Sandor turned his face to look at you.

“Please. Inside.” He groans as he grabs your face to kiss you. You slip your tongue inside his mouth as you come on his cock, tighten your walls around him.

He wasn’t far from his climax. Sandor looked down at your pretty face and he came. He let out a curse as he felt you cumming deep inside of you. Sandor was on cloud nine when he came. He didn’t notice you cupping his face pulling him for another kiss.

“Little wolf, you’re gonna kill this old man.” Sandor whispered against your lips making you smile.

“What a way to die.” You told him softly looking at him moving his hair out of his face. Sandor chuckled at your words. He was about to get up when you pulled him closer to you.

“Not yet. Please. Stay inside of me longer.” You asked him. He obeyed, just like every time you ask him to stay longer inside of you. He lays his head on your chest. His scared cheek against your chest. He shuts his eyes, enjoying your hands on his back.

He calms down while he hears your heartbeat. He liked this feeling you gave him.

“I love you.” Sandor opens his eyes but doesn’t move. He felt you kiss the top of his head.

“I know I said it last night but I meant it. I love you. I’m yours and you're mine but if you don’t accept my love then leave. Leave me here and go away.”

Sandor doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to move. No matter how many times he told you that he’s not good enough for you. You didn’t believe him. You kept being with him and sleeping with him. You kept making him feel warm inside.

You made him feel loved. Sandor was never religious, but he believed that the new and the old gods blessed him by giving you to him. He knew it was true since you didn’t leave him when the Brotherhood without Banner captured him and you. Arya was there with them. Arya was furious when she saw him with you. Arya told you that Sandor killed her friend, the butcher’s son. Beric wanted to charge him of his brother's crimes but couldn’t. You were there to ease the tension and cried out, telling them that Sandor isn’t like his brother.

Sandor was charged for the murder of the butcher boy. You saw the face Sandor had when Beric’s sword lit up in flames. You knew he was afraid of fire, since Little Finger told you and Sansa. At the end, Sandor won the duel to the death, slicing Beric’s shoulder almost in half causing him to die.

You held Arya as she cried and screamed when Sandor won. Arya and you froze when the drunk priest, Thoros, brought Beric back from the dead. Sandor saw how you begged Arya to join you and Sandor.

“You’re going to get kidnapped or worse. Stop being a fucking idiot.” Sandor had yelled at Arya.

“I hope you die.” She yelled at Sandor. She was about to run away when she looked back at you with an angry face. “You too.”

Arya ran away from you with no luck finding her Sandor and you decided to keep going on the road. During the war of the Five Kings, you heard Theon Greyjoy turned on the Starks and seized the undefended Winterfell since Robb wasn’t there. You wanted to hurt him, your father took him in and now your home is gone along with both of your younger brothers. Weeks later people were talking about the Frey’s wedding and that Robb and your mother would be at the Twins.

Sandor held you close and wouldn’t let you go when both of you made it to the Twins. He looked around frantically as all the Stark’s soldiers were being killed in front of him and the sight that horrified him the most caused you to scream. He held you that night as you wailed. You remained silent for a few days and it scared him so much.

“Look at me.” He told you when you finally spoke.

“I’m not gonna not let anything happen to you. Okay?” You nodded at him.

“I swear it.” He promised as you wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him.

So, he wasn’t going to move and leave you but fuck, he was so scared to say it back to you that he loves you too because he thought if he said it back that he would wake up and all of this would have just been a dream.

It was evening when both of you woke up again. Sandor had gotten up and dressed. He kissed your forehead and told you that he would ask the keeper for a tub to get you a bath. Neither of you didn’t spoke about what happened. Both of you didn’t have too, it was mutual understanding. You were his and he was yours. After taking a bath, Sandor walked with you to the tavern to get supper.

He was nervous as he ate his food. He didn’t know what to do next. Sliver was running low and he didn't know where else to go.

“Sandor.” You called out, he looked at you and nodded.

“We should go to my Aunt Lysa. We can go to the Vale, she'll accept me there. I’ll tell her how you saved me and how I need you to guard me while I’m there.” You told him. Sandor had to admit it was a pretty good idea but.

“She will know who I am. Knowing that cunt of the king, he probably has a bounty on me.”

You shook your head. “I’ll beg her if I have too. Lysa is the only best chance we have.” You told him while grabbing his hand.

Sandor agreed, you were right. “Alright little wolf, eat up. Tomorrow morning we’ll ride.”

You gave his hand a squeeze and smiled. You got back to your plate as he took a gulp of his ale. Little wolf, was something he started calling you in King’s Landing. He called your sister, Sansa, little bird. You missed her so much, you didn’t always see eye to eye with Sansa but you took the role of the older sister seriously when your father died. You held her as she slept and helped her whenever Joffrey tormented her.

Morning came and both of you were out on the road. You were grateful that Sandor knew where he was going. He pointed at certain mountains and rivers telling you the details and how to know where to go. At one point you felt incompetent with him, you didn’t know how to hunt or make a fire. After making a fuss about it and telling him you should learn something. He told you a lady shouldn’t know how to gut an animal or know how to start a fire but he agreed.

He laughed at you when you threw up as he showed you how to clean a kill. He snickered when you cursed at the pile of woods and moss when you couldn’t light it up. It was a few days when Sandor and you finally made it to a stream under a bridge. You sat by the rocks across from him. Sandor stood next to Stranger as the horse greedily drank from the stream.

Sandor was about to speak when he heard someone riding on the bridge. An older man along with his daughter rode on a small wagon.

You gave Sandor a look when he answered them sarcastically and with an attitude.

“Forgive my husband. We’ve been traveling for so long. We are just letting our horse rest for a bit.” Sandor looks over at you when you call him your husband. You didn’t notice the blush on his face. You gave a smile to the farmer and his daughter.

“Your husband is a soldier?” The farmer asked, looking wearily at Sandor. The farmer saw the armor and the sword strapped on Sandor’s hip.

“Yes, he fought for House Tully.” You answer quickly before any profanity came out of Sandor’s mouth.

You gave Sandor a toothy smile when the farmer told you to follow him since any man who pleaded for House Tully is welcome. He will provide a roof for the night and some food. Sandor watched as you talked to the young daughter, Sally. The little blonde girl was a shy thing but smiled at the idea of you helping her cook.

“Any kids?” The farmer asked as he watched his daughter laugh at the small joke you told her.

You looked over at Sandor not sure what to say. “No, not yet but if we do. We hope it’s a girl who looks beautiful like you.” You said looking at the little girl who giggle at your compliment.

Dinner was quiet for a bit after Sandor cursed at the man who was praying for so long. You begged for forgiveness at the farmer and told him to finish as you gave Sandor a cold glare. When he was done you served him and his daughter first. You wanted to curse at the farmer as well for praying so long. You were fucking starving but you knew you had to act nice. You weren’t going to get kicked out until you had some of the rabbit stew you helped the little girl cook.

Trying to ignore the slurping sound that Sandor made as he drank the soup straight from the bowl. The farmer asked Sandor about the fight at the Twins and mentioned how people were calling it The Red Wedding. You instantly felt ill to your stomach. You couldn’t forget the image of your headless brother with the head of his wolf sewn onto. It made you scream when you first saw it and made you mute for a couple of days.

“Are you ok?” You looked up from your stew when you heard Sally, the little girl speak.

You felt Sandor’s warm hand on your knee under the table as you looked over at her. It was his way to comfort you, a way to show you that he's here with you and he won’t let anyone hurt you as he promised. You placed a hand over his, giving him a squeeze.

“Yes, sweet girl. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You told her, taking all the strength in your body to give her a smile.

That night the farmer let Sandor and you to the stable to rest. “You can cry if you want.” Sandor said as both of you laid. He had taken off his chest plate and was under a bunch of hay and a blanket.

You nodded at his chest as you felt tears rolling down your face. Sandor rubbed your back as he let you cry. You cried for your brother Jon and your family. Sandor didn’t make you feel bad for crying. He knew you loved your family, it was something he never experienced. Sandor tried his best to remember the last time he cried. He couldn’t remember, whenever he was feeling sad he drank his feelings away.

You finally calm down at the sound of the rain and Sandor’s heartbeat. His body heat warmed you as the night got chilly.

“Are you going to work for him?” You asked Sandor remembering how the farmer asked him if he wanted to work for fair wages.

“Not sure yet.” Sandor told you.

It was morning when you heard screaming. You woke up and looked around the stable. You quickly got up and saw Sandor wasn’t there with you but Stranger was. You grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around you as you ran out of the stable to the small cottage. You stopped when you saw Sandor coming out of the cottage with a pouch in his hands. He didn’t realize you were there until he finished counting the coins. Sandor stopped in mid step when he saw you.

“What did you do?” You asked him.

“We needed the silver.” Sandor told you. You shook your head.

“Not like this. It’s not right.” You snapped at him.

“We can stay here for a little while. We will help around the farm.” You tried to reason with Sandor. You knew both of you needed the sliver to make it to the Vale but taking it away from a father and his daughter in these times was not right.

“For fuck sake Y/n.” Sandor cursed loudly causing you to jump. It’s the first time he has yelled at you.

“He’s weak. He can't protect himself or her. He and his daughter will be dead come winter.”

“He fed us. He took us in. He didn’t have too. He’s a good man. We can’t do this.” You told him while following him when he started to walk towards the stable.

“Dead men do not need silver.” Sandor shouted and you felt like crying. You grabbed him by his arm. Sandor looked at you angrily.

“I thought with everything you been through that you fucking knew how the world works. How many Stark’s they have to behead before you figure it out?” He tells you. You let out a gasp at his harsh words.

Sandor had admitted what he said was a shit thing to say. He was upset and the look on your face when he mentioned your family killed him. He was going to walk away when you grabbed his arm again.

“I’m not the same stupid girl you met in King's Landing.” You told him as you walked in front of him.

“I know how things work in this world, it was beaten in me. Don’t you remember?” You grabbed his hands with yours feeling the pouch of silver.

“With all the beatings I had to endure and all my family members dying one by one. I refuse to do this.” You told firmly, standing your ground in front of Sandor.

“Just because the world is shit doesn’t mean we have to be like it. I know we need it, my love.” Sandor saw your eyes filled with tears. His chest tightens at the nickname you gave him.

“But they need it more. They don’t have someone to protect them like I do. They don’t have the experience of surviving like us. Please, if you can’t give them the silver back then do it for me.”

Sandor stared at you for a minute then nodded. He'll do it for you. You let go of his hands, he was about to walk back to the cottage when he looked over his shoulder with regret in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” Sandor said to you then walked back to the house.

You quickly walked back to the stable, grabbing the reins on Stranger. You petted the horse softly as you led him out of the stable. The horse obeyed, you smiled as the horse was finally getting used to you. You knew there was no way in the seven hells that the farmer was going to let you and Sandor stay after what he did so you started to get Stranger ready to ride. You kept petting him with a smile.

Sandor told you before escaping Kings Landing that Stranger wasn’t fond of people but you knew with some love and patience that the horse would be fine around you. You laughed to yourself as Stranger reminded you a lot of Sandor. You saw Sandor walking back from the cottage. It was quiet as both of you continued the journey to Vale.

Sandor didn’t mention the farmer and the daughter. He went inside the cottage to see the daughter crying over her father as he lay knocked out on the ground. The girl let out a sob when she saw Sandor walk inside.

“Hush girl.” Sandor snapped at her before dropping the pouch of silver on the table.

“Sorry.” Sandor mumbled before leaving the cottage and shutting the door behind him.

You had officially thought you were cursed. You had to be cursed with everything going on. Aunt fucking Lysa was dead. Sandor watched as you took a deep breath and walked away. He froze and the rest of the knights of Vale. When you cursed fuck and shit at the sky and began to kick at the small rocks on the ground.

“Can’t catch a fucking a break.” You mutter to yourself. You were tired, hungry and your ass was sore from riding. You smelled like sweat and your hair was starting to get greasy.

You made it back to the horse with Sandor following behind you.

You stood by Stranger with your hands on your hips as you looked over at the mountains. You didn’t know what to do now. You turned around to see Sandor who had a tired look.

“You think the gods are punishing me?” You asked Sandor as you remembered something that occurred with you aunt Lysa when you were younger.

“What for?” Sandor asked.

“I did something bad when I was younger to Lysa. She had a dog. Ugly little shit and kept yapping at me. It never liked me.” Sandor chuckled at your story fully interested in what you had to say.

“She told me to take it for a walk around the bloody gates. It wanted to kill me, Sandor.” You said with a sigh.

“I ran and ran. Little shit followed me, chasing me around until I tripped on a rock before the little shit could stop. It ran off a cliff.” Sandor laughed at the face you made.

“You think the gods are punishing you for killing that devil dog?” Sandor asked, walking towards you. His hands gripping your hips as you lean against him.

“If what you say it’s true. Then you did the world a favor for killing that little devil.” You sense the sarcasm in his words and roll your eyes. You laid your forehead against his chest with a sigh.

Sandor needed a bath as well. He smelled like sweat, the dirt and the trees. It reminded you of your father whenever he came back from hunting. You remembered your mother yelling at you when you jumped in your father's arms whenever he came back. He would laugh and tell you that he would get your dress dirty but you didn’t care. The smell of nature made you feel at ease.

“What now?” You asked.

“What about your brother Jon?” You looked up at Sandor. “Castle Rock?” He nodded.

You knew women weren't allowed in Castle Rock, you never mentioned it before but Jon is your last resort.

“I won’t let them hurt you there.” Sandor was quick to say knowing what was held in Castle Rock. Murders, robbers, and rapists.

“I know.” You said with a nod. You were so grateful to have Sandor with you.

“I take back what I said about the gods punishing me.” You told him, making him raise his brow up at you.

“They gifted me you, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor shut his eyes as you hugged him. He wanted to make fun of you for thinking that the gods gifted you a man like him. A man who was a killer but he didn’t say anything. He kept hugging you for a while.

It was just a few days after the Vale, Sandor and you were setting up camp. Sandor was pissing behind a large boulder as you washed his knives. Sandor had hunted a rabbit, you were excited since it was going to be your first time skinning it alone. He mentioned that he should start hunting for more since both of you were going to travel up north. The weather was going to get colder and that meant less animal to hunt.

You finished washing when you heard someone riding by.

“Sandor!” You shouted as you saw two people on horses making their way to you.

You shouted his name again as a tall blonde woman got off her horse and walked towards you with a shorter man behind her.

“Seven blessings.” She greeted you with a smile. You heard Sandor coming behind you.

“I’m Brienne of Tarth and this is Podrick Payne. We are looking for the bloody gates.”

The man behind her dropped his own smile and said “That’s Sandor Clegane. The hound.”

The woman frowned and looked at him then at you. Her eyes widened when she saw you clasp your hands together in front of you as your mother has done before when she was with her.

“You’re Y/n Stark. The rumors are true then.” You frowned.

“What do you want?” Sandor said, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The hound ran away from the fight in King’s Landing and kidnapped Y/n.” Her eyes landed on the love bite on your neck as she spoke.

“I swore to your mother that I will bring you home. I swore to bring all your sisters back home. I swore to protect her as well.”

“You didn’t though? My mother is dead.” You snapped her as Sandor looked at Brienne, up and down. His eyes stopped at her sword.

“Are you paid by the Lannister? Are you here for the bounty on me?” Sandor asked. You quickly grabbed one of his knives that you washed on the ground and held it.

You weren’t going to let them take Sandor away from you.

“I’m not paid by the Lannister.”

Sandor scoffed as he walked towards her. “No? Bullshit. I know what Lannister gold looks like. I've seen it all my life. Tell me where did you get that sword?”

“Jamie Lannister gave it to me.” Brienne answered him, Sandor looked over his shoulder at you. He was right.

“The bloody gate is 30 miles. Be on your way now.” You told her.

“Y/n! I swore to you mother to the old and to the new gods that I'll keep you safe and away from harm.” You shook your head at her.

“I’m not going with you.” You yelled.

“You fucking heard her. She is not coming with you.”

“She is.” Brienne hissed at him. Both of them took their swords out. You looked over at Podrick who was ready to run after you.

“Valyrian steel.” Sandor said, looking at her sword then up at Brienne. “I always wanted some.”

“Come with me Y/n. I will keep you safe. Tell me if this man forces himself on you and I’ll kill him. I’ll take you to safety.” Brienne said, looking between you and Sandor.

“Safety! Brienne of fucking Tarth, you really are a dumb bitch. Where the fuck safety at? Her entire family is dead, Winterfell is gone. There is no safety. If you don’t know that then you’re the wrong person to watch over her.” Sandor yelled.

Brienne scoffed then looked at you over his shoulder. Brienne knew you had to be so afraid of the hound that you wouldn’t even ask for help.

“Is that what you’re doing? Watching over her or using her for your pleasure? You fucking dog.” Brienne fumed, looking back at him with disgust.

“I’m fucking watching over her.” Sandor answered, ignoring the fact that Brienne was stating that Sandor has been forcing himself on you. It wasn’t true. Sandor wasn’t like that.

Sandor wasn’t going to let her take you away from him. Brienne was the first to swing, Sandor blocked her and yelled over his shoulder for you to run away and hide.

You did what you were told. Podrick quickly followed you. You kept running as you heard Podrick call for you. You heard the grunts and sound of swords clanging against each other. behind you. You hid behind a tree, you held the knife in your hand as you heard Podrick pass by you. You waited for the coast to be clear and ran back to the campsite.

You waited for Sandor to come back after a few minutes the sun was about to set and he still wasn’t around. You felt dread fill you as you began to walk around the cliffs in hope of finding him, you stopped when you saw Sandor’s sword on the ground. You lifted the heavy weapon and saw blood on the grass. You carefully walked by the edge of the cliff and looked down.

You were about to cry when you saw Sandor at the bottom of the cliff. You dragged the sword back to camp and quickly began to pack up.

“Come on.” You told Stranger as you got up and rode down the hills where Sandor was at. You got off and ran to Sandor, he hasn’t moved.

“Sandor!” You shouted dropping down to your knees at him. Sandor sighed as he opened his eyes to see you crying over him

“What do I do?” You cried out as you ripped the hem of your dress to wipe the blood off his face.

“Leave.” Sandor hissed as he tried to push you away from him.

“No.” You shouted with tears running down your face. “I have to get you help.”

“I’m going to die! I’m going to die because of that tall bitch. You need to leave me here. You need to go.” He croaked out in pain. He felt like crying because he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“Remember what I told you. Don’t stop for no one. Keep a weapon near you.” He listed the things for you to do to be safe. He was worry for you. The feeling was heavy on his chest, the thought of you alone traveling up north scared him and thought of never seeing you again pained him more then what he felt from his injuries.

“I’ll help you up. You ride while I walk.” You ignored what he said as you tried to pull him from his arms. Sandor hissed in pain.

“I can’t fucking move. My knee is fucked.” Sandor said as you looked down at his knee. You shut your eyes at the gruesome sight of his bone sticking out.

“Fuck! Sandor! Please tell me what to do?!” You sob looking away from his leg at him.

“Kill me.” Sandor whispered.

“No.” You shouted at him. You shook your head frantically.

“Y/n. I’m done for. It’s over.” He yelled at you as he looked up at the sky, tears rolling his face.

“Look at me.” You sternly said, you carefully leaned over cupping his face with your face.

“I'm not leaving you or killing you. You can’t leave me. I love you, Sandor.” You cried to him. Sandor let out a whimper as he started to black out from the pain. The last thing Sandor felt was your lips against his.

Next Chapter ->

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perkqularkreashions · 6 months

Text

Take the Black |Sandor X Reader|

Part One: Unconditional

I know this doesn't follow the plot exactly, but just roll with it. So, I had some suggestions from mutuals to lowkey make it a Jamie X Reader for her survival... What y'all think?

WARNINGS: unwarranted affection [kissing without consent], Jamie projecting his trauma on the reader, mentions of murder, murder [Ned Stark], SMUT [wrap it up!], Joffrey being Joffrey

AS ALWAYS CHECK YOUR TRIGGERS.

You hated the fresh smell of the air, the cool wind wrapping around you softly, brushing against your exposed skin. You spent many days in the library running your fingers against the spines of the books, taking hold of one in secret as you shoved them into your sack. Books that you read underneath the moonlight, books that only slightly drove your mind away from the King's landing, your father, your sisters, and Sandor. You missed your home, the chilled walls of Winterfell dragging you in as you roamed through, your fingers intertwined with Theon’s in secret, your head resting against his shoulder as he spoke of nonsense. You would just listen; you missed the simplicity of life, and now everything seems muddled with confusion and Lannisters.

You gasped as you felt a hand wrapped against your upper arm, tugging you away from another book that would soon be a part of your collection. Your eyes followed the man; Ser Jamie stood tall before you. The brightness of his hair reflected in the illuminating sun, his hair mimicking gold. His touch softens in the realization of who you are. His lips play in a soft smile as he watches you, taking in your soft, doe-like features—the surprise written on your face, the paleness of your face, and the claminess of your hands. “So you’re our book thief. For months, you have evaded all the guards.” Jamie was impressed; it was a harmless crime and brought no real attention to the drunken King’s radar. He slurred out a command and had Eddard follow up on the missing books. “Intelligent little wolf,” Jamie hummed in thought; he let out, causing you to stumble back; you hadn’t realized that you had placed all your weight against him.

You reminded him of Cersei in her youth, not physically but mentally, the way you chewed on your lips when in deep thought. The way you studied people intently before answering. But you weren’t like Cersei, were you? You were kinder and spoke with a gentleness when you spoke with him. Maybe he was attracted to the thought of you possibly being Cersei. Jamie thought about you often; maybe he was projecting his traumatizing relationship with Cersei onto your budding relationship. Jamie sighed for a moment, deep in thought.

Your voice broke him out, “Just…a little entertainment for myself these days. The castle grows boring,” Jamie hummed, his fingers dancing along the book's spine. The words slightly faded, and the book would crumble at the touch. The pages are a brittle brown color.

“Entertainment in the decrepit ?” he raised his brow, watching you closely. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and you clutched the book tighter against your stomach, your hands strumming against your sides, the anxiety cementing in your stomach as you nodded. “I see.” Jamie didn’t take his eyes off you, examining all your features, the strongness of your brow, the silverness of your eyes, the darkness of your hair, and your slim face. You reminded him of Eddard, Bran, and even Jon. Despite your femininity, you were a spitting image of your father; no trace of your mother itched its way on your face. His hand gently grabbed a strand of hair, pushing it away from your face, his thumb tracing against your cheek to the tip of your chin. You were boyish and lanky but held a certain beauty. “Tell me, wolf, what amuses you then?”

“The cold,” you quickly responded; Jamie let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, something that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was unusual for someone not to find something that piqued their interest in the King’s Landing, whoring, welding, swordsmanship, ladyship, or lordship. Sansa wanted to be a princess, Arya wanted to be a swordsman, more or less, and yet you had no place in King’s Landing. “I miss my pup; surely Robb knows nothing of Luan,” Jamie hummed once more as he watched you closely.

“I see,” silence washed over you both; it was comfortable. You bowed gently, trying to walk past him. He grabs your arm, “Be careful, little wolf, it’s dangerous here at night.” His grab loosened, allowing you to walk away, stuffing the book in your sack. You walked back to your room, your thoughts muddled with the handsome knight, his tall brow, and the subtleness of his lips. He was more gentle than you remember him to be. You recall your passing moments with the knight at Winterfell, rarely staying for the festivities but always within reach from Cersei if needed. Your eyes stumbled ahead, watching the maidens move around you, whispering gently before returning to their task. The knights march about, hands placed on their swords for comfort.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

As the days stumbled into night, you had seen less of your father and sisters; you’d been confined in your room, your nose nuzzled in a book. You were carefully absorbing every word, noun, verb, and sentence. Slamming your book shut, your eyes flickered to the door. You sat against Sandor’s chest; he had been sleeping for the past couple of hours—he spent his stolen spare time with you in flights of passing moments, reading a book, fucking, or simply lying together on the terrace. His snores lightly salting the air as he adjusted against you. You had started to read the novel to him, but he cursed, waving his hand about in proclamation. “Aye, I would’ve stayed with the Imp if I wanted to hear someone read.”

“Tyrion.” you corrected as you passed a glance out the side of your eye. He scoffed, rolling his eyes for a moment. “His name is Tyrion.”

Sandor fixed himself against you once more, taking his hand and wrapping it against your waist, tugging you closer, his lips close to your ears, breathing out gently. Shivering, you relaxed against him. He didn’t say anything, though you knew he would make some idiotic remark about you correcting him on another man sooner rather than later. Arya made her way closer as she hesitantly stepped in. She calls out your name softly before shouting it more confidently.

“Out here,” you finally responded, Arya's face drained of color as she rushed to you. Her hands shakingly moved to your wrist, yanking you into a hug. You could feel her tremble against you as she silently whispered your name. “Arya, what’s wrong?”

“Dad, they took Dad away. Sansa… I don’t know– something is going on,” she whispered; you nodded, unsure of what to make of this information or how to react. You needed to find Sansa. You pulled her away, your eyes watching over her. You whispered, “Go pack your things, stay calm and easy.” Hesitantly, she nodded, your hands resting against her shoulder as she moved away. Sandor grabbed your arm, his face filled with worry, tightening his grip as he tugged you closer. He slammed his lips against yours, which you now take as his way of kissing. You flinched as your teeth bagged against your gums, and you poked your lips drastically, allowing his deformed ones to mold into yours. He pulled away, your bodies still close, as he looked down at you. “You find the girl, and you come back here. If there is any trouble, you come back here. Aye?” You nodded.

Now, you set out to find Sansa. You held your head high as you moved through the corridors, eying everyone who passed without saying a word. Her door was guarded; you watched the men for a moment; their eyes remained forward as they watched those who passed.

You gasped softly as you felt a hand grab at yours, yanking you back into a secluded corner. Your chest slammed against your chest as your body was pressed against the chilling wall. Your eyes fell against the Lannister Knight, who eyed you suspiciously—a soft smile toying on his lips. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, something you didn’t know you could feel when next to a Lannister. “What is going on?” was all you could whisper out, your hands trembling as you reached for his elbow. “Where is my father… why are there guards outside of my sister’s chambers?” He stared at you, nothing being spoken between the two, your breath smacking against the air as your chest heaved with each passing moment.

“He is going to die.” You felt lightheaded; you could feel yourself falling and slipping as your grip tightened against him. His hand wrapped against your waist, keeping you as you rested against him.

“Take me to him,” you begged, your voice barely escaping. “Please,” Jamie didn’t like to admit, but you reminded him of an innocent Cersei if she ever was to be. The softness of your voice, your gentle touch, the way your lips parted when you spoke, and the way your eyes held so much and yet so little emotion. Jamie moved away from you, keeping his hand on your waist as he nodded. He moved away from you, and you quickly followed behind him; the more you traveled, the colder it began. The darkness surrounded you every few feet; the torches would burn bright until they dimmed behind you. You stayed close to the knight, praying he would protect you if anything unsavory happened. You entered a long, narrowing hallway, one torch placed directly beside the stoned cell and one small window in the uppermost corner of the dungeon. Jamie’s head motions, and you follow, moving slightly as you dip your head slightly to look closely into the cells.

You paused, seeing a man hunched on a bed of straw; his head pressed against the stone wall as he sucked in a deep breath. His face was only slightly revealed by the torch.

“Father!” you whispered, stumbling to the ground as he grabbed your hands. His face sunken in as he pressed his head against yours, thankful. “Are you—what is going on?” His eyes weakly moved to Jamie, holding his gaze as Jamie watched over you for a moment. Before moving his attention ahead of him, his hand gripping the sword’s pommel, shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He knew you had a few moments before someone would catch you in here; he was not afraid of the consequences for himself; just the thought of being at odds with Cersei was motivating enough not to be down here. Your hand gently rubbed at your father’s face, trembling at the sight. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do nothing.” He spoke, his voice calm and confident. “Keep your sisters safe; know I always love you, my wild wolf.” He pulls away, sinking into the darkness. You felt Jamie’s hand on your upper arms, tugging you up gently. You were stunned, your eyes widening as you gently shook your head. Your mouth gaping open, your throat swelling emotions as your mouth soon became dry. You didn’t have anything to say; you wanted to scream at him– you wanted the truth about why he was here. You found yourself on your feet, leaning against Jamie as he escorted you out of the holding cell, the fresh air overwhelming you, and bile soon rose in your throat. You swallowed thickly before snatching yourself away from him.

“You will be the safest with your sister; for the moment, she has Joffrey’s favor,” Jamie spoke behind you, his voice muddled in the daze that rushed over your mind, the haze that clouded you. You spun around, eyes low and drained of emotion. Jamie was stunned, his mouth slightly gaped open as he watched you. He quickly recovered, shutting his mouth as he tried to find the right words. He hated–no loathed Eddard Stark, they contrasted–their values and beliefs vastly differed. Eddard knew from Jamie felt like the deepest part of him had been unearthed, and he dishonored him. Jamie grew frustrated. You finally look at him, taking him in. Your lips never said a word, but your eyes spoke for you. He felt vulnerable, the only kind that he felt with Cersei; she stripped him bare and made him feel worthless but loved. He grabbed your shoulders, yanking you closer to him as he pressed his lips harshly against yours.

You remained frozen, eyes widening as you watched him, the harshness of his breath fanning against your upper lip. His hands tighten around your shoulders, bringing you closer. Jamie pulled back; his chest riled with emotions as he watched you closely, taking in your features—the redness of your cheeks to the salvia dripping on your bottom lip. You were the second woman he had kissed other than Cersei; he stumbled back, the emotions weighing on him. “Accept my sincerest apologies,” Jamie mumbled. You nodded, unsure of what to say or how to feel.

Now, you both walked silently, your hands resting in front of you as he escorted you to Jamie’s room. Eyes washing over you both, taking in the scene. You felt his hand gently grab your arm as you reached Sansa’s chambers. “Stay safe, Lady Stark.”

𓃥𓃦𓃨

Here you sat confined with Sansa, Lilly, and Jeyne Poole; the girls' faces were puffy from crying. You watched as Sansa stumbled to button the dresses. Sansa begged and pleaded with everyone who came into the room, face flushing with emotions as she begged to speak with the Queen and Joffrey. “Please, Please, I need to speak with the Queen! Prince Joffrey! It is important! She will want to see me! I know it!” You groaned as they flushed out of the room, leaving you with a sobbing Jeyne, a frantic Sansa, and an aggressive Lilly. Sansa looked at you, eyes full of despair and desperation. She tugged on her bottom lip, tears streaming down her face. She wept, colliding with her older sister.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled against her head. “Well, see father soon and gone from this hellish place.” she nodded against your bosoms, not genuinely believing your words… and neither did you. Night fell upon Kings Landing quickly; you grew irritated with the weeping of Jeyne and Sansa. She stirred in her sleep, mumbling of Joffrey. She cuddled into your side, smiling gently at the comfort she hadn’t felt since she had been there. She wanted so badly to be back home with her mother, brothers, and sisters back in the coldness of Winterfell. You finally could lull yourself asleep, dreaming of home and Sandor.

Ser Boros burst through the doors, awakening the girls with fright. You stared at him, taking in his features. He was a short man with broad shoulders and stubby legs. His hair was grey and thinning. Sansa greeted him with a smile, bowing gently as she approached him. “You look handsome this morning, Ser Boros.” You stood behind her, watching the knight flush at the compliment before escorting them back to the Queen. You admitted you were nervous to see her; you hated being in her presence. It was heavy and full of darkness. You sucked on your bottom for a moment chewing off the dead skin. Finally arriving at the royal chambers, you watched Cersai at the head of the table.

Ser Boros bowed, “I brought the girls.” Your heart rushed excitedly as you could climb through your throat, yet you remained stoic. Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Varys were dressed in black at the table. So the king is dead.

Cersai grew a smile on her lips; you thought of it as feigned and full of mischievous. The smile did reach her eyes. “Sansa. My sweet girl.” Sansa smiled in pleasure; she watched the Queen; she thought it was the sweetest smile she had seen. “I do apologize for not seeing you sooner; things have been unsettling–I trust my people have taken care of you…both.” her eyes flicker to you as you stand still, soaking in her words.

Sansa said politely, bowing. “Thank you for asking; everyone has been pleasant.” Their attention turns to you, waiting for you to sing the praises of her gracious treatment. You remained emotionless, eyes glaring at Cersei. The conversation droned on, Sansa frantic in concern for the steward girl and her father. You hated the feeling that her anxiety gave you.

“Sit down,” Cersei finally pronounced, patting a chair directly to her left. “ I want to talk to both of you.’ You stayed where you were, not being able to move your feet as you felt dread course through your body. Cersei’s eyes flickered to yours, a harsh expression taking hold of her face before softening. Cersei’s attention turned back to Sansa, who was laying a soft hand on her wrist and speaking.

“I do hope you know I love you, and so does Joffrey.” Her eyes lit up, her positioning straightening as she leaned closer to her, grasping every word.

“You do!” The queen nods as she continues spinning gold yarn for Sansa. Her words are calculated and precise, knowing what exactly to say to manipulate the young Stark. You knew Cersei was a witch, something never to be trifled with. Her power and presence weighed more than Robert’s. Her actions were cunning, meticulous, and precise with her words—also ten steps ahead of everyone else.

“Your father is a traitor,” Vary’s words cut through your thoughts as you tried breathing, your fingers clenching at your side as you pushed out shallow and sharp breaths. “He is a traitor to the crown; he has besmirched the name of King Joffrey. Claiming that he is not the rightful heir to the throne.” You became dizzy and faint, wanting to reach the table and grasp on it. They were going to kill him; that is why he was in the cell, decaying as he awaited punishment. Jamie knew that’s why he took you to see him—one last time. You were also warned of the dangers of speaking against the Lannisters, constantly wary of making one wrong move in front of them. They watched the weak but always preyed on the strong. You swallowed thickly, watching them continue.

“I am not like Arya.” Sansa blurted, capturing your attention, “She is of traitor’s blood! I am good. Obedient! I only want to serve Joffrey, to be loyal to the throne and him!” Cersei wickedly smiled, watching you for a moment; Baelish and Vary's attention was now on you. You straighten your posture, tightening your trembling lip as you observe them.

“What of you? Mm? Little wolf?” Baelish questioned, his eyes running down your body. You wanted to cower away in fear, run into her father’s arm, and wish him to protect you. But you were grown– a woman now. You hand to stand on your own. “You look like your father, dark and brooding. Dark wild hair like your father. Eyes as hard as a stone, just like your fathers’, Unlike your sister, who is a spitting image of Cat when she was her age. You are the twin of the proclaimed “King of the North.” He continues; you watched the Grand Maester tug at his beard in thought. You remained silent, unable to form any words. Sansa tried to speak for you, Cersei shushing, comforting her in the thought that she needn’t speak more. “Are you of traitor’s blood?”

“I wish to see my father.” Was all you muster out, yet your voice was stern and commanding. Baelish stared at you for a moment, chuckling at the sight. “If he is what you call a traitor, then I wish to know for myself.”

“Do you not believe me?” Cersei begins, and Sansa shakes her head rapidly.

“That’s not what she’s-”

“No, I don’t, and I would like to hear it from my father,” You commanded, sternly looking at her, watching her cat-like eyes churn with an unrecognizable emotion. She sat back, turning her attention back to Sansa.

“No. You will not. Is that understood?” Cersei commanded, her posture straightened and her eyes a dancing sage color. You found no words, found nothing to object to her decree. You stood there emotionless. With no further acknowledgment, you looked down, fighting back the tears and the rage that built-in you. “If you don’t trust my word, what are you to trust?”

“The devil, preferably,” you whispered as you sucked in a deep breath, masking your words as her eyes snapped towards you.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

Months have passed, and Jamie has only taken to see your father two more times. You begged him to help you free him—to speak with Joffrey and Cersei, but he remained silent. You marveled at your efforts but knew that they were futile. He would confess his sins and take the black. Cersei had soon caught on to this, whispering of Lady Stark and Jamie Lannister. Anger pitted in her stomach as she assigned one of her ladies to gather intel. She was never too far from you, her eyes catching every glance at Jamie and turning at you. The whispers in secluded corners, your hands grabbing at his, pulling him close. Jamie never pulled away, sinking into your warmness. He knew that you were using him, just as Cersei was. But you were different…sincere. But soon Jamie left, taking all the chances of Ned escaping with him; he was off to fight the war against your twin, Robb. You prayed that Jamie would day at the hands of your brother, his sword taking his life as he looks up for his last moments. He wouldn’t see his family, but he would see Robb and prayerfully see you.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

You were excited for this day, for your father to take the black and your sisters to escape back to Winterfell. You wrote to Robb secretly, updating him on the little things in the code; you sent a trusted guard from Winterfell who rode with you. Soon, those letters would stop as the Royal Guard intercepted them; Cersei would drag you into the throne room, her hands holding the letters in fury. Her lips pursed in anger as she watched you, waiting for you to tell the truth. She waited for you to repent and beg for forgiveness just as Sansa did, but she knew you weren’t like Sansa. You were silent and studied the room before speaking; your brows furrowed in thought before relaxing. It was hard to read you; it was hard for anyone to read you. Cersei knew punishing you would damage what had been damaged, so she dismissed you, keeping her guards around you at all hours of the day and night, ensuring that you were not planning a coup of her authority.

You snapped back to reality; you stared at the bell as it toweled, echoing through your body, signaling you to follow the crowd; you wandered, pushing through as emptiness settled in your stomach. Your eyes landed on your father. He was dressed in a rich grey-colored doublet with a white woven on his shoulder. He was thinner, his face sunken in and eyes shrouded with darkness, given that it had been roughly three months since you had seen your figure as much. All he had to do was confess; he would spared. Your heart filled with terror as he spoke confidently, his words carrying into the wind. Sansa whimpered as they shouted obscenities and taunted him. He would take the Black and be reunited with Jon; he would be alive, and you would be rid of this place. He would take the black.

“My mother… bids me to let Lord Eddard take the black! Sansa begs for her father’s life. That delectable wolf, Lady Stark, has offered no sentiments on her father’s behalf, just silence. Strong and just that one, not pleading like these women. They have soft hearts. As long as I am your king, no treason will go unpunished, Ser Illyn, bring me his head!” You pushed through, your hand pulling and tugging as you drowned in the crowd. You screamed for Father, “Please! No!” You could feel your knees growing weak as you pushed through the crowd, the man’s longsword glistening. Your chest aching and soon caught his eyes. He smiled, his lips mumbled, and you couldn’t catch it.

You felt someone yank at you, “Here, you!” your vision was clouded in darkness. You screamed, yanking yourself away from the familiar comfort. “Don’t look, little wolf, don’t look,” You sobbed hysterically as you felt him grab your body, tugging you away from the crowd. You hissed in discomfort, watching Sandor, his face full of grief and worry. “Aye, I thought something happened to you! I thought something- I couldn’t find you. For months, they kept you locked away from me.” He grabs your face harshly, bringing your attention to his. “You are alright!”

You sob, tears blurring your vision, and your mouth gaped open as you tried calming yourself down. “Please, tell me–” Sandor brought you close, wrapping his arms around you, letting your sobs rattle through his chest. He didn’t speak much of your father’s death; he dragged you away from the screaming mob, the roar of the crowd, the profanities that hung from their lips.

Sandor returned you to your chambers; you moved through the empty halls. You felt nothing; you could feel nothing. You wanted to cry, but it pained you even to blink. You flopped on your bed, and your body spread erratically across the perfectly made duvet. It was a soft red color decorated with gold flowers, and you hated the color and the scent of warmness it gave. You missed the frigid air of Winterfell, the thick blankets that pilled on your bed, and the dullness that surrounded you. The colors overwhelmed you, and the people overwhelmed you. You felt Sandor tuck you, gently stroking your hair out of your face and leaving you with the Lannister appointment maidens. Gripping one of the women by her dress, he dragged her close. She yelped, startled by his aggression. “If anything happens to her, I will kill all of you.”

It has been days since anyone has seen you; Sansa grew worried as the maidens wouldn’t allow anyone into your chambers other than the King and his appointment men; Joffrey was worried that you were of traitor’s blood and wished for you to be confined to the four walls of your room against his better judgment. He wanted to behead you and send you to Robb, but Cersei had commanded against it. You were to only speak with Lannister appointment maidens, to be escorted by Ser Meryn and, on occasion, Ser Clegane. Joffrey, to much dismay from his mother, grew fond of you; he sat in your chambers, speaking of how he was going to behead your brothers and offer to you as gifts; accepting this gift would be the only way that you would genuinely be renounced as a traitor. In fear, you agreed softly, nodding along to every sick and psychopathic demand. He enjoys your presence; you say so little, unlike Sansa, who seems to say the wrong things, and his mother, who thinks she is now the King. You were more enjoyable than Sansa. He entered your room, now guarded by knights; his eyes scanned your chamber. Nothing had been touched or moved since the last visit. That was two weeks ago after showing Sansa the head of her traitor father. You didn’t move, but you knew it was Joffrey; he was the only person who came to see you. Your eyes shifted to him as he made his way around your bed. You mumbled out, shifting in the bed slightly, “Your Grace.”

Lilly bowed gently as Joffrey as he walked away, a smirk resting on his lips. He knew that you recognized his rightful claim to the throne. He knew you were more intelligent than his sister; most importantly, you were Robb’s twin sister. A great show of dominance was fucking his twin sister; he needed to bed you. Get you pregnant; be his mistress. He knew you bleed; he asked the maids to check, and your moonly cycle had just ended. His hand holding the sword's pommel, his eyes scanning over you. “Please make yourself presentable. Once completed, one of the knights will escort you to the throne room. I wish to speak with you.” He walked away, stopping for a moment. Anger was building inside of him as he waited for a response.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” He heard you shifting in the bed, and with a smile, he was gone.

You were dressed in a backless black dress, exposing your perky bosoms; despite the rancid looks, you still mourned for your father; embroidered on the right collar was a wolf that Lilly had stitched to all of the gowns given to you by the Lannisters. You thank the maidens before moving with Ser Meryn to the throne room. You said nothing, acknowledged no one.

You bowed gently at Joffrey, his eyes stalking your body, taking in the sight of your breasts, arms, and face. At his side, Sansa. Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled as she straightened her posture; she missed your touch's warmth and the gentleness of your words. She felt she betrayed you; she didn’t have time to think after the Father’s death; she just wanted to survive.

“I want you to bear my children, rightful thrones to the heir!” he announced. You said nothing; you continued gazing at Sansa, praying that she was alright and praying to the Old Gods that the light cast shadows on her face instead of the bruises. Your hands clenched at your side as you watched her flinch at each movement made by Joffrey. “To fuck the traitorous blood out of you! Send the babes’s head to your brother, maybe send yours, force him to bend the knee, and submit to me.”

You simply answered, “No.” His face sunk, his eyes widened as his lips tightened, and his jaw clenched in frustration. You heard the footsteps of the knight, his armor rattling against each other. You watched Meryn, his decrepit face glaring into you.

“Meryn,” he called out, his hand waved in his direction.

You felt a hand glide across your face, your head snapping from the force; he struck you repeatedly. You remained still as the knight was instructed to hit you again if you didn’t accept his offer; Joffrey grew frustrated at your resilience. You felt blood dripping from your eyes, burning, blinding your vision. “You lay another hand on her, and I kill you.” you heard a knife unsheathing or maybe his longsword. Joffrey cackled; it settled in the throne room. You felt the uneasiness of the air and how it settled in your bones uncomfortably.

“You want to protect this bitch! Your bitch! You know… I should make you fuck her, fuck the beast until you bear his litter of pups.” Joffrey tossed his hands in the sky, a wicked smile grew on his lips. “Why don’t we feast? A wedding between a wolf and a dog! You want her to fucking bad, have her! Make litters of animals. I’ll behead them and you. We will send them to your traitor brother,” he spits, his cackles once more as he claps his hands in excitement like a child. You squeezed your eyes closed, your face searing in pain; you heard him pushing past Meryn and Clegane, his hand grabbing my chin as he brought it closer to my face. ‘What do you say, wolf? Mm? Want to marry this ugly mutt?” You stared at him, disdain dripping from your lips as you tightened them. His Lannister eyes dull into you; for a moment, you are frightened but realize he was just a little boy playing King. He was a sadistic little boy. You retracted your thoughts, fearing that he might be able to hear them. You didn’t speak; you didn’t acknowledge him. Only turning your head out his hand.

“This can all go away, and you don’t have to marry this ugly dog if you bear my children. Don’t you want to prove that you aren’t a traitor to be loyal to the rightful King,” he whispers into your ear, feeling your trembling skin with his finger. You calmly replied, remaining solid in your ass. He hisses in dismay, tossing your head back, causing you to stumble around. Sandor’s gently grabbed at your back. “A perfect alliance! You two mutts belong together! Soon, your head-”

“Enough!” you heard Cersei call out, her voice commanding the silence, causing Joffrey to stumble back. His face widened, and for a moment, you saw a child being reprimanded by his mother, a child who needs to be punished. His face grew slightly red, his lips tightening with embarrassment.

Cersei dismissed you. Walking away, you rushed out of the throne as you felt the emotions run through; you wanted to cry, you could feel the tears building in your throat, and yet nothing. Numbness washed over you as you mindlessly moved back to your chambers… You needed to get out of here. You let yourself stumble into your chambers, greeted by Lilly, the only thing that reminded you of home. You collided with her, remaining silent as you listened to the constant beat of her heart. “It’s a’ght, M’lady,” she murmured. You flinched at the sound of the door; you could feel his presence filling the room. Lilly released you, bowing to Clegane as she stumbled out of the room. You didn’t dare move; you didn’t want to look at or think about him.

His voice was strong, “Let me see you.” You obeyed, turning your gaze to him. You noticed he had a grey-ish clothe in his hand. In one stride was in front of you, dapping your face gently. You never thought he could be this gentle with you. His thumb caresses your chin as he huffs angrily, his face contorted slightly, causing his lip to twitch. He was in deep thought and wanted to kill Joffrey, behead him just as he did your father. He wanted to prove to you that he was not his loyal dog. “Stupid girl, why didn’t you marry him,” He cuffs your bruised face, bringing you closer to him. “Why didn’ya accept the offer?”

“Sandor,” you mumbled weakly, his name bringing joy to his ears. You didn’t have an answer, nor did you want to provide him with one. You simply let yourself rest against him, feeling the cold sting of his armor. It was nothing like the chilling sensation of the North, but it brought you a sense of comfort. Sandor sat stiffly, allowing you to rest against him.

“You’re a stupid girl,” he whispers. “My stupid girl.” His lips pushed against your head, mumbling insults to you.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

It was Joffrey’s nameday; you grew tired of the insipid celebration of the arrogant and cruel King. Your body leaned against the railing, the calm winds blowing against you as you were in deep thought. You could hear Lilly calling out for your name, but you ignored her, knowing that it must’ve been Joffrey who once again offered his seed to you and offered you an out for the marriage with Sandor. His hand would grab at your throat, snatching you closer to him before pushing you against the wall. His other hand yanked your hair down, and you croaked as you clawed against his hand. Your whimpers barely escape your throat. Soon, as he grew tired of your squirming, he let go, watching you gasp helplessly. Your body fell limp to the ground as you clutched the dress that pooled at your feet. This became routine for the last couple of weeks, but you were hoping on his nameday, he would leave you be.

You peered over your shoulder, seeing Sandor aggressively march into the room, his eyes capturing yours; a small smile rode on his lips. You returned your attention ahead of you, taking in the pastures of green and the ant-like bodies walking about. Everyone and Everything was loud in celebration of King Joffrey. You could feel his gaze on you; it was heavy and needy. Roughly, his armor fell against the floor, clanging and being kicked to the side. He could him slightly cursing and fumbling to move closer to you. You relaxed against him, feeling his warmth against your backside. “I need you.” You could feel him stiffen against you, his hand roughly grabbed at your waist. “I miss you…I’ve missed you for some time now.” You grind yourself gently against him, your ass grazing the tip of his throbbing cock. “I just—I want you inside of me.”

“You don’t know what you are asking for.” he hums, his hands tightening on your waist as he guides your movements slightly. His hands roughly yanked at the back of your dress, exposing you, his fingers gently caressing your ass before moving to your opening. You hiss as he drags his thick finger over your wetness, his finger tracing at your glistening pearl before inserting his finger; you gasp, grabbing at the rails as you let yourself fall against it. He was rough and sloppy, thrusting in an erratic pattern before slowly retracting his finger. You hum in pleasure, your stomach churning with the familiar euphoric sensation as he pounds his finger into you; Sandor is growing impatient. He wanted to fuck you, to make you scream out his name for all to hear. His cock ached and pulsated as he watched your leaking cunt, dripping his fingers against the cement. Irrationally, he became jealous of the bugs that would taste you and the air that kisses you. He admires your soft kitten-like moans, how they purr against his ear gently, the soft meows of his name as he rams his finger into you. You quickly turn to face him, startling him for a moment. His finger was slipping out of you–your face flushed with color as your chest heaved harshly. The material tightened against your chest before retracting as you watched Sandor. Sandor turns away in disgust of himself; your hands inched to his face, tugging at him.

Slowly, he returns his attention to you. His eyes glared at you. Quickly, he grabs at you, pulling you off of your feet; you gasp as you feel your back pressed against the cool brick. Quickly, your legs around him, steadying yourself as you watched him fumble with the ties that held up his trousers. You watched him, your eyes taking the scars that riddled his face and the solemn look that marked his lip. His face grew in frustration; he shut his eyes briefly, insecurity shattering him as he tried not to think about your judging eyes. You heed his direction, shutting your eyes as you watch the darkness that clouded you. You flinched at his unexpected softness, his fingers touching your face and lips. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing at your flesh as his hands move to your ass. You could feel the pressure building inside of you as you felt the tip of his cock rest against your entrance, pocking and sliding against your wetness.

The air is stolen from her as Sandor’s hips meet yours. Your eyes flickered open as you moaned loudly, your hands wrapping against his neck as you lazily pulled him closer to you. He stumbled closer to you, your breath mingling as Sandor’s head rested against your clavicle. He gently gnawed at you, his lips gliding against your skin before resting against your neck. Rapidly, he thrust inside of you, your heat tightening around him as you moaned out his name, the pace of this thrust was ruthless as he cursed at you, using his grip on your hips to yank you further down on his throbbing and needy cock. He pulls away from your neck as he watches you chant his name over and over. “Sandor, Sandor–oh Sandor, Please—Sandor.”

He stops, taking the time to watch you squirm underneath his touch. His nose brushes against your cheek as he kisses it; quickly, you turn your head to face him. He watched your eyes slowly prying open as your doe-like eyes overtook him. Your face contorted in pleasure as he continued to thrust into you. Your fingers danced back to his cheeks, cuffing them in admiration. You slam your lips against him, tasting the bitter wine on his tongue. Your tongue dipped into his mouth, gathering everything before sliding back into your own; you moaned against him while his hips picked up in pace, the slaps echoing into the air as you cried out a moan on his lips. You pull back as a slew of words fall from your lips. “All mine, you’re all mine,” he growls through his runts and your rants, his words falling upon deaf ears as you call out his name through your orgasm. His dick twitches inside of you; he could feel himself approaching his high, his seed jutting out as you whine out his name. Your cunt clenches against him as you feel his cum flooding inside of you, his hips still moving at the painstakingly harsh pace, fucking himself through his orgasm as he pushes himself against you. He retracts slightly, letting his cock slide out, exposed to the cool air. He rams himself deeper inside of you, shoving his seed into you. “You take me so well, little wolf.”

You felt him pick up pace, his jerked against you, his head resting against you as he grunted out your name. Soon, all of his seed was slammed into you, dripping around his cock and your soaking cunt. He pulls back swiftly, his eyes watching as silence veiled over you. Your mouth parted as you tried catching your breath, your hands lazily cuffing his neck as your thumb stroked his jawline. You peeked at his lips, still feeling his cock twitch inside of you. “I missed you.” You repeated, the words lazily falling off your tongue. Sandor had no words; he couldn’t think around you. You left him in a state of wanting—needing more. He pulls himself out of you, causing you to take intake quickly. You weren’t like the whores that he paid to fuck, the needy and whining pleas as he rammed his cock into them, their eyes squeezed tight when laying on their backs. He recalls one time, paying the woman handsomely to moan out his name; she nodded shyly, her eyes never meeting his face that she did, her voice coarse and full of emotion. “Sandor Sandor Sandor—- you fuck me so good, your cock fills me so well.” He hated it, the way her auburn hair bounced, the way her hands grabbed at his chest, the way her teets moved about as she bounced on him, the way her mouth horridly gaped open as she screamed out his name, and everything that falls out of her mouth was scripted and unreal. She came undone, jumping off his lap and taking his manhood into her mouth, soaking up all his seed as she smiled brightly. With a grunt, he pushed her off, irritated by her presence. For months, it went on as such, endless whores that never pleased him.

He regretted it every time, especially the nights he came to you, gentle with your words and touch. You lay with him, letting your hands caress him. You were patient with him, understanding his anger and outbursts; he never understood it and loathed the feeling that rose when he thought everything was feigned and a part of his imagination.

Here he stands, watching you glistening in the sweet sun’s rays, your skin dewy as you happily watched him. Your touch gentle, your words pure. He never felt like this with any woman. Insecurity knocked into him, and he turned away from you, allowing your feet to slap against the ground. He was once again towing over you. He gathers himself, leaving you alone. You adjusted yourself in your garment; his seed was sticky against your cunt and uppermost inner thighs. You pushed your hands across your face, returning to your chamber as you removed your clothing, readying yourself for today’s affairs.

#imagines #imagine #smut #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane imagines #sandor clegane #jamie lannister x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

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axelsagewrites · 1 year

Note

For that Ned Stark request...I was thinking a smut with low-born reader, maybe - I don't really know if your comfortable writing about cheating, or it could be before Catelyn during the war or after - he could be needing relief due to stress or pressure and reader could acting like a bit of a minx...

Ned Stark*MiLord

Pairing: Ned Stark x f!reader

Summary: Ned befriends a baker who helps him manage his stress

Warnings: p i v sex, innuendos, oral m receiving, ig you could say cheating but Cat and Ned are privately separated cause I don't think Westeros would approve of divorce :/ 18+

Word count: 2992

Masterlist Here

It was hard not to be an admirer of the Stark men especially when you were always so close by them. One Stark man that is. ever since your arrival at Winterfell it was hard to keep your eyes off Ned Stark.

You had come to Winterfell a few weeks ago for work and ended up getting a job in the kitchens as a baker. It often meant you were awake before the sun to make the bread for everyone else’s breakfast. However, once you were finished with your work for the day around noon you were free to do as you pleased unless the chef requested your assistance on an extra shift.

One morning for you and night for everyone else you awoke to venture down to the kitchens to prepare the seemingly never endless amount of bread needed for Winterfell. There were other bakers as well of course but you were always the first to arrive at the kitchens each morning.

The moon was still shining brightly over the castle, and you walked slowly to bask in its light. There was no one else awake and wandering the corridors so you didn’t bother to much with your clothes. You had of course thrown on a dress, but your chest was very much exposed in it, something you enjoyed doing but the up tightness of the rest of the North seemed to frown upon. You also opted to carrying your cloak and savour the cold breeze on your walk as once you reached the kitchens you knew you would be sweating till you left them. Any other time of day and you may have felt exposed at your careless dress.

The walk also served as a time for you to try and wake yourself, something you apparently had not been doing well. Perhaps he moved with swift silence or maybe you were too tired to notice but when you turned the corner suddenly you smacked into the man you admired in secret.

It was not a soft bump either as a yelp came from your lips and Ned had to grab your shoulders to steady you, “My Lord, I’m so sorry,” you breathed out, suddenly awake, “I did not hear you,”

“It was an accident don’t fret. I didn’t hear you either” he assured you, his hands lingering on your shoulders. The warmth of his touch comforted you more than his words, “What are you doing up so late?”

“So early,” you corrected with a small smirk, too tired to bite your tongue. Luckily Ned chuckled as his hands fell from your shoulders and suddenly you were cold again, “I’m off to start preparing the bread milord,”

“Ah a baker,” Ned smiled down at you, “I never realised how early you had to wake up,”

“Its hard to get used to,” you admitted, smiling yourself in his company, “But we do what we must. Im sure others have it much harder,”

Neds smile faltered before a sad one replaced it, “We do what we must,” he agreed, “I suppose I should let you get to it,” he said as he turned to walk away.

Without thinking, just wishing for a few more words, your hand shot out to grab his arm gently. Ned turned round with eyebrows furrowed but no anger in his face, “If you don’t mind me asking milord is everything okay? it’s awfully late for someone who has not slept to be awake,”

Ned sighed, “It is,” but you saw him force the smile back onto his face, “I couldn’t sleep very well. My mind is…very active at times,”

“I’m sorry milord,” your hand was still on his arm but slipped down to just above his wrist, your fingers ghosting the edge of the fabric of his sleeve, “If you ever need a friend milord, I’ve been told im an excellent listener,”

“I appreciate that truly, but I do not wish to burden you,”

“Tis not a burden milord. It is my desire to serve house Stark,” you told him, suddenly feeling bolder at how he allowed your touch. You lowered your hand to hold his softly and he let you. “Whether it be in baking your bread or lending an ear or whatever you desire milord. I came to Winterfell to serve,” his hands were rough and callused but warm and you craved his touch when you felt how they were against your own skin.

Neds’ breath caught in his throat, “You honour me…” he trailed off, waiting for you to give your name which you did. “(Y/N),” it sounded so sweet off his tongue, “But I think it is time I found a bed,”

“Very well milord,” you took your hand back from his and you swore you saw him reach for it again before correcting himself, “Sweet sleep milord,” and with that you walked away, deliberately slow with a slight sway in your hips as you felt his eyes on you. however, once you turned the corridor you scurried to the kitchens

That was your first encounter with Lord Eddard but not your last. Occasionally you began to bump into the Lord on your walks to the kitchens. You were beginning to think he deliberately stayed up later to see you but then you had began waking earlier as well. He began to walk you down to the kitchens, sometimes even talking with you in the kitchen as you awaited your fellow bakers. Slowly but surely, he began to open to you.

He told you of the struggles he had with his fellow lords and his general duties but then he confirmed what many had speculated. He had essentially separated from Lady Catelyn after many arguments and fights. She had taken up her own chambers and only spoke to him regarding their children or in front of the other nobles.

From the bags around his eyes, you could tell it had not been an easy conclusion to come to. “It must be so hard to have to sleep alone again,” you said as you walked to the kitchens, Ned by your side.

Ned sighed but nodded, “Aye well I don’t know what else I can do,”

“There’s nothing you can do,”

“I made a vow,”

“It is not your fault she won’t let you love her,” you told him, trying to bring him some comfort, “You swore to protect her, and you have, give her children which you did, you have broken no vow,”

Another heavy sigh fell from his lips. You linked your arm with his, something you knew he was originally hesitant of but not once had someone even seen you walking together so now, he was more open to your touches. “I don’t understand how she could do it,” you said, and Ned shot you a curious look, “If you were my husband, I don’t think I would be able to leave your chambers to start with,” you said with a teasing smile.

Ned chuckled at your boldness. Up until now he had never reciprocated your flirtations or innuendos, you had even noticed him glancing at your chest in the past. He would always chuckle and move on. “If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you leave them,” this night was different.

“You flatter me milord,” you said, placing a hand to your chest in fake shock.

His eyes lingered on your chest before flickering back up to your face that still wore its teasing smirk, “I’m sure you’ve experienced much flattery before,”

“I have,” your cockiness made him laugh again, “but hearing it from you is the sweetest of sounds,”

“You pay me too much mind,” he chastised with a smile. “I enjoy our early mornings,” he confessed.

You stopped walking, now outside of the kitchen door you would be trapped behind for hours, “As do I. I only wish…” you trailed off, your eyes never leaving his.

“Wish what?” he asked.

Stepping closer, you rested your hand on his chest. You only wished you could strip him of his tunic right there, “That you would finally invite me to your chambers,”

“I- “Ned began to stutter.

But you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before placing your hand on the handle to the kitchen, “I need to go to work. Goodbye Milord,” you grinned before quickly disappearing into the kitchens leaving a shocked Ned behind.

Perhaps you had went to far when Ned did not appear the next morning for your usual stroll however it got more curious when you learned he did not appear in any halls. The servants and staff at Winterfell were like flies on the wall so it did not take long to hear what had happened. Apparently, breakfast had been tense for seemingly no reason then Ned withdrew completely to the gods wood where he stayed till dinner. While the rest of the Starks dined, he went to his chambers, not even taking a bite of food with him.

Luckily you were friends with the people cleaning up the kitchens after dinner, so they didn’t comment on the food you had swopped into your basket. Even when the halls were busy no one seemed to notice you. you were able to get to Ned’s chambers in no time, somewhere you had dreamed of but never entered.

Before you knocked you pressed your ear against the door listening for any sounds before knocking when you were sure he was alone. “Who is it?” a grumpy voice shouted through the door.

“It’s me milord,” There was silence again for a moment before the door opened revealing Ned in just his undershirt and trousers, “I brought you some supper milord,”

Ned glanced up the empty hallway first before he moved to the side to let you walk in. his chambers were filled with soft greys and blues. He had a fire going in the hearth and the drapes were drawn so only the flames and a few candles lit the room. You noticed how comfortable his four-poster bed looked in comparison to your own cot. The life of a lord you supposed.

“You’re too kind my dear,” he said as he latched the door behind you. he gestured for you to sit at the table he and you complied, placing the basket on the table. “Im sorry I couldn’t make our stroll this morning,”

“Its alright milord. You can make it up to me another time,” you said with a slight smirk as you began to unload the basket onto the table. Ned took a seat across from you as he looked at the mini feast you had brought him, “You spoil me,”

“You deserve it milord. You work harder than anyone else at Winterfell,” you reached out to hold his hand, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin. “I worry about you,”

“You needn’t worry love,” Ned placed his hand over yours, “You’ve already done so much for me. You’ve been a gift from the gods.” You chuckled at his words. You were sure the gods would not approve of what their gift to Ned had been thinking about.

Ned ate some of his food but insisted you ate also. You moved your chair closer during your talk so you would be sat shoulder to shoulder with him. This gave you the perfect opportunity to lean in ways that exposed your chest which Ned was quick to look at. It also allowed for your hand to rest on his arm or shoulder or to wipe something off his face. Any excuse to touch him really.

You were laughing at one of his jokes when Ned smiled down at you, “I’m not sure what your fascination is with me love because no one’s ever laughed that hard at my jokes,”

“It’s not my fault no one else has appreciated you properly Lord Stark,” you leaned closer with a teasing smile. Neds’ eyes locked with yours and slowly you moved ever so closer.

Ned leaned forward slightly, faltering as he did, “We shouldn’t,” he murmured.

“Why not?” you whispered as your nose bumped with his.

“It’s wrong,”

“But how can it be wrong,” your lips were now ghosting over his, “when it feels so right?” Ned swallowed hard as he did his best not to lose composure under your gaze. “Don’t you deserve to relax Ned? To have some fun?”

The words must have got to him cause suddenly his lips crashed onto yours, his hand going to the back of your neck to hold you close. You gasped at first but quickly your lips fell into sink. It was you that introduced tongues but finally Ned didn’t seem to complain. He groaned when you pulled out of the kiss. you pulled your skirt up around your legs to allow you to climb into his lap easier before connecting your lips to his again.

His hands found your knees before slowly making their up your thighs, his fingers squeezing into the flesh at the top of your thighs. You manoeuvred slightly so that your clothed core would be above his cock which you could feel harden under the friction. Without warning you began to roll your hips into his which caused him to half groan and moan into the kiss and for his member to harden considerably more. His hands found your hips to help you set the pace.

“I want you,” you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead onto his, “I’ve been waiting all these weeks,”

Ned gripped your hips and stood up, pulling you with him. You couldn’t help a giggle as he quickly dropped you onto the bed. It was so much softer than you had imagined. Ned stood above you, his hands pulling off his shirt, “Are you sure about this love?” he asked. “We don’t have to,”

You sat up quickly, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers to pull him closer, “I’m sure. This is what I want. I want you,”

Ned leaned down and placed a hungry kiss to your lips before you helped him rid himself of his trousers, letting his hard cock spring free. Ned crawled above you, kissing your neck, before loosening the strings at the front of your dress and pulling it down off your body, taking your shift with it. “You’re perfect,” he praised as he placed a kiss to your breast, squeezing the other with his hand.

You whined from which touch; your body almost jolting when he took your nipple into his mouth. “Please,” you whimpered under him.

“Please what?” Ned asked, realising your nipple before continuing to trail wet kisses across your skin up to your neck.

You stopped him, taking his face in your hands and looking him in his eyes. You brought his face closer to yours so that your lips brushed against his as you spoke. “Please fuck me,”

Ned’s lips crashed onto yours as his hand went between your bodies to find his cock. He took it in his hands and lined it up at your entrance, his tip rubbing against your wet folds. Finally, after weeks of tension and stress you gasped as he slid into you. a burning sensation took over your as he slowly filled you up. Ned stilled for a moment, his head lowering so he could kiss your neck. “Tell me when love,” he said, his voice husky and his eyes closed.

Finally feeling at ease, with a smirk, you began bucking your hips up, rolling them into his, causing Ned to release a loud groan, “Fuck,” he gasped as he began to thrust into you, his hands at either side of your head, “You feel so fuck- good,” Ned praised as his eyes screwed tighter shut with pleasure.

Your arm wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips to yours again for sloppy kisses as he continued his messy thrusts. Soon ned began to find a rhythm. He broke the kiss to lick his fingers before using them to rub circles on your clit. Moans began to fall from your throat, but Ned silenced them with his own lips. Your nails trailed down his back as you tried to conceal the moans he was causing.

Ned let out his own groans and soft moans which became strangled when your walls began to clench around him. You felt his cock twitching and began to roll your hips to meet him. His thrusts began faster but sloppier. Neds’ lips fell from yours, his head hanging low into your shoulder as he sped up. “Fuck, I can’t fuck,” he gasped as he quickly pulled out and fell to lay beside you, his cock still red and angry.

His hand went to move to his member, but you moved quicker. Without waiting for instruction, you moved to take him into your mouth. Ned gasped as your head bobbed up and down on his hard cock that was still wet from moments before. His hand went to your hair and within a few bobs of your mouth he was coating your mouth with his seed.

He was like a man gasping for air when you came up. “You still need to,” Ned tried to speak but you stopped him, placing a strong but brief kiss to his lips.

“Its okay milord,” you smiled as you held his face in your hands, “Another time?”

Ned grinned at your words, “Aye my lady. Another time for sure,”

No one was quite sure what had happened during Ned Starks seclusion but everyone at Winterfell noticed how much more relaxed he looked the next day.

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

#ned stark #ned stark imagine #ned stark x reader #ned stark smut #eddard stark #eddard stark imagine #eddard stark smut #eddard stark x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones show #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #game of thrones x reader

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babybluebex · 2 years

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𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father promises you to another man, and you spend one last night with your lover. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: koner (game of thrones) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (MINORS DNI, unprotected sex, p in v sex, pet names, slight breeding kink if you squint) lots of crying, adopted!stark reader, mentions of arranged marriage, possessiveness, protective koner my beloved 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen i just need a sweet lovesick koner is my life so i wrote it and made it happen hehe enjoy! || follow @cremebruhleewrites to be notified whenever i post a new story!

There was no telling when your tryst with the guard really started. Was it when he bowed to you as you entered the grounds of Winterfell, keeping his moonish dark eyes trained on your face and mumbling “My lady”, and you smiled back at him? You weren’t a Stark by blood, only by name— Eddard had found you in the rubble of a fallen kingdom and brought you back to Winterfell to live as a princess— and most times, it was obvious that Sansa and Arya weren’t your real sisters. They were kind for the most part, but they didn’t smile at guards, and neither did you. But something about him had made you say, “You. Your name?” “K-Koner, my lady,” he had replied, and your smile grew.

Or was it the first real conversation you shared, sneaking around the kitchen at night and getting caught by him, only to share a sweet tart and whisper about everything and nothing? You had sat on the floor, your nightgown pooling around you as he removed his cowl from his head and stifled laughter as you dribbled the sweet juice in your lap. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t…” you had started, and Koner had tilted his head, expecting more. “You know. A princess. A lady. I wish I was just a girl.” And he had replied, “I’ll never call you any of that ever again.” And he hadn’t. From that moment on, when you were alone, you were simply “Girl”.

Maybe the start was your first kiss. There had been a large dinner, some sort of celebration, and Koner had complimented your dress, only for you to compliment his polished armor and the sword hanging at his side. He had looked around at the bustling dinner and his hand had delicately slipped into yours, and he tugged you out of the dining hall and into the darkened corridor. He pushed you into a corner and nestled his lips against yours and, even though you had never kissed anyone before that, your body reacted, and you threw your arms around his neck and tugged him down to kiss you even deeper.

Whatever the first moment was, it all culminated in one cold night in the winter. Your fire was low as you tried to sleep, but a raging snowstorm battled against your window and kept you awake. If you weren’t awake, you might have not heard the creak of your chamber door. “Who’s there?” you called, sitting up and tugging the linens and silks up to hide your body. “Hello?”

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you, and your heart fluttered. “May I enter?”

“Yes,” you told him, and he had stepped into your chambers, being quick to shut the door behind himself. Something about seeing your Koner in the low light of the dying fire was invigorating, and you sat onto your knees, beckoning him closer. He removed his gloves and tucked them into a pocket of his cloak, and you shivered when his warm hands touched your cheek. You both knew what he was there for, his intentions not easily hidden, and you had breathed a sigh before whispering, “Kiss me.”

He fell into your bed with ease, as if he was made to live there. That first night, you had clutched the back of his neck and his shoulders as he fucked you, his mouth exploring everywhere he could reach. Koner wasn’t the least bit respectful with the way he fucked you, spitting on your cunt and sliding into you, but he promised you on each huffed breath that, next time, he would be better. “But for now,” he said, and he bit at your neck. “I just need to feel you.”

From then on, meeting was a nightly affair. During the day, you would see your lover around the grounds of the castle, and he would wink one of those beautiful dark eyes at you if he caught you staring for too long. It always filled your chest with warmth to imagine the things he was thinking about you, and he always delivered answers to your curiosity at night. His thoughts, according to him, were never innocent, always about how best to fuck you, and you couldn’t help your gleeful laughter whenever Koner proudly told you “I thought of this all day”.

After he would fuck you, you had a routine of laying together in your bed, his big, warm arms holding you tightly as he kissed your head and whispered to you about how his day was going. You would tell him all about your day as well, and the conversation always turned to how much you missed each other. He would kiss you and promise you that, one day, you would be allowed to see him. “Maybe I’d be allowed to court you,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your bare skin. “I know that’s not true, but—“

“Maybe someday,” you interjected. “Maybe someday, my family will let you court me. Or we could just run away together to a new kingdom.” Koner smiled with you, and he kissed your hair.

The nights always ended as the faintest hint of sunlight peeked at your window, and Koner had to go about getting dressed once more. You always tried to postpone his leaving, grabbing his wrist or kissing him or any litany of other distractions, but Koner always had to break your heart and leave. “If I’m caught in your chambers, your father would kill me,” he told you one night, his hands grabbing at your face. “And he really would do it.”

You had no doubts about that, but it still made your heart shatter with every reminder. Koner was a guard, you were a princess; it was doomed from the very moment he laid his dark eyes on you. “I love you,” you would tell him, and he would kiss you hard, trying to imbue every inch of his love into your body.

“I love you too.”

You heard the solid thud of your door as it began to open, and your heart beat quickly inside your chest. You weren’t in bed, as was usual; instead, you were sitting on the finely woven rug in front of your fire, watching the flames lick at the stone wall of the fireplace. It was the most you could do to keep from crying all night, waiting on Koner and watching the fire.

“It’s only me, girl,” Koner’s voice came to you in a whisper, and you sniffled, not even turning to him. “My girl?”

“Here,” you said softly, and you heard the door close again behind you. His leather armor squeaked as he settled it on the floor next to your bed, and, before you were quite ready for him, his scent surrounded you. He smelled like the outdoors, pine and soil and smoke and the musk of his own skin, and his arms were strong as he held you.

“Is something the matter?” Koner whispered, his voice hardly beating the crackling of the fire. “You look sad.”

You turned to face him at his place behind you, and you chewed your lip as you looked at him, in his thin undershirt and trousers, his hair matted and tousled from his cowl. The sight of your man, strong but thin, lovely but dirty, made your tears return, and you turned and threw yourself onto him. “Oh, Koner!” you sobbed into his chest, and he held you tight, despite not knowing the reason for your tears.

“What’s wrong?” Koner asked. “Have you been hurt?”

“No,” you whimpered. Then, a moment passed where you thought about it, really thought about it, and you sobbed, “Yes!”

“Where?” Koner asked instantly, his trained duties returning to him. His hands began to search your body, looking for any injury, and he added, “Who did it?”

“No, my love,” you sniffled. “I-I mean… My father, he-he told me today… I was married. The deal went through this morning, and I-I leave tomorrow for the new kingdom to meet my husband.”

“Who is it?” Koner asked, his chest heaving as he breathed. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” you asked, your voice watery as you held back sobs, and Koner clenched his teeth and grabbed your arms tightly.

“Yes!” He said. “Of course it matters! It matters to me! The bastard taking you away from me, I deserve to know his name.”

“I don’t even know it,” you told him. “I-It’s a political marriage, Koner, you have to know that it means nothing to me.”

“That’s not the point!” Koner cried, exasperated. “The point is that you’re going to marry this dog, and I can’t follow you to your new home. I belong to the land, not to you. I’m not one of your maids, I won’t be coming with you. He’s taking you away from me, and I…” He stopped, his eyes darting everywhere in your room but you, and you put your hands on his cheeks, pulling him in close.

“Nobody could ever make me feel the way you do,” you told him in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

Koner nodded in agreement, and he pressed his hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I love you too,” he told you, his voice soft over the crackling of the fire. “We’ll find a way. I swear it.”

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, and you grabbed at him quickly to tug him closer. His hand on your face was commanding, drawing you closer and closer into him, and he whispered a hushed “Fuck” against your lips.

Without a word, his hands fell to your hips, and he pulled you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist as the kiss deepened. Koner held you reverently, his grip gentle but heavy, as his mouth moved against yours, licking up into you and tasting you, and you rolled your hips down onto his. You could feel his erection through his thin trousers already, and you couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Excited to see me?” you whispered, and Koner chased you back into the messy kiss, his fingers digging hard into your thighs.

“Of course,” Koner told you. “Always.”

You clutched at his shoulders as his tongue claimed your mouth again, and you moaned softly. There was no sensation quite like kissing your lover, but an ache persisted in your chest. You didn’t want to think that it would be the last time, but you worried incessantly that it might be. The consideration that this night might be your last was enough to make you feel sick, and you felt a tear slip from your eye as you kissed him.

You hid your tears well enough, Koner’s eyes closed as he kissed you, and he took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently sucked for a moment before releasing you. His eyes fluttered open, already drunk on your kisses, and he silently wiped your tears away with his fingers. “I’ll find a way,” he told you. His hands busied themselves with your nightgown, and he bunched the fabric up at your waist so that his fingers could touch your quivering cunt. “Even if it kills me, I’ll find a way to be with you.”

One arm around his shoulders, the other touching his chest, you pressed your forehead against his and kissed his lips once more. His fingers deftly stroked your soaked skin, and he opened his mouth against yours in a quiet laugh as he plunged his first finger inside you. “Oh, my girl,” he whispered. “Already sopping wet; I ought to take pity on you and take you here on this rug.”

“Please,” you whispered shakily. “I need you, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, you can,” Koner chuckled. “You’ll wait all night if I tell you to.”

“Are you commanding me?” you giggled. “Who are you to give me orders?”

Another finger quickly joined his first, and he crooked them up inside you to bury into that spot that made you whimper. Your head fell back at the pleasure that rocked your core, and Koner smiled, pleased with himself for resolving you down to nothing using only his fingers.

“I’m your man,” Koner told you. “I’m the one who fucks you until you have nothing to say, until you have nothing in your brain. I think I’m more than qualified to give you orders.”

“Fuck me,” you gasped. “Koner, my love, please fuck me.”

“Aw,” Koner pouted playfully. “You said please. You sound like a desperate whore.”

“Maybe I am,” you replied. “Only you know for sure.”

Koner huffed a laugh out of his nose, and he conceded. “Yes, my love, you’re one desperate whore,” he told you, and he stole a kiss before pulling his fingers from you and redirecting his attention to his trousers, undoing the lacing at the top that kept his cock confined. “But you’re mine.”

“All yours,” you breathed, and you watched as Koner tugged out his cock. Thick and long, flushed red; the delicious sight made your heart slam against your ribcage. You greedily watched as he stroked himself for a few beats, hissing a bit through his teeth as his thumb swiped the leaking head of his cock, and he finally looked at you with those round eyes.

You didn’t need to speak as you settled yourself on top of him, and you took his cock in your hand. Silently, you positioned him at your wet entrance, a small bundle of anxiousness and excitement nestled in your lower belly, and you slowly sank yourself onto his cock. You moaned softly as he stretched and filled you, the familiar sting of it more than beautiful, and Koner’s cheeks grew rosy as he felt your walls pulse around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “My girl, yes… Just like that.”

“Koner,” you whined softly, and his mouth captured yours in a kiss again. His hand rested on the back of your head as he kissed you, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt him settle fully inside you, his cock nestled deep. “My love…”

Koner shushed you gently, his hand stroking and smoothing down your hair, and he stole a kiss as he slowly rolled his hips up into you. You both were quick to find a rhythm, your bodies moving together and feeling together, and you couldn’t help your moans as he fucked you. You buried your face in his strong neck to try to dampen your moans, and he held you close to him, kissing the side of your face. “My sweetheart,” he whispered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You feel better,” you whispered, and Koner was quick to hook an arm under your leg, and he manhandled you to the floor, your back rubbing against the woven rug. His hand didn’t abandon your leg once he was settled over you; instead, he tugged your leg higher to rest against his shoulder, and he kissed at your bare thigh.

“You hug my cock so well,�� Koner told you, and he began to properly fuck you, a blush rising from his chest onto his neck. Your hands grappled with his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head, and you smoothed your hands down his firm and built body. You often forgot that your Koner was a trained guard, skilled in combat and deadly with a sword, and seeing his muscles always reminded you of what a handsome man you had.

You watched a drip of sweat fall from his curls, and you breathed heavily as you found purchase in his hair. He panted as he fucked you, swiping down to steal kisses as his cock speared in and out of you, and you sobbed at each deep thrust that threatened to split you in two. He was rougher tonight than ever before, holding your leg up to fuck you deep, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. It was loud and sloppy, not the beautiful thing you were used to, and you gasped, “Koner, my love, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’re just—” you started, and the smooth skin of his hip rubbed right against your clit, the patch of hair at the top of his cock aiding in the stimulation. You cried out at the feeling, your walls squeezing his cock tight, and your words came out in a stutter when you spoke. “F-Fucking me so hard. Wh-What’s wrong?”

“I need you to feel me,” Koner said. “I need you to ache with the memory of me, I need you to be filled with my seed when your new husband tries to claim you. I need you to feel me and only me; not him, never him. Only me. And the best way for you to never forget how I feel is if I fuck you into next week.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his last statement, but you pressed your forehead against his and kissed him long and hard, his plush lips pressed sweetly against yours. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love only you.”

“Only me,” Koner whispered. “Gods, my love, I’m close.”

“Already?” you giggled lightly, and Koner rolled his eyes.

“It never takes long with you,” he said, and his hand abandoned your leg to grab at your nightgown, still bunched up around your hips. Koner worked quickly to tug it over your head, freeing your entire body to him, and his mouth attached to your soft chest. He sucked a mark just over your collarbone, branding you as his, and you hissed when his teeth added with his lips.

“Now he’ll know,” Koner said. “Now he’ll see you belong to somebody else.”

“My love,” you whimpered out. His body was still pleasuring yours, his hips rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves with every mean thrust in, and you said, “I’m close too.”

“I’m finishing inside you,” Koner told you. “Need to claim you one last time.”

“Please,” you breathed. “Do it, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Koner hissed, grabbing your hips and shoving himself far inside you, burying himself up to the hilt. His balls nestled against your ass, and you felt him twitch inside you before the red flush pinched at his cheeks and ears. His face relaxed, his eyes closing and his mouth falling open, and he moaned deep inside his chest as he filled you.

The warmth of his release inside you made you squeal as it drew you to your end as well, and your cunt hugged him tight, milking him for every last drop. Koner’s head dropped into your neck as he panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but his hips stuttered and his cock flexed against your sticky walls.

You breathed together, your heartbeats matching each other as you laid naked and prone on the rug, the fire still crackling beside you. Delicately, you pushed one of his errant curls back, and you molded your hand to the back of his head as you pulled him down into a kiss. It was slow, languid, beautiful, and, when Koner pulled away, you opened your eyes to see his own eyes wide and blown-out. You couldn’t help but smile at the look of it, and Koner chuckled lightly.

“My girl,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget your smile.”

“Maybe I’ll come back to Winterfell one day,” you told him. “Maybe I’ll visit and we can be together, if only for a night.”

“One night is all I’ll need,” Koner said. “I adore you, my girl. I’ll never find another like you.”

“Oh, Koner,” you cooed softly, a frown overtaking your face. “But you must! Don’t close your heart off for me!”

“My heart has been closed for others the very first day you looked at me,” Koner said. “Your first day in Winterfell, you were so gorgeous. We were young then, only children, but I knew that there was no other woman for me.”

“Children?” you echoed, and Koner nodded.

“Young little creatures,” Koner chuckled. “And now look at us.”

You sniffled back your tears, and you pressed your hand to his cheek, feeling the rough beginnings of facial hair on his skin. “I love you,” you said. “I love only you.”

“Only you,” Koner nodded, and he stole one last kiss to your mouth. “It’s only ever been you, my girl.”

#koner #koner x reader #koner smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #my writing

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lovebaela · 19 days

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THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH

Chapter 1: A New Life

masterlist l next

(a/n) hello! I decided to restart my “Ice and Fire” fanfaction because I have so much more ideas for a better story :) even though it’s discontinued, if you would like to check it out here’s the masterlist! I hope you guys will enjoy this one 🤍 I’m working on the masterlist for this series right now!

Divider credit: @dingusfreakhxrrington @valeskafics

°❆⋆Bran Stark x Targaryen OC .ೃ࿔*:･ CW: fem!oc, betrothal (forced marriage), topics of abuse and racism, angst, a lot of fluff, smut (I’ll try lol), and murder.꙳·❅°*˖ Rating: Mature audiences - The mature moments will happen later on. In the beginning, it will mostly just be cute fluff.⋆⁺₊❅.

Why must the gods be so cruel to me? What could I have possibly done to deserve this life? To be sold off like a slave by my own flesh and blood…I’ll never forgive Viserys. Without Dany, I am alone. Without love. I want to go home. But…where do I belong? The summer isles? No, that can’t be my true home, I never had the chance to live there. Do I belong anywhere?

Daughter of the mad king’s younger brother. Rhaella never knew her mother. She died after giving birth in the Summer Isles, killed by assassins under the command of the new king, Robert Baratheon. When he found out Rhaella’s mother was pregnant, he wanted both of them dead. Rhaella was smuggled out of the isles and sent to her cousins, the last Targaryens.

“I know you’re upset,” Lord Eddard Stark said, placing his hand on top of hers.“But please, believe me when I say this. I will never let anyone harm you. You are under my protection now.”

Rhaella gave him a weak smile back. Rhaella, the same name as the Mad King’s sister and wife. Daenerys gave her the name. Viserys despised the idea of his mother’s name given to the likes of a foreign girl. Even though she was still a Targaryen, he only considered her half and not pure. She took after her mother, with more summer isle features. Her skin wasn’t pale, instead, a light amber and tan that would get even darker in the sun. She had long silver curly hair, unlike her cousins who had straight silver blonde hair. The thing Rhaella hated the most was her eyes. Instead of being a pretty violet color, she had dark purple eyes that almost looked black.

Rhaella looked away from the carriage window to make eye contact with Lord Stark, “My Lord?” She asked, “Why did you accept my cousin’s offer to take me?”

“Well, you see,” he explained, “The rebellion caused great loss for everyone. So many people, loved ones, dead. Especially your family, unfortunately. I’ll never forgive him for his order of murder. When the king found out 3 Targaryens were still out in the world, he wanted you all dead. I wanted to prove to him that even though Areys was mad, that doesn’t mean you all don’t deserve to live. By taking you in and marrying one of my sons, we can show him that you are not our enemies. It took him a while to be fully convinced, but he agreed to let you live.”

”But, my eldest cousin,” Rhaella said. “He…he wants to take the seven kingdoms. I’m not sure how, but that is his plan.”

”I highly doubt he is a true threat,” Lord Stark said.

”you’re right,” she admitted. “He can be a big coward at times.”

That comment made him chuckle.

He has a nice smile, very warm and welcoming. Even though he did come off as cold before.

“Will I have to marry now?” Rhaella asked.

“Oh gods no!” He chuckled, “you are far too young, my son as well.”

“Will he like me?”

“I believe so, you have nothing to worry about. Bran is a good kid. He will treat you right.”

Once they made it through the gates, the carriage stopped. Lord Stark exited first so he could get the door for Rhaella. He gently held her hand as she took her steps down. Once Rhaella looked up from the steps, she saw the Stark family before her. Not letting go of her hand, Lord Stark approached his family to introduce their special guest.

“This is Rhaella Targaryen. As you all know, she will be with us now. Treat her as you would treat each other. If anyone disrespects her, let me know.”

They all nodded. A very handsome older boy approached her, “Hello, my lady, I am Robb,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy Winterfell and welcome!” Before walking away, he kissed her hand. That made Rhaella blush, “T-Thank you.” He had blue eyes and dark auburn hair. It was so dark you could barely tell if it was red. He had to have been the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen.

An older girl walked up to her gracefully, “Hello,” she smiled, “my name is Sansa. I hope we can grow to be like sisters! Maybe even brush each other’s hair, make dresses together, and so much more!” Rhaella gave a slight smile back, “I would love that!” Then a girl, who looked not too older than her, approached saying, “My name is Arya! Don’t worry, we don’t have to do girly stuff together. There are other ways to have fun!”

Then, she met Rickon, the youngest in the family, and their mother Lady Stark. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, “aren't you just a lovely thing? Such a beauty.” Rhaella blushed at the compliment, thanking her.

She must be lying to me. I mean, just look at me! The journey to Westeros was so long that hair became wild and poofy.

”You must be frightened,” Lady Stark said. “Trust me, I never favored the cold myself. I still don’t, but you grow to appreciate it.”

Rhaella couldn’t keep her eyes off Lady Catelyn Stark’s features. Like Robb and Sansa, she had long auburn hair and pretty blue eyes. Her gown was also blue, making her eyes stand out even more.

“Where is Bran?” Lord Stark asked his wife.

“I told that boy to stop climbing,” she explained. “Brandon!”

“Sorry mother!” A voice yelled from above, “I’m coming down!”

When Rhaella looked up, she examined him. He looked to be the same age as her. He had dark brown hair and eyes with freckles on his face. He approached her and bowed, “Welcome to Winterfell, I hope you will take a liking to it.” “Thank you,” she replied.

The atmosphere quickly grew awkward. The two children didn’t know what to say to each other.

Lady Stark took Rhaella’s hand, “You must be exhausted, here, come with me.” She guided Rhaella to her bed chamber and had the handmaidens start a bath. After the bath, she laid on her bed for a quick nap.

After waking up, the handmaidens helped her get into a gown for dinner. The dress was purple with roses embroidered across the neckline. Then, they helped her with her hair. They clearly did not know what they were doing. They aren’t used to doing curly hair like Rhaella’s, but they managed to make something of it. They brushed out her curls, putting them in a half-up-half-down style. The ponytail was braided and put into a bun. After the handmaidens left the room, she looked at herself in the mirror.

I don’t even look like myself anymore.

Tears began to fill her eyes, I just want to go home.

She bolted out of the room, not knowing where she was going. She ran outside the big castle but didn’t dare to leave outside the castle walls. She eventually found an area that stood out to her. The whole vibe was strange as if something or someone was watching her. It was nothing but an old forest with no snow. In the middle of it, was a pool and a tree. A tree she’d never seen before. The huge tree was white with red leaves and a face carved into it. She stared deeply into the tree’s eyes for a while.

Is it staring back at me?

She snapped out of it, shaking her head, and climbed up the tree to sit on a huge branch.

Without Daenerys, I am lost. She didn’t know how long she��d been crying in the tree for, but she didn’t care. Winterfell wasn’t her home.

“Rhaella?” She heard a voice ask.

When she looked up, she saw Bran with a concerned look on his face, “w-why are you crying?”

She wiped her tears. “Sorry, I just miss my sister…how did you know I’d be here?”

“I like to go to the godswood, and climb up this tree,” he said. “Whenever I like to be alone and think. I’m sorry you had to leave your sister.”

“Well, she isn’t my sister, not really,” she admitted, wiping her face. “We are actually cousins. We just call each other sisters.”

He sat next to her, “my family was worried about you. They thought you might have ran away.” He nervously chuckled. “I…I know that we are to be married one day. The idea of marriage scares me.”

She doesn’t respond, only looking down at her hands as she fidgets with them. “I have something for you,” Bran showed her a beautiful blue flower. “That was the reason I was climbing.” He told her. “I wanted to give you something as a gift. I was going to give it to you at the dinner table but here. If I hurt your feelings not being there to greet you, I’m so sorry.” Rhaella took the flower and sniffed it.

“It’s called the winter rose,” he continued. “A rare flower that can grow around the castle.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

”You know, just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean we have to be in love right now or anything,” he said. “Let’s just be friends!”

”Yeah I’d like that!” She said.

”And just so you know,” he whispered. “I liked your hair better before. Your curly hair is much better.”

She laughed, “You and me both.”

”You’re laughing!”

”So?”

”This is your first time laughing here,” he said. “You have a nice smile.”

”Thanks, Bran,” she said. “You know, my eldest cousin ,Viserys, told me and Dany that you guys were evil monsters. But, you guys aren’t monstrous at all!”

Before Bran could respond, they both hear a voice from down below calling for Bran. An older boy who looked the same age as Robb. He was very handsome with black curls and dark eyes. “I found her Jon!” Bran shouted.

”Well, what are you sitting around for? They are all waiting for you two!” The two of them climbed down from the tree and walked with Jon.

“Forgive me, my name is Jon Snow,” he told Rhaella. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

”I never heard of the last name ‘snow’ before,” she confessed.

Bran began to explain, ”That last name actually means he’s a…well—”

”Bastard.” Jon said. His voice was cold and somber.

”I don’t know what that means,” Rhaella said. “But Viserys called me that sometimes, I assumed as an insult.”

”It means that my father, Lord Stark, had me with another woman. I wanted to meet you when you arrived, but Lady Stark thought it would be disrespectful.”

Rhaella couldn’t help but feel awful for him. There was something about Jon Snow that made him stand out. As if they had a connection. She wondered if Jon felt it too.

“You said that Viserys called us evil,” Bran said. “Then why did he want to send you away to us?”

“He hates me,” she answered. “He saw you guys as an opportunity to get rid of me…”

Once they all made it to the dining hall, all eyes were on Rhaella and Bran. “Well, aren’t you just beautiful?” Catelyn smiled. “Please, have a seat.” Bran escorted her to her chair and went back to his. Before Jon could leave the Hall, Rhaella asked, “Can Jon eat with us please?”

”Ah, I see you met him while you were gone,” Lord Stark said, amused. “Would him eating with us please you?”

Rhaella looked over at Jon, whose eyes lightened up. She looked back at Lord Stark and gave a nod. He looked over at Lady Stark, “What do you say?”

She looked into Rhaella’s sparkling eyes and sighed, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

Rhaella gave a big smile. Jon pulled a chair next to her whispering, “Thank you Rhaella.”

“I hope you like the dress,” Sansa said. “I made it myself! I wanted to test my embroidery skills and decided to make you one!”

“It’s beautiful,” Rhaella told her. “You should teach me!” Sansa nodded gleefully.

“You know, we all thought you ran off and escaped!” Arya laughed.

“I…I didn’t mean any trouble or offense, I apologize.” Rhaella announced, standing up from her chair and bowing her head. “It was rude of me.”

“No,” Lord Stark said. “You have every right to feel the way you do. Your life changed right before your eyes. But please, believe me when I say this, we are here for you.”

“Aye.” Robb agreed. “If you are having trouble with anyone or anything let us know.” She thanked the both of them for their kindness.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was it like outside of Westeros?” Catelyn asked.

Rhaella told them everything. Even about the abuse Viserys had done to her. He always yelled at her for the littlest things. The worst thing he ever did was sneak into her bedchamber with a knife. He threatened to cut out her insides if she didn’t cooperate with his plan to send her to the North.

They all had concerned looks on their faces. The abuse never got to her until explaining it out loud. She really did have it rough.

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Arya said. “You are with us now!”

“Safe and sound,” Sansa added.

Rhaella didn’t realize she was smiling.

”So, Rhaella…you said you were from the Summer Isles right?” Theon asked.

“Yes, why you ask?”

He smirked at Robb before asking, “I heard the women there are quite breathtakingly beautiful?” She could have sworn she heard him whisper “and have nice bodies.”

”Well, I’ve never actually stayed there, I had to flee because of the King,” she explained. “But from the books I’ve read and from what I heard from some servants in Pentos, yes, the women there are quite beautiful.”

”I also heard that they have a passion for love making,” he said. “Maybe I gotta visit there sometime-.”

”Theon!” Lady Stark snapped. “Don’t be disrespectful-.”

”Oh that’s okay!” Rhaella reassured her. “You’re right, Theon! They do have a passion for it. If I were to stay in the Isles, I would have been a prostitute myself!”

Sansa and Lady Stark almost choked on their food, as Robb, Theon, and Jon bursted out laughing at the table. She didn’t understand what was so funny, but she laughed along with them.

”What’s a prostitute?” Rickon asked, innocently. That made the boys start crying from laughter. Theon even fell out of his chair.

”Y-You’ll know when you’re older!” Lady Stark said.

”You’ll fit in with us just fine, child,” Lord Stark said. “Welcome to the family!”

°❀⋆Daenerys.ೃ࿔*:･

Daenerys never felt more lonely. She missed Rhaella, her real family. She’d never forgive her brother for what he did.

“Daenerys!” Viserys shouted.

He entered her bed chamber, “do not tell me you’re still upset about that savage.”

She felt rage enter her body as he said those words. “She is not a savage, she’s my sister,” she replied softly. “And I don’t understand why you sent her to our enemies.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “We both know that’s not true. She’s our cousin. Daughter of our uncle and whatever foreign whore he married. She’s not a pure Targaryen like us, Dany. And she never will be. I gave her away because we need allies, even if they are enemies. The Starks are a strong house, and I knew that Lord Stark would gladly take her in. The fool won’t even know of my plans to destroy him and his dear friend Robert.”

Daenerys always considered Rhaella her sister, even if it wasn’t true. They spent all of their time together, never leaving one’s side. It felt like it was yesterday, the day Rhaella arrived in Braavos as a baby. Viserys wanted nothing to do with her while Daenerys cherished her. She had no idea why Viserys was so upset about naming their cousin after their mother. It was only a name after all. She always thought it was much deeper than Rhaella being a “savage.” She never dared to ask him though.

“I have good news.” He announced. She examined his face, his grin looked devious. Truly it wasn’t good news. “I found you a husband,” he said. “His name is Khal Drogo, Magister Illyrio said. A Dothraki savage. When you two wed, I’ll have his army. We can finally go home, sweet sister.”

Home.

All she ever wanted was a home. A home with Rhaella, where they could finally be happy together. With her gone, Daenerys wasn’t sure if it would be home without her.

“And what about her?” She asked him.

“The savage?” He scoffed. “Those Starks have her now. I don’t care what they do to her. As long as we have our alliance with the North.”

Daenerys wanted to cry, but she stayed strong. I will meet her again, one day.

°❆⋆Bran ೃ࿔*:･

It had only been a couple of months, but for Bran, it felt like he had known Rhaella his whole life. Rhaella also grew close to his sisters but mostly Arya. The three of them were inseparable. Rhaella even taught them some of the Valyrian language. Some nights, the three of them would stay up and read history books about Targaryen history until they got caught by the Septa. For fun, they liked to go sledding and have snowball fights. The older Stark boys and Rickon joined them sometimes, but never Sansa. Ever since Rhaella arrived, Sansa and Arya fought less. It’s like wherever she went, she spread joy. That’s one of the traits Bran liked about her.

Now, everyone is preparing for the arrival of the King.

He overheard his father saying that the King was almost there. Bran felt sorry for Rhaella because she was so stressed out. “What will he do to me?” She asked. He always reassured her, “You are under our protection now, the King approved of you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

At that moment, it was time for Bran to practice his archery. He hasn’t been getting any better. He wanted to show his family he could hit the bull’s eye. First, only Robb was watching him. Then, came Jon and Rickon. Before he knew it, his parents came to watch as well.

“Keep practicing, Bran,” Lord Stark insisted. “Go on.”

Jon leaned in towards Bran, placing his hand on his shoulder, “Alright, father is watching.”

Jon looks over and sees Rhaella and Arya watching as well, “and her…” he whispered.

Bran took a deep gulp. He didn’t like to get teased about Rhaella. They only do it because we are to be married. We are just friends, good friends.

Bran nodded and started to aim his bow and arrow at his target.

“Relax your bow arm…” Robb commented.

Just before Bran could release the arrow, someone else’s hits the target and another shoots right through it.

All of the boys turned their heads to see Rhaella and Arya giggling. “Hey!” Bran yelled. The girls both curtseyed but quickly took off once they saw Bran chasing them. The kids kept on playing until their father took all of the boys to see an execution. Bran was finally old enough to see one.

“Are you scared?” Rhaella asked him as he was mounting his pony.

“I’m not sure.” He answered honestly.

But I can’t be afraid. My father told me I won’t be a boy forever. I’ll be a man-grown soon. I mustn’t be afraid. I need to be brave. Like Robb and Jon. Wolves are never afraid.

Taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 8 months

Text

Legacy of Fire (I)

Chapter One: Awakening

Summery: Rhaenys Targaryen learns of the truth

Warnings: Cursing, death by sword, death by fire, death by hanging, war, humiliation, betrayal, violence, use of the word bastard, incest, angst, fluff, burning, threatening, future smut, P in V, fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, blowjob, handjob, anal sex, girl x girl, boy x girl, boy x boy, dragons

Word Count: 1,5K

Rhaenys Targaryen knelt beside the small cot where her elderly wet nurse lay, frail and gasping for breath. The chamber was dimly lit, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the heavy curtains that shielded them from the harsh Dornish sun. Rhaenys dipped a cloth in cool water and gently dabbed it against the wet nurse’s fevered forehead.

“Please, you must get better,” Rhaenys implored, her voice trembling with worry. “I cannot bear to lose you, especially now.”

The old woman’s eyes, once bright with life, gazed up at Rhaenys with a mixture of sadness and determination. “My lady,” she rasped, her voice barely audible, “there is something I must confess before I depart from this world.”

Rhaenys leaned closer, her heart heavy with anticipation and dread. “What is it? What troubles you, dear friend?”

The wet nurse’s chest heaved with a labored breath, and she clutched Rhaenys’ hand weakly. “You are not who you think you are.” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You are not Rhaenys Targaryen. You are…”

Rhaenys felt her pulse quicken as she waited for the revelation, her world hanging on the precipice of truth.

The wet nurse continued, her words a fragile thread of disclosure. “You are Jon Snow’s twin. Your true name…is Vaeloria”

Rhaenys’s heart seemed to stop as the weight of those words settled upon her. She couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of the secret her wet nurse had carried, a secret that had been buried in deceit for all her life.

“But why?” Rhaenys choked out, tears filling her violet eyes. “Why was this kept from me?”

The wet nurse’s grip on Rhaenys’ hand tightened, and she summoned the last of her strength to respond. “Your father, Rhaegar Targaryen, believed it was the only way to keep you safe. And your uncle, Eddard Stark, swore an oath to protect you both.”

The sands of Dorne whispered secrets, their shifting grains echoing tales of forgotten bloodlines and concealed destinies. Underneath the scorching sun, the coastal breeze carried the faint scent of salt and the distant promise of adventure. It was here, in this land of fierce beauty, that a young woman known as Rhaenys Targaryen began her journey.

As dawn painted the horizon in hues of pink and gold, Rhaenys stood atop the battlements of Sunspear, the ancient seat of House Martell. Her silver-gold hair cascaded like liquid fire down her back, and her violet eyes glistened with determination. She had awakened to a world forever changed, a world where her true identity as a Targaryen had been unveiled.

The revelation had been both a curse and a blessing. It had set her on a path she could not deny, a path fraught with secrets and treacherous ambitions. She knew that the road ahead would be perilous, but she was resolute in her purpose—to find her twin brother, Jon Snow, and to seek out the last living heir of House Targaryen, Daenerys, whose vision she believed in with unwavering conviction.

In her heart, a burning desire smoldered, a desire to fulfill the promise of fire and blood, and to continue the legacy of the Dragon. Her journey had begun, and it would take her across the Seven Kingdoms, through the treacherous landscapes of power and betrayal.

The world of Westeros awaited her, with its intrigues, rivalries, and hidden dangers. But Rhaenys Targaryen would not falter. She had awakened to her true self, and she was determined to shape her own destiny.

As Rhaenys gazed out over the shimmering waters of the Summer Sea, a sense of both excitement and foreboding coursed through her veins. The sprawling palace of Sunspear, with its sandstone towers and hidden courtyards, had been her home for as long as she could remember. But now, it felt like a gilded cage, its walls closing in on her.

She had learned much from her kind “uncle” Doran Martell, the ruler of Dorne, and her time in Sunspear had been one of safety and tutelage. Yet, the secrets that had been kept from her had become a weight too heavy to bear.

Rhaenys Targaryen stood in the lush gardens of Sunspear, wondering what her beloved uncle Oberyn would have thought of her if he were still alive this day after the revelation, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the salt-tinged breeze from the nearby sea. The sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the palace grounds. She was no longer the young girl known as Rhaenys, but the memory of her childhood with Oberyn Martell remained etched in her heart. Oberyn despised the Lannisters for what they did to his sister, he raised her to hate them as well but would he have hated her more if he knew she was one of the fruits of his sister’s husband’s betrayal? A result of what had caused the rebellion and eventually his sister’s death. The woman he raised her to love and care for even when she did not know thinking she was her true mother.

As she strolled along a cobblestone path, her mind wandered back to a simpler time. She had been a spirited child, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river of fire as she ran through the gardens. Her uncle Oberyn, the Red Viper, had been her playmate, his sharp wit and fierce determination a constant source of fascination.

One particular memory stood out—a day when Oberyn had taken her to the Water Gardens, a sanctuary of cascading fountains and crystal-clear pools. They had laughed together as they splashed in the water, carefree and oblivious to the weight of their names.

“Rhaenys,” Oberyn had called her, unaware of the secret that hid beneath the false name. “You have the spirit of a true Dornish woman. Fearless and untamed.”

She had grinned up at him, the innocence of childhood in her violet eyes. “Like you, Uncle.”

Oberyn had chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Yes, perhaps you take after your old uncle more than you know.”

In that moment, as they had shared their laughter and the warmth of the Dornish sun, the world had felt like a place of endless possibilities. The looming shadows of politics and secrets had been distant, and Rhaenys had reveled in the love and companionship of her family.

Now, as she walked those same paths, her uncle’s words echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he would have reacted when he learned the truth of her identity. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she was determined to face the inevitable revelation with the same courage and spirit that had defined her as a child.

The memory of Oberyn, blissfully ignorant of her true heritage, remained a bittersweet reminder of the innocence she had lost. She would carry it with her as she embarked on her journey to reunite with Jon Snow, seek out Daenerys Targaryen, and rewrite her destiny in the ever-complicated world of Westeros.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Rhaenys descended from the battlements, her mind racing with plans and questions. How would she find Jon Snow, a brother she had never known? And what of Daenerys Targaryen, the last living ember of House Targaryen’s once-mighty flame? Could she convince the world that the Dragon must rise again?

Her first step led her to the chambers of her loyal confidante, the servant who had revealed the truth. There, she found the older woman with eyes red from weeping.

“Are you certain about this?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

The servant nodded. “I have no doubt, my lady. The blood of House Targaryen flows in your veins.”

Rhaenys’ resolve hardened. “Then it is time. I will begin my journey.”

With a heavy heart, the servant handed her a small, ornate chest. Inside lay a dragon pendant, a symbol of her true lineage. It was a reminder of the legacy she carried, a legacy she intended to honour. The other side of the had pendent a dire wolf was engraved, a dragon and wolf she was, a rare gem she was.

As she fastened the pendant around her neck, Rhaenys knew that the path she had chosen would be fraught with danger. She would be hunted by those who sought to extinguish her family’s name, and she would be tested in ways she could scarcely imagine.

But she was ready. With each step she took, the sands of Dorne whispered secrets of power and destiny, and she would follow their call.

The Dragon had awakened, and its fire would burn brighter than ever before.

As her wet nurse’s breathing grew shallower, Rhaenys felt a torrent of emotions—anger, confusion, and a burning desire for the truth. The revelations that had come to light had set her on an unexpected path, one that would lead her to confront her true identity and reshape her destiny.

As the wet nurse’s eyes closed for the final time, Rhaenys held her close, vowing to honour her memory and fulfil the legacy she had unknowingly carried all her life.

The Dragon had awakened, and with the weight of her true name, Vaeloria, Rhaenys would forge her own path in the world of Westeros.

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rise-my-angel · 5 months

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

Scattered Memories of the Starks

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

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, life threanting child illnesses, references to masturbation, alcohol consumption, rigid/restrictive self imposed view of female sexual behavior, mention of character deaths, smut, explicit sexual descriptions

Notes: Just an interesting peek into four specific past events/time periods with the reader, from the various POV's of Jon, Ned, and Robb. Series Masterlist Here

Of all Robert's brothers, Eddard Stark would say he knew Stannis Baratheon the least in a personal sense. He had nothing against him, on the contrary. Robert gave no praise or a shred of thanks for it, but the middle Baratheon brother had spent the entire Rebellion with a tough resolve which few men could handle. For many, war was easy. They all knew how to fight, how to kill, but it took something else of a man to handle what he had.

It was a direct result of the only defeat their side of the rebellion ever had. The Battle of Ashford. Robert had moved his forces to the western border of the Stormlands to march on Ashford, right on the edge of the Reach and it was a risky move. Stannis had been ordered to hold Storm's End, but he warned his brother that taking his forces so far west so soon was a mistake. That he should instead march North and join Ned's own forces along with the knights of the Vale led by Jon Arryn. But he didn't listen, and Randyll Tarly defeated him.

The result however, was catastrophic yet necessary in a way that Robert never quite appreciated. His defeat meant that it left the Stormlands open to be invaded by Targaryean loyalists. Mace Tyrell commanded his men to besiege Storms End, thinking taking it would crush Robert's morale.

But what they could not crush, was the determination of Stannis Baratheon.

They surrounded the ancestral seat of House Baratheon for an entire year, and it would not end, even after Aerys Targaryean was dead. Stannis refused to yield like few would. Ned had mostly heard much of this from Renly, only a boy of six when it happened. A year they spent running out of things to resort to eating. Eventually they turned to getting creative, trying to find anyway to make something edible be it from anything before turning to the worst. Barley managing to feed his starving wife and little brother on the rare occasion Stannis could shoot whatever bird passed the beach from a bow.

Renly as Ned recalled, talked in great detail that Robert had insisted must be exaggerated, that as they would desperately be shooting seagulls down one at a time to keep from starving, while the Tyrell army of many tens of thousands, would feast in full view of the castle with the voluminous amount of food supplied by the Reach. By the time Ned had arrived with his forces, he had long since left the capitol on his own. The Mad King was dead, Kings Landing was under Roberts control, and Rhaegar Targaryean had been killed at the Trident as well.

Mace Tyrell gave no fight to the Northern army and submitted right away. It was a brutal way to spend the war, and yet Ned knew even if Robert wouldn't say it, that Stannis's ability to so determinedly hold Storms End was of vital importance to their side of the war. It tied down most of the Tyrell army for most of the war, which took such a large amount of strong numbers away from the remaining Targaryean loyalists. And he had only done so, with only five hundred men.

He knew bitter feelings were left towards him over it. But Ned knew why. He wasn't deaf to the stories boasted about the battles. What the victory on the Trident looked like, what the sack of Kings Landing was like, but there was no great battle in Storms End. But Ned more then any of them knew that if Stannis Baratheon had not held the castle the entire time, or given up at the last minute, Neds forces would have been overrun. Robert's and Jon Arryn's forces would have been overrun.

Perhaps he thought as well, if Robert had done his brother the fair thing and given him Storms End as was his right, maybe Ned wouldn't have sat there in his study that afternoon, shocked that the middle brother had even anything to say to him.

Robert had Stannis take his fleet to Dragonstone where Aery's second son, now remaining heir, Viserys, had been with his mother. Rhaella passed giving birth to a daughter and at word of their families defeat, a small few had smuggled the Targaryean children to Essos.

They had fled before Stannis was even given orders, but Robert was so enraged he blamed Stannis all the same. He gave Storms End to Renly, and gave the now unclaimed Dragonstone to Stannis. Ned would think, perhaps if he was given the seat he had all rights too, maybe he wouldn't look back on Ned lifting the siege in such a bitter light.

So, imagine Eddard Stark's surprise at a raven from the man, explaining that his only child did not have the proper resources available to them on Dragonstone, to give them the education Stannis wanted for them. He appreciated how blunt he was in his choice of words, that while he knows the two men were not anything close to well acquainted, he respects his abilities as a commander and a leader, and saw little other choice to send his firstborn heir to learn from.

Now, that wasn't unusual. Many highborns were sent to serve as wards to other noble Houses, Ned himself had spent half of his life being raised in The Eyire with Robert. Jon Arryn was to that day, a man who had always been as good as a father to him. What wasn't normal, was sending your daughters for that very same idea. Though, he wouldn't say he thought it was a bad one.

Stannis had only one child, a daughter of eight, and it seemed he was intending on giving her the education of any lord. Likely considering the implication as Maester Luwin had pointed out, it's possible he could be preparing for the case in which his wife may not be able to give him any other children. So he wanted his only child, girl or boy, to prepare to be his proper heir. Which was how they ended up going back and forth for a number of weeks going into detail as to what to expect.

If he were to think about it in retrospective, it might have struck Ned as amusing that his sons first reaction to the news was mostly indifference. Not that they didn't care, both of them did, but he imagined for the weeks leading up to that day, he knew they likely barley thought of it until the Starks begun preparing. He didn't blame them of course.

Robb and Jon both were ten, what else did boys of ten have to care about when they had as much energy as the two of them combined held. But then the day came that you arrived. A small girl even at eight years old, you stood notably shorter then his sons. And you were rather small and said very little other then your clearly practiced curtsy of greeting.

Only a number of household guard was with you, as one of them, a younger man by the name of Allard had explained in delicate manner that you might take a bit to feel comfortable. Explaining that it had been horrible coincidence that the day you were set to sail to White Harbour, was only a day away from the same night your mother, Selyse, had lost her second boy in the womb and you might be hesitant about being here after that so soon.

Ned recalled how you were deathly quiet, eyes wide and as overwhelmed as you were scared. Turning to Allard before he left as if wanting to ask him to stay. The young man had knelt down to your level, quietly telling you, “You're allowed to be scared, tiny doe. New places are always scary. First time I sailed east, my father and I almost got beheaded by a first sword of Bravvos. But now I have friends and ladies always begging for my return.” Rather then a scared look, Ned found it striking how much like your father and uncle your narrow eyed scowl became when the man added, “I'm fairly certain Northerners aren't quite as dramatic as that.”

You hadn't been there for long, when at one point when Ned's attention was needed elsewhere. He had you stay in the training yard while he went to fetch his wife to take over for him. He did however, remember turning to check on you once more time only to notice someone else instead.

And Ned had come close to a smirk right away, realizing what look a certain son of his, had on his face.

If Jon Snow had thought it would be an uneventful day, he had not a clue how wrong he was about to be. He and Robb both were aware Lord Stannis's daughter was set to arrive but they were kept busy in the training yard like usual. The brothers going back and forth between playful and competitive as Ser Rodrick would have to keep them on track sometimes when they forgot they were supposed to be having lessons, not play fighting.

His back to that part of the yard, not realizing when anyone had come through until he noticed Robb's attention getting diverted somewhere behind him. Lowering his sparring sword he nodded somewhat in that direction, “I think the Baratheon girl is here.”

Jon knew he likely was trying to distract him, so he only intended to look briefly just to see when he turned partially around. His grey eyes going from narrowed to wide and bright as he almost instantly looked again as soon as he tried to turn back to Robb. By one of the tables closer to the archery range, you stood mostly on your own next to Jory.

Hair long and dark, but he noticed your eyes right away. They were such a beautiful shade of green and they were so bright, but he could tell there was a lot of nervousness behind them. Your posture stood mostly curled in on itself, glancing around as your hands wrung together in front of you like a anxious tick. You were short and small, and despite your best efforts not to, you stood out in the yard. At least to Jon you did.

Wracking his brain trying to figure out if he could remember your name he had suddenly sensed something behind him. Barley turning with a duck in time as he glared at Robb, who looked at him incredulously. “Did you forget about not turning your back on your enemy, Snow?”

Moving quick, the two danced around the other for a few hits as Jon grunted out between swipes, “I'm not the one trying to distract his opponent, beacuse I can't hit him otherwise, Stark.”

Lucky for them, Ser Rodrick could see that the two of them were getting too distracted to focus properly. Sharing a glance with his nephew, Jory who was the one making sure you weren't left entirely alone, the two Cassel's clearly read the others intentions. “Alright you two, pack it up for the time being. Go act a couple of proper lads and greet the poor girl.”

Both of them moved quickly, Robb mostly seemed calm as usual but as Jon put his sword away he started to feel his heart race a little. Glancing back at you, still you had a nervous, lonely look in your eye but the boy too felt dizzy. As he and Robb crossed the yard, Jon felt like he wanted to throw up, he was going to have to live with you in his home for the next number of months. Which was making him nervous on his own.

Beacuse Jon was fairly sure, you were the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.

You were quiet, and oh so polite. A very small shy smile and a proper curtsy, as you introduced yourself first. His brother had it easy, introducing himself right back as Jon stood beside him, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else. Hoping if he didn't say anything, he wouldn't have to ruin everything before it started. Thinking if he remained silent, you would assume he was no one important, but of course not.

You looked at him quiet for a moment before you glanced to nothing at the side, Jon not realizing he may have been coming off as rude instead of nervous. Robb nudged him in the side, causing the spell to break and Jon whipped his head to the side to glare at him. “She asked your name.”

But he realized why Robb wanted his attention, and he has grateful beyond belief for his brother. He knew exactly what he was about to be shy over. A silent ask whether or not he wanted Robb to just introduce him as his brother alone, but Jon knew you'd figure it out eventually. He may as well get it all over with now. Meeting your now curious eyes, muttering low, “Jon Snow.”

For a moment, he was confused. Beacuse you didn't react, or do anything or even shift your expression slightly. You just glanced between him and Robb before innocently asking, “Lord Stark's other son, or am I mistaken? My father said he has two.”

Nodding his head, he didn't get a chance to hear you say anything else. Both boys attention noticing Lady Catelyn coming that way, and truthfully, Jon didn't want to deal with that in front of the pretty girl he had just met. Looking awkwardly between you and Robb, Jon turned to make his leave just as he could hear her quietly introducing herself to you.

As Jon returned his focus elsewhere, he spared one last glance as you followed Lady Catelyn so she could show you around the castle. Only briefly did you catch his eye as you looked around again, and it was the first time Jon saw that soft little smile that you for years, only ever wore for him.

It didn't really clue in for him right in that moment, but in truth Jon had spent the rest of the day thinking about you. He didn't have the words of what a crush was right away, but as it turned out he had far too much time only hours later to begin considering it.

Proper meals were hit or miss for Jon. Some days it was fine, he and Robb paid mostly attention to the other and he didn't have to worry. Other days he would feel as if Lady Catelyn was eyeing everything he did or said to find something to call him out on. Were she to have it her way, Jon wouldn't even have a place at their table during normal meals, but his father wanted him there and Robb certainly would be the most vocal about arguing against it.

He couldn't help but wonder if having another person there would make it easier or harder. By the time both boys arrived though, Jon worried that maybe you changed your mind. You barley looked at him, and didn't speak to him but it wasn't until halfway into the meal did they all notice you were particularly quiet.

Barley having touched your food at all, your eye seemed trained on the wood of the table as if you couldn't keep your focus on anything more. Lady Catelyn had spent most of her time ignoring Jon and keeping an eye on how inward you acting. Gently having to call your name twice before you blinked, coming back to the world and looking up at her, then to the others. All of them watching with some degree of curious that had you looked away, swallowing hard with nerves.

Trying to quietly get you to speak up, she had asked you “Getting used to the food in a new place can be difficult at first. Is there something else we can find for you?”

Your head shot up, shaking fervently in a no with wide eyes. “Everything is lovely, my lady.” They all doubted that if to judge by the three bites in total you had taken, but biting your lip in thought before quietly looking between her and Lord Stark in a gentle tone, “I mean no offence, I am just not hungry though.” Once more your eyes flickered away before finding Lord Starks. “Would it be alright if I lay down for a little while?”

Speaking right away, Ned had no issues. “You've had a busy day, of course it's alright.” Turning to Robb, their father nodded in your direction, “Robb if you could show her to her room.”

Robb had begun standing up, and the chatter around the table was just enough that no one noticed until it was too late. No one noticed something was wrong until you had collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Every one of them that shot up from their own seats by then, a shock on their faces but it was his father who was the quickest to move. Catelyn and the boys watching from their spots now standing as he knelt down to look you over.

“Is she-”

As soon as Catelyn had tried to ask him something, Jon knew something was very wrong. His fathers eyes were wide, mouth more agape as if unable to choose between too many emotions and far more worry then he'd ever seen personally. Interrupting his wife with just as a rough but urgent tone. “Go get Maester Luwin.”

Catelyn tried asking again out of genuine concern, but he lost patience by the second as he checked on you, raising his voice. “I need him now, Cat.” Turning to his sons with just a short but urgent instructions, “Robb go with your mother, and bring him to the room we set up for her. Jon, come with me.”

No one had any room left for questions, his father easily picking you up and holding you close as they went their separate ways. Each time he glanced at you, Jon could see you looked worse and worse by the second and that panic in him built up quickly.

Helping his father with laying you down on the bed carefully, his father ran a hand over your forehead again, the sweat accumulating as if he had sat you next to a bonfire. “Open the windows.” Even with the cold breeze of night flying in, both stood there realizing it didn't seem to do a thing.

His voice very quiet asking what was it, and his fathers answer didn't make him feel better. A low tone that was more concerned then he'd ever heard before. Shaking his head somewhat confused still as he did so, “She's burning up by the minute. Go get me water and a cloth, now.”

Everyone was quiet as Luwin looked you over. His own face twisting into a worry as the rest of them could only stand there and wait. Jon and Robb both looked at the other, neither boy liking how helpless they felt. His father had come to your side as well to help Luwin with something and the two gave the other a significant glance.

By the time anyone spoke properly, Luwin turned to both Stark parents with a morose look on his face that worried all. “I would only be able to guess she has had this fever for days without telling anyone. An illness rarely gets to be this bad in only a manner of hours.”

You had yet to wake up. Ned standing still close to your bedside with a narrowed expression asking, “How bad do you mean?”

If they initially thought keeping it between them was a better option, Luwin decided against it. A sorrow in his tone as he looked almost apologetic as he muttered quietly. “I would suggest preparing a raven to send to Lord Stannis.” Glancing back at you then Ned, “One that can be sent out at a moment's notice.”

The dread in that room was something else, this had gone to something so serious it was deadly so suddenly. Lady Catelyn was quiet but a weight in her tone that was trying to hold a lot back. “What can we do?”

Luwin looked over you again, still not even a hint of waking up as he laid a back back on your forehead to feel the same heat. “At this stage there isn't much we can do but wait and hope she wakes up.” Her repeating the word hope with a concern, Luwin nodded grimly. “Whatever illness she's caught, it is advanced passed preventing something worse. Right now we can only watch to see if she makes it through the night, and the next few if lucky.”

The boys both looked at each other once more, neither doing a good job at hiding their fear as they knew on the others face already. They were worried it was their fault for not realizing you weren't feeling well when they had met you. Not that it was, but they were two boys of ten stuck in a scary situation they couldn't control.

“Someone will need to watch her at all times, the moment something changes I will need to know about it.” In an instant, Luwin, his father, and Lady Catelyn had all begun discussing their own duties and times to work around. Jon once more looked at Robb, following then his eyeline to you laying there as the adults debated who should give what up when.

Thinking to himself, maybe it would've been more prudent to let Robb say it first. He was the eldest, the trueborn son and such a task made sense and he clearly was about to speak up, but while Jon felt the same pull, he also looked at you intently, and something he didn't understand still tugged at his heart.

Like he truly couldn't leave this room when you were like that. So before anyone made any firm decision, Jon raised his voice loud enough to break through the noise. “I'll do it.” Silence fell over the room as did the eyes that all turned to him. The nerves ran somewhat ragged in his blood, but Jon swallowed that all down and looked between his father and Maester Luwin with what he hoped was confidence. “Somebody needs to watch her, right? It's already late, I can take care of her.”

If he was trying to focus on his father, Jon regretted the quick glance his eyes took towards Lady Catelyn as she looked at him. Or glared, to be more accurate. Eyes sharp and dark and her expression twisted into a disapproving frown as if he was some criminal ready to violate you the moment Jon was alone.

His father asking, “Are you sure, Jon?”

Thankfully, he felt more confident in his nod. Another didn't. “Ned.” Her voice as as disapproving as her glare. “She should be watched by someone who knows what they are doing, leaving it to a-”

But he interrupted his wife without malice, but with an ease. “Jon is ten, Cat. Not four. We all have things to attend to, and Jon would only be missing time in the training yard for now.” Looking to Luwin without waiting for any response, he was more focused then before, beckoning Jon to step further into the room with him. “You follow everything Maester Luwin says, alright?”

Bless Robb's young heart, hadn't quite caught that it wasn't one of the boys watching you she disapproved of, it was just the boy being Jon. Coming up to her, putting a comforting arm around his mothers side as it to pull her into a partial hug, as he watched you with as much tense concern as Jon.

Maester Luwin had gently walked Jon through the things he required him to watch for, to pay attention to, and what to do for you to ensure your fever didn't burn you up too much in your sleep. “Any change in those, I need you to come tell me about right away. It's vital we monitor her closely the next number of nights.” Jon moved right near your bedside and though he could feel the cold air from the windows, he too could see the sweat dampening your hair all on your own.

His father had leaned down to him, “I'll come check on you later, alright? Take good care of her.”

Jon didn't look back at his father when he nodded, but just when he thought he was about to be alone, did he feel eyes. Slowly, turning halfway to look at the doorway was her glare. Lady Catelyn stood there looking like something sat right on the tip of her tongue that no doubt would've made Jon feel even worse, but she glanced more softly at you. Her final glare to him less hostile before she made her leave without a word.

The older both of them got, the more Catelyn stopped withholding her spiteful comments towards him in private.

Jon hadn't diverted his focus even once. The way in which Maester Luwin had implied you might not survive the night, terrified him. Every few minutes he would check everything he was told to, and then tell himself as soon as he sat back down, not to get up and check it all again right away. Part of him didn't understand why he cared so much.

He didn't know you, you had barley said six words to him. The daughter of some lord Jon didn't know, but here he sat, too scared to look away in case you would die the moment he did. Didn't even bother getting up to find something warm to wear from the night wind, focusing only on whether or not the fur atop you was too warm and moving to leave the thinner sheets on instead, hoping it would ease your temperature.

It wasn't until many hours had passed, and likely much of the castle either sleeping or trying to sleep did he think more of it. Grey eyes painting over with something disappointed at the thought. That little smile you gave him across the training yard. No one ever looked at him so sweetly. Not that many girls around cared about spending much time with the bastard boy when the heir to Winterfell was always right there, but he never interacted with a girl that way.

Many would hear his name, and stop caring. You didn't even react when he told you he was a Snow and simply asked if he was the second son of Eddard Stark you heard about. No questions or wonders, just an easy clarification before giving him that soft smile.

Something in him started to worry, if you woke up now would you be uncomfortable that he was taking care of you on his own? Or worse, think that he was trying to make up for his surname by doing something to impress you? Would you think him pathetic if you knew he was hoping you'd wake up and he could have that smile again?

By the time the moon was directly over the lands of Winterfell, it dawned on him that this must have been what a crush on a girl felt like. To constantly think about them in a way that made him feel both warm and somewhat embarrassed. He couldn't have a crush on you, you were supposed to be here for months how was he supposed to handle that? What if you never woke up and his only crush on a girl was on a dying one?

On the chair beside your bed, Jons forearms rested on his knees as he leaned as close as he could to get a better angle to make sure even if he couldn't hear your quiet breathing, he could see it. Focused enough he didn't even hear the quiet footsteps coming down the hallway or the figure peeking in watchfully at the open door.

Ned knew out of his two sons, one of them was a bit more sensitive then the other. That wasn't to say Robb was insensitive, just that Jon was the one who felt things more. He felt things more intensely, and much more raw and he wasn't yet good at hiding that on his face. He wore his heart on his sleeve, even though he knew he tried to hide that fact.

It used to scare him. A lot about Jon used to scare him. The man was sure he aged decades in Jons first few years of life. Doing what Jon was doing now, watching intently only for a vastly different reason. His third nameday passed and Ned finally had come to ease up about certain aspects. The fear of what he might look like had gone away.

Then only to be replaced by the fear of who he would take after. Jon struggled with controlling his emotions more then Robb did when they were still young. Never out of control, but clearly Jon took to negative things harder then his brother and it used to be the new thing that scared Ned.

He didn't know much about the man and he didn't want to. But what he did know, he was terrified in ever seeing in Jon. But Northerners were not men said to be weak willed, and him being the one to raise him was doing better for Jon then Ned once feared. Certain parts still worried him, and as he leaned against the door frame, watching his son never take his eyes off the poor, feverish girl, unconscious in her bed, did Ned briefly see it.

Not in a thousand lifetimes would Ned ever use love to describe anything that man had directed towards Jons mother, but perhaps obsession was. Sometimes he pushed it away so deep that he never came close to thinking about any of it. But other times like that moment, Ned watched Jon and was trying to figure out what was simply a result of the life Ned raised him in, and what was something he couldn't control.

He trusted Jon to take care of you, he loved and trusted his son with all his heart. And it was nothing but a genuine worry and affection he watched you with, but it was an intense way he refused to look away that felt like obsession. Even if the boy didn't understand that.

It was one of the few times Ned Stark wondered, just how much of his father had Jon Snow truly inherited?

It was the third morning in a row the Stark parents were alone to break their fast. Normally, it was nice. The quiet between them left Ned and Catelyn the free time to enjoy the others company the way they liked, while somewhere outside in the training yard they could hear Robb and Jon both yelling at the top of their lungs with far too much energy.

But, it was silent. Those who worked around the castle were silent, the guards of his home were silent, and so were they. Ned knew Cat was first more on the side of grateful that Jon was missing more meals then normal. He was never comfortable with his wife's attitude towards Jon, but it was safer then the alternative of truth. It had been ten years since he brought that black haired, grey eyed baby boy home from war and they had simply agreed to speak little of Cat's negative views of her husbands bastard.

It was however, odd that in the silence, Robb wasn't there either. The first few mornings, they had assumed he wasn't in the mood for it, which he wasn't. Robb's lessons for two days, were ended rather early as he could barley concentrate. But then that morning he still wasn't there.

Asking Jory where his son had snuck off too, he had responded with ease of “Went to the kitchens early, brought something over to Jon to eat while Robb watches the poor lass. Was there yesterday morning too, not sure either of them have even slept the past few nights.”

Once more, Ned said not a word of the conflict in Catelyn's eyes as long as she didn't say it. It was the truth in the only ways that ever would matter for good, Jon was his son and he didn't appreciate her hostility being spoken behind his back as if Ned agreed. He was however, much more relieved at his plaguing thoughts of his son, knowing that clearly, his other son was as worried as Jon even if he was better at not showing it.

“Robb should take over.” Ned said his wife's name in warning, but she insisted in a more genuine tone of voice. “It's been days, if it goes on much longer someone will have to watch her instead, regardless. We should let Robb have that responsibility for a while.”

Shaking his head, Ned reached for a drink with not an unkind dismissal. “Jon is doing just fine, if he wants to take care of the girl, so be it.” His wife claiming he should be sharing his responsibilities when Ned shut the rest of the debate down, “Let him have this, Cat. He wants to do it, let him do it.”

Both unaware that Robb had been listening with a narrowed brow in frustration. Not wanting his mother to look badly on his brother, when Robb knew there was nothing wrong with what Jon was doing. Maybe if he did take over for a bit, his mother would be easier on Jon when he inevitably took back over.

“I'm not a moron, Snow.”

Jon tried and failed to not roll his eyes. He wasn't actually annoyed, but he hadn't slept for more then a few hours in three days. His eyes were dark, even beyond the dark grey inside them, and he was irritable more then usual. He had really only let himself sleep a bit when Robb was with him. Normally, it was entirely an accident. Jons head would be propped up on his palm while his elbow was leaning against something and he'd jolt back awake minutes later. Looking between his brother and you before standing up to check on everything all over again.

They were currently debating on whether or not Jon should go up to his room and sleep properly for a while, and Jon would argue that he didn't want to be away if something bad happened. Robb, who wasn't quite as well slept as he pretended to be, would throw back the insinuation asking if he was assuming Robb didn't know how to care for one sick girl. Leading to the debate right now.

Hoping he wasn't coming off as some creep the way he kept insisting he be the one to watch over you himself. And even more hopeful, that Robb had bought the story that one of the maids had done it for you, when his brother asked when your hair had been braided.

He didn't need to know, that in Jon wanting to get your now sweat dampened, messy hair from making you uncomfortable, he had spent an hour figuring out how to do a proper braid in the middle of the night. Three nights and three days had passed since you fell unconscious and Jon had fully accepted what he was feeling.

Because the feeling in his chest, matched far too close with the look of love in his fathers eyes when looking at his own wife. Jon didn't need you to wake up for that, he just wanted you to wake up so he could know you properly by now. Your fever had begun to go down, and significantly over the course of that morning did you begun to cool off enough that Jon closed the windows finally.

At some point, Maester Luwin estimated you would awake sometime in a day or two, and Jon now knew that he wanted to get to know you. Wanted to befriend you, because he needed to be sure the pretty girl he was in love with, at least liked him in a way that mattered.

Jon wondered if the old gods had been listening to him, because it was not much later when Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin had come to check on you did you begin to wake up. The boys kicked out of the room to not overwhelm you, and he still wouldn't see you until the next morning when she led you gently down to have something to eat with them.

You were even quieter then before, wrapped up in a thick, warm shall and looked rather nervous around them all, but that didn't go away for almost a month for everyone.

He felt terribly guilty about it. He was a teenage boy, it was normal, but he felt as if he was somehow in the wrong for doing it.

It all stemmed from how your last letter had been sitting on Jon's desk in his chambers for nearly a month and he still hadn't sent anything back. That wasn't the case with Robb, he knew the two of you still wrote one another like normal. But Jon let that last letter sit there, every now and again telling himself he would finally do something about it, but he would get as far as picking it up before changing his mind. He hadn't even read it yet at that point.

You had only been gone a little over four months but a lot had happened in that time, especially for you he had known. You returned home earlier then planned in order to be there when your mother went into labor. It hurt seeing you go sooner then Jon was ready but he understood that, other then you, she had never made it this far with another pregnancy and it was looking more and more like you would finally have a sibling all of your own.

Finally, only a fortnight after you left, your mother had given birth to a baby girl. He remembered thinking it was fitting you had a sister now. His two baby sisters were still quite young, and they had both taken their fair share attaching themselves to you like their own big sister. You would be perfectly ready to take care of one.

Around the same span of weeks, the Iron Islands had declared themselves as an independent kingdom once more, and a rebellion had begun against them and the crown. Taking both of your fathers away from you and Jon, as they left to fight that war.

Short it was, lasting but two months before they were able to sail to Pyke and after a siege, forced Balon Greyjoy to surrender. His other sons had been killed in the battle, and his brothers Victarion and Euron had been utterly defeated in battle at sea by Stannis Baratheon's fleet. The terms of their surrender in exchange for peace, was in part, the agreement that Balon's last living son was to taken by the Crown. Technically as prisoner, serving by action as ward.

Which was how Theon Greyjoy came into their lives. Serving in the North under Eddard Stark was the better option, not that the Ironborn would say it. He was struggling to get used to his new circumstances, but Jon and Robb were trying to make the best of it. Hoping at least if the Greyjoy found something of a friend in either of them, maybe he'd settle down. That seemed like the worst of it was over.

Until another raven had come. And it was that, which ultimately led to the guilt Jon sat with now in his chambers, far too late at night to be awake still.

Only months after her birth, your new sister Shireen, had somehow contracted a disease known as Greyscale. The entire island of Dragonstone was suddenly closed off and sealed to the world as everyone knew how bad it was. By the time his father sat he and Robb down about it, he had to be realistic about what he told them.

Saying it was possible by now it could have spread to the entire castle. Thus nothing was to go in or out of Dragonstone. No trade, ships, ravens, nothing. They had no idea if you were alright, and it hurt one more then the rest. Robb was upset and angry but he kept calm when not in private in order not to startle his younger siblings, who as of then, didn't quite understand the gravity of the disease being said was in your home.

But Jon? It wasn't good. He had no idea what to do about his feelings as it was, but this helplessness and not even knowing if you were safe, he hated it. Jon was in a bad mood all the time, he was irritable and short in temper.

It was the first time Jon was realizing, his feelings for you had grown out of an innocent childishness between two friends. He thought of you all the time, and he only got angrier everytime he remembered he couldn't even send you a raven telling you he hoped you were alright. Spent a lot of time in the training yard for the next number of weeks, trying to spend that energy on something but at night in the quiet? There was no distracting Jon from the frustrating degree to which he was undoubtedly in love with you.

Robb would find Jon wanted to spend more and more time distracting himself with anything, and more of his days ended up being spent arguing back with Lady Catelyn then ignoring her spite. It was a rough time, and he was pretty sure she despised him once he started letting his temper out more when she was rude or hostile. He didn't feel good about it, and he was never like that with his fathers wife after it had all settled, but it stuck out in her mind and didn't let it go.

Jon didn't know what to do, but he didn't want to tell anyone about his feelings for you. Beacuse with realizing his feelings were much more grown up now, came the understanding that he could never do anything about it. You were a highborn girl, born to the brother of the King. You were part of the royal family and Jon was just a bastard from the North.

It bothered him before, sure. But it wasn't until those days did it truly hit Jon that being with you would never happen. So by the time everything simmered down? He got your first letter in months, and Jon still hadn't opened it. He didn't know what to say.

He knew Shireen's life had been saved, he knew Robert Baratheon had come to Dragonstone to implore his brother he no longer wanted him to serve from there, and that he was of far more use living in the capitol. Jon knew your father had moved you to Kings Landing with him by then. But Jon only knew those things, because of what was said in your letters with Robb.

Jon didn't know what your letter said, but if he read it, then he'd feel compelled to respond to it. Which was the problem. You had been through a lot that made you vastly more mature then girls Jon knew that were your age, but you were also slightly younger then him and thus it made your innocence a lot more important to him. If by some miracle he thought, if you ended up developing anything close to feelings for him, Jon knew his would be different then yours.

He didn't know how to deal with it. He never had a crush before you, and he's never had any eyes for anyone that wasn't you since. It was always you, and Jon had no idea what to do about it all.

You were Jon's best friend. His beautiful, sweet, smart, but incredibly innocent best friend. There was no chance you had even a slight inkling of any physical feelings like that, and Jon wasn't even sure if you really understood what sex even was by that point. It used to be funny to tease you about it, but now it wasn't funny to think about. You deserved to be thought of in a better manner by your best friend, but the way Jon both avoided you and failed at avoiding certain ways of thinking about you was not what you deserved.

By the time you had been in Kings Landing for over a month, Jon still let that letter sit on his desk. Watching Robb answer the more he got, and you wouldn't send him anything. Jon knew you didn't want to send him anything if he didn't want to reply, worrying you'd be pestering him. So he just let you think he was mad at you.

Maybe he thought in retrospective, Jon wouldn't have felt so guilty about all of this, if he could go back and just not have given in. But far too late at night, he finally found it in him to open your letter. He could hear your voice so clear in his head, see you, feel you. The ease in which you fit in his arms that night by the lake without ever thinking twice of his affection. If he asked Theon, he'd likely say it was normal and to just not care about doing it.

It wasn't something new to him, he was a teenage boy after all. But that night, it was the first time Jon got off thinking about you. It took him about another month after that night to write you a letter back, taking that long due to his sheer guilt over it. Then he got your reply so soon, as if you wrote a long letter in minutes and sent the raven off the second you read his letter, excited beyond anything to hear from him finally. And for Jon, the cycle of guilt started over again.

Jon hated having adult feelings for you. Beacuse he knew without any doubt, you were not thinking about Jon, in the same way he did you.

It was a massive risk what he was doing. He should know better, he was a man now, not a boy. Yet, he couldn't tell if it was having just enough wine in him to lower his judgment, or if you simply made him weak.

The four of you had taken advantage of being mostly alone in the castle as far as the Starks went. It wasn't often they all had time to themselves, but they always took advantage of it. Jon, Robb, Theon and you, had all been in the Greyjoy's chambers having far more to drink then they should have. Which in turn, resulted in Theon commenting that he didn't understand how you could keep up with them. “How's a child that small handle that much wine?”

Your face twisting as you threw something at him, “Since when is seventeen a child, Greyjoy? I recall hearing you in here doing an awful lot a child shouldn't when you were seventeen.”

Theon arguing back as Robb and Jon watched in a high degree of amusement between them. “I'm a Greyjoy. We leave the womb practically men already. You on the other hand, I'm amazed you even knew what I was doing in here. Aren't you as innocent as a septa at this point, surprised you even showed up tonight.”

Your answer was to move quicker then he expected, snatching his own wine and downing it in one go with not a blink or flinch. Before leaning back in your seat with a smirk of your own. “I'm a Baratheon, if we're good at two things, it's drinking, and yelling.”

That in turn as well, resulted in you and him having a competition, some sort of drinking challenge that was common amongst Ironborn. The two wolves ended up watching in great entertainment how much you and Theon tried to pretend you weren't as drunk as you both clearly had become. Robb and Jon both laughing that they were grateful they didn't put money on it, because to all three of their surprises, you had managed to put on a fairly composed face for just long enough that Theon relented.

Granting you the title of victor as Theon stumbled back into a drawer, Robb laughing as he yanked him up to at least settle him. “If you're going to pass out, least do it on your bed.”

Theon had barley laid down, eyes shut as he swore at you under his breath. You managing to get a steady laugh out at his expense before moving from the table. Only the second you stood up, clearly the world had spun you off your feet. Theon grumbling from where he lay, “Oh so they rush to save you, but let me fall on my ass.”

Jon had grabbed you before you fell to the ground, but being pulled back into him only made you laugh more. Jon being drunk enough that he found no ability or notice to the way he smiled and looked adoringly at how easily you let loose. Robb had grabbed your hands to pull you more on your own feet as Jon kept you steady. The elder wolf half turning back with a quickness to Theon, “That's because unlike you, her ass is pretty.” You grumbled telling him to shut up, as Robb nudged you back with a grin.

Eventually, the two of them had decided to split up. Robb staying to make sure Theon wasn't about to throw up in his sleep, as Jon would bring you back to your own chambers. The door behind him had only just closed when he took advantage of the empty hallway. Going from keeping you at his side, to scooping you up in his arms, your hands wrapping around the back of his neck with a laugh as you protested with his name falling from your lips to put you down.

Jon had no proper sense in the empty hall, despite who was so close behind that door. Turning to look at you, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a needing kiss before mumbling against them. “Shut up and let me enjoy you, Baratheon.” Kissing you once more before you rolled your eyes, leaning into him with a smirk but relenting.

Bringing you into your own chambers, Jon had gently laid you on your bed. “Stay there.” Moving about your room in a moment, tending to the fire in your room before closing the window still open from the day. You had pushed up on your palms to sit against the headboard up right, eyes narrow as Jon then sat on your bed, reaching for your boots to begin pulling them off.

Your voice was quiet, quieter then Jon assumed you thought you were being. “I can do this part myself, you know.”

Jon barley reacted, instead moving to gently pull off your outer layers, knowing you'd just sleep in them uncomfortable by that point if left on your own. “Just let me take care of you.” He knew you caught his playfully dismissive tone, even as light as your mind left you. Leaning back more comfortably, Jon knew he could feel your eyes on him, trying not to feel his own flustering smirk. “What?”

But it was as he looked up at you, did your eyes seek his out, painting nothing but gentle and soft as you found no will power to look away. Mumbling a bit, “Why are you so sweet to me?” Jon raised a questioning eyebrow as he slid closer on the bed more to where you sat, waiting for you to elaborate.

Hand reaching out, you grabbed one of his, gently playing and mindlessly toying with his own fingertips as you spoke, before letting it rest in your lap still holding the other. “No one's ever been as sweet or nice to me as you always are. I don't get it, even tonight I'm only being a drunk pest but here you are anyways.”

His hand reached up, cupping your cheek as his thumb ran over the soft skin, leaning forward to let you feel more of his own warmth, rasping quietly. “You're my drunk pest, only I get to put up with you like this.” Your face twisted in a jesting offence, so he moved to lean forward. Hovering just above your lips, waiting for you to be brave enough that night to kiss him first. But you exhaled shakily, and so for another day Jon closed the gap.

His hand slipping behind to cup the back of your neck to hold you closer, your hands gently found themselves resting on his shoulders, nails digging into the material, as you let him softly guide you. His own touch moving down to your waist, as you let him deepen the kiss, leaving a small bite on your bottom lip. But it was the gasp you let you, that caused him to do it again, and twice more before feeling bold and using that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, running against yours as he felt you both tense and reach a hand up to somewhat grasp at the edge of his neck where his curls sat almost instinctively.

Jon tilted your head up just enough that you had no choice but to meekly surrender control over to him, as he let his tongue brush yours. As if trying to convince you to be brave enough to explore him back, but Jon had known you were not the same as where he was about these things.

Sure his only experience was you, as yours was his. Maybe it was spending the past around five years growing from teenage boys to men with Robb and Theon, perhaps it was just the natural inclination being a man that made his mind more susceptible to thinking about you so physically. He'd been thinking about you like this since he was fourteen, and it was four years on did he even kiss you for the first time.

Jon had a lot of worked up need held in his system, but he knew the only physical things you knew much of at all, were limited. What Jon had explored with you so far, even if it was next to nothing significant. And he knew the noble girls you spent time around in Kings Landing spoke more candidly about certain things, but he didn't know what those were.

So he tried to keep you as innocent as you deserved. Only, as your other hand slipped down to run along his torso, it wound up sitting just low enough beyond his hipbone, and Jon felt that spark of need.

Losing himself for a moment, Jon surged forward. Kissing you more roughly, switching between bites that left your lips tingling and overwhelming you with how much he deepened it in between. There had been something in his mind the second he felt your palm sliding so low without realizing, something that made his cock stir. Climbing up onto the bed, you had no choice but to lay out flat as Jon hovered over you. His hand on your waist now pressed into the sheets beside you as was now the hand at the back of your head the other side. Your own now both at his waist as Jon felt more in control over top of you.

More and more he forgot to ease up. The more he kissed you, the more of your sighs and sounds, the high pitched need he would capture with his lips, the more Jon grew hard. Forgetting himself, forgetting what he would tell himself, that it was his responsibility to keep you innocent. Both a burning need to feel you more against him when so close this way, and something more instinct as Jon moved to grasp at your thigh. Holding tight he slightly shoved it wide before pulling up the skirt of your dress. Not enough he could see anything, but still you gasped.

And Jon once more let his tongue taste inside your mouth, moving enough so that he had the proper space to press more into you. He knew the very moment you felt his covered cock hard against you, as you made something akin to a needing moan of a sound deep in your throat. The wine had made you pliable to his need, and it had clouded just enough of his judgment that Jon started to grind his hard cock into you.

Thigh hoisted up onto his hip, Jon would lick and bite at your lips in the same instance he would rut into your core. Your hands reached for his shoulders and back arched up into his chest. Were he sober, Jon would've been able to tell you were far too nervous for this, but he struggled to hear that in his mind.

He rutted into you, growing harder against what he could tell was so warm between your legs, even through all the fabric. His mind was difficult to read for himself that you two were far too new for this. You hadn't been expecting this, he hadn't done anything like this to you before, and yet here he was with a low growl in his chest at how good you felt against him.

Once more a large, rough hand grasped at your jaw and side of your neck as he held your lips up his without chance of escape, as your hands found comfort in raking through his curls. He growled into your mouth as you let out a quiet whine before pulling back. Small strands of saliva breaking just as Jon rested his forehead against yours, hips moving perfectly against yours, as you looked unable to choose between peering up at him and keeping your eyes closed. The only sounds between you were heavy breathing and a restrained need in Jons low sounds of a growl.

Jon had no way of knowing, impossible for him to guess, but that burning and twisting feeling in your core, was actually something you didn't recognize. Didn't understand what you were feeling or if it was supposed to feel this way. The only understanding you had, was you were the woman, so you were supposed to just do what made the man feel good. Even though your heart raced and your mind felt confused with so much wine in your system, you tried to move against him because you wanted him to keep feeling what clearly felt this good for him.

Yet, as soon as you tried to move back against his hips in return, did Jon suddenly pull back. Kneeling up moreso between your still spread legs as you both panted to catch your breathe.

He looked down at you, the innocent confusion mixed with something overwhelmed in your eyes as you braced yourself up on your palms waiting for him to say something. But the more his gaze trailed down your body, the more he sobered up and the worse he felt. Pulling your dress back down modestly, Jon almost climbed off the bed entirely before you reached a hand out to his arm. “Wait- did I do something wrong?”

Jon's entire face twisted as he breathlessly looked at you with narrowed eyes, “What? No, of course not-” You had started to stammer asking what you did to make him stop, but suddenly the clearer Jons mind became, the more he realized how not even slightly clear yours was. You were so much more drunk then he was, and so much more willing to do only whatever he wanted.

Tentatively, his hands rested on your thighs, pausing as he went to move to position himself beside you, a gentle look in his eyes with a murmur, “I'm right here, lay down for me is all I'm asking.” You looked at him unsure before relenting. Laying down more comfortably, as Jon found himself laying on his side beside you. Tilting your head to look over at him with a hand gentle on your cheek. “You didn't do anything wrong, but it's not alright of me to take advantage of you when you're drunk.”

Your face both twisted in frustration, but also fell almost innocently confused. Your voice was even quieter, “You can't take advantage of me if you already have me in bed.” Jon could tell you had no awareness that you weren't anywhere near sober. “It doesn't matter Jon, just keep going.”

Letting his head fall somewhat into your neck, you reached up to gently run your hands through his curls as he turned your cheek better to fit your lips to his when he raised back up. Nothing deep or tense, just a chaste kiss as he mumbled against them after. “You're not a whore I've paid for, darling. You're not supposed to just lay there letting me do whatever I want to you, no matter what. You have to want it too, and not when you're this drunk.”

It was almost endearing, the way your brows furrowed. Tonight was bad time to have this discussion, you weren't sober enough to grasp his point. Evident by your very quiet plea, turning onto your side somewhat to see him better. “I don't care about any of that, you were enjoying yourself.”

“You're supposed to enjoy yourself too.”

Seven hells, did you ever break his heart as you so earnestly responded, “No, I'm not.” What on earth had those other noble girls in Kings Landing been saying to you? What could they possibly have told you that made you think you shouldn't- he had to reign his emotions in. Jon felt himself getting angry and he desperately did not want you to think it was at you.

Your green ones stared intently into his bright and tense grey eyes, until Jon sighed deeply. Running his hand along your cheek innocently again before muttering, “Get some sleep, we can discuss this tomorrow when you're feeling better.” Ignoring as you mumbled that you felt fine, as Jon pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Not a second did he get away before you switched moods, reaching out to him the second he moved to get up. “Wait- stay.” Your urgency almost surprised him as well as yourself. “Just...just for now..I don't want you to leave yet..”

Jon knew staying was a risk. If he fell asleep, someone could easily come and find you both like this in the morning. But you were so soft, and your eyes so bright and innocent looking up at Jon that he hated how quickly he gave in. Nodding before pressing one more kiss to your lips. “Only until you fall asleep.”

Turning so you were curled into his chest facing him, Jon couldn't help but decide the risk had to be worth it. Nothing was going to outweigh how perfect it felt to have you fall asleep in his arms. Or, perhaps that was only a confident thought until Jon accidentally let his eyes slip closed. And falling asleep right with you.

If the look his father gave him, when he noticed Jon sneaking into his own room so early in the morning that the sun was barley in the sky, had said anything? Jon was at least glad he stopped himself before he took the previous night any further with you. Otherwise the innocent guilt of being noticed sneaking around would have been a lot more obvious what he was sneaking away from, had Jon taken your body the way you had told him too.

Jon knew he wasn't supposed to be with you anywhere near this way, but if you were both going to keep this between you, Jon had to step up. He had to be the one to ensure he protected your innocence, even against himself.

Unbeknownst to him, Jon was lucky his father trusted him as much as he did. Ned was aware that if there was only one thing he could be sure of, is was that there was no chance Jon would so recklessly take your maidenhead, and certainly not like that. When he could tell the signs that his sneaking son so early in the morning, had clearly been drinking the night before. Meaning you had been as well.

He knew he was better then that, so he said not a word but a nod to him, despite the wide eyed, confused, and nervous look he got from Jon in return before they parted ways. But after that, Ned silently and closely paid attention. He watched yours and Jon's affection grow closer, and it became clear there were more then just feelings. There was something there that you and Jon were trying to hide from everyone but each other. But Ned knew that you made his son happy, and his son made you happy.

He had thought, maybe that would be enough.

Ned had always come to the godswood after taking a life. He would sit on the moss covered wood and stone in the still warmth of summer, taking every care of Ice as he contemplated the truth of what he always had to do. The lad, Will, he was the fourth deserter just that year. Something kept driving them to run from the Wall, and according to Benjen more rangers would disappear in increasing numbers these past years. He hadn't slept well the night before thinking over it.

What the ranger said too, it kept him up far longer then he would admit to his wife. So he had come here to think in the quiet of the old gods. The last he had seen of his children they were spending time in the kitchens, the younger ones all debating what to name their wolf pups. Another strangeness he thought not what to make of it.

His first choice was only out of survival, so young they stood not a chance in the wild alone. He didn't like hearing the innocent plea of his son, but it was cruel to leave them out to die when a quick one would spare the kind of things that ended their mother. An argument had almost started over it, Robb and Theon grating their tones at one another over the decision, Bran begging for it against Neds firm choice of their fates.

Very likely, anything else said he wouldn't have heard more of it. But it was how unusual it sounded coming from his sons mouth. It wasn't the first time Jon had chosen to be purposely formal about his position, but it never felt normal to hear “Lord Stark,” it was uncomfortable and he knew why. Had any of his other sons suggested it he might not have considered. But he knew what Jon had done.

Jon had willingly counted himself as not one of the Stark children in order to convince him that they were meant to have the wolf pups. Had that been Bran or Robb's argument he wouldn't have heard it, but it was the sacrifice Jon made on his own that stood out to him. So he let his sons bring them home, only to quickly notice that Jon had returned to the horses with a sixth. A small, but bright white one with large blood red eyes that reminded him of the colours of the Weirwood he now sat under.

It was interesting he had thought, that it was that blood red eyed wolf pup that could see perfectly, while the others were still just as young and still blind. It was odd it was only that one.

But, whatever of the wolves and words spoken of the North that found plagued his mind, was nothing against the words which followed in the air. Catelyn had come to him, she never liked the godswood of Winterfell. Born under the Light of the Seven just as all southerners were, Ned had the small sept here built for her when he finally brought her up to the North. He knew some news must have occurred to bring her in a place she little liked to disturb.

“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.”

Smiling at his wife, he easily dismissed such notions. “You're not an outsider, you have five Northern children.” Going back and forth about their gods, and he always found himself thankful they could speak with such ease over the differences still between them. But it didn't stay easy for long.

A raven scroll sat in her hands as she looked up with a genuine sorrow. “I am so sorry, my love.” What tragedy came with such news, ended up being nothing against the mysteries that had wrapped itself around it, prompting her to continue. “There was a raven from Kings Landing. Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him.”

If Ned's grief could go back in time, he would have wished for himself to be thankful that the man had not lived to suffer, as it felt all of them did in what became Ned's final days. The pain was shaking as he sat in the godswood, but there was little he knew what to do with it or how to feel. Trying to push it down, but his wife always saw him perfectly, gently finding her words once more, “I know he was like a father to you.”

Only, it wasn't the end. It was the beginning of an end for himself, but the start of a nightmare he had not recalled so vividly and fearfully coming soon onto twenty five years.

“The raven brought more news. The King rides for Winterfell. With the queen and all the rest of them.”

Ned said it just as it came into his mind, neither of them needed to say it out loud so specifically to understand. “If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after.” More then two decades had passed, Ned knew it wasn't a reasonable worry to think Robert would find out now. But it still scared him.

That boy was his son, for every single way it mattered to Ned that was his son, but it still scared him. It sacred him despite knowing that wasn't any that might in his eyes, face, looks, nothing. He was more of a Stark then any of them in every way. It was an awful thought, but he hoped Robert by now had long forgotten what she looked like. And maybe, he'd be able to see none of her in him. Beacuse one look at his son, and he could see every part of his looks, his son had gotten entirely from her.

Had she been here, they could've stood side by side now, and looked identical.

But once more, the gods loved their cruel jokes. Catelyn now sat next to him, gave a look to the side of her. “There is one more thing.�� Much to Neds surprise, your name came from her mouth. “She will be riding with them to Winterfell. Her father has left the capital for an unknown amount of time and she is to return to serve in his place on the council when they leave here.” Ned had a distinct feeling Catelyn wasn't merely making small talk. “But that isn't all. The King himself has ordered her to do one thing while she is still in Winterfell.”

As it turned out he realized, you and Jon making each other happy, wouldn't be enough any longer.

Robb Stark knew many in arranged marriages never even saw each other for the first time until their wedding day, only found out then if their betrothed was someone they could even stand to look at or talk too. So, in such a way, Robb knew he was lucky. He had known you since he was ten, and he was as close with you as any that entire time.

But neither of you thought this was coming. If Robb knew you well, the moment he was likely to be alone with you for the first time, you would begin to apologize as if it was your fault this was decided for you. He would have to shut that down and fast. You'd spiral if Robb let you.

It had been along time since he had ever thought of you in such a way, he was still a boy when he once had a crush on you. But much like many experienced, it was fleeting and he found more solace in your friendship then worrying about anything further. That further was now though. Or, if timings were correct, a fortnight from now.

Robb would retire to his chambers at night and would find it such an odd image to think only in one more fortnight passed, it would be yours to share. The room, his space, his life and his bed. Being a boy of fourteen with a crush was one thing, it was another for ten years later to be told he only had one month to prepare to share everything of his life and himself with you. Marrying you wasn't the worst part of it, it was getting over how sudden and new it was going to all be.

He had smirked to himself one night with almost a passing huff of a laugh, thinking about how nervous you inevitably would be about kissing him at the wedding. Perhaps if you didn't have to do so in front of the royal company you traveled with, it would be much easier to do so in front of the family you spent half your life around.

Though, royal company or not, there was one who it wouldn't be easy on no matter what. They only had to watch, but Robb had spent the past weeks growing increasingly guilty about becoming comfortable with marrying you, as his brother had spent growing angrier and brooding without ever telling anyone it was because of the same thing.

Jon Snow had spent the past weeks in a terrible mood, because Robb was marrying you.

He had spent a good amount of time trying to figure it out, what was going on in his brothers head but it wasn't until their father and Robb's mother had told all of them what the situation coming their way was. If two bits of news weren't enough, it was the third that caused him to realize it. Every single one of his siblings all had their own reactions to learning the King was ordering you to and Robb to marry, but it was Jon who had none.

There wasn't a single readable reaction on his face, and Robb knew too well how bad that was.

In truth, it didn't occur to Robb as a shock or even surprise. Jon never had a relationship of any sorts, and the only girl he spent any meaningful time around outside his family, was you. Robb was close with you, but he knew Jon was closer. And it only made sense eventually Jon would start seeing you in a different light.

His brother didn't really have a type, but the only one that made sense was his type being you. Robb didn't know if there was more to Jons feelings, if there was anything romantic he felt towards you, or even how long Jon had been looking at you in that way, but it was clear as day.

Jon wanted you, but Robb would now be the one to have you.

Not that he blamed him. Robb had his turn with a crush on you as a boy, and now that you were Jons best friend and had grown up to be gorgeous, at least in Robb's view, spending so much time alone with you finally had an effect on Jons brooding, stubborn heart. And yet he spent as much energy as he could, trying to ease Robbs nerves about marrying so suddenly.

The closer the royal company came to arriving, the worse Robb watched Jon feel. He couldn't even be sure Jon had kissed a girl before, but he certainly wanted to fuck one, wanted to fuck you. But he knew the reaction if Robb ever confronted him about it. Jon would shut down and never even come close to talking about it or you again.

So he had to act natural. Pretend as if he was none the wiser of his brothers deep want of Robbs soon to be wife. He had to act normal when Theon would turn the conversation to the coming inevitable during the wedding, and balance that act of being modest yet interested in what all of them knew was a very pretty girl. And also contrast it with not wanting it to feel like that fact was being rubbed in Jons face without giving away that he knows.

Maybe Robb thought, it would've been easier for Jon to handle if he had just taken the risk and fucked you during your last visit. Get it out of his system. He knew the opportunity was there. Their father and Robb's mother had taken the Stark children out of the castle for the day. Much of their main guard came with them, as did Theon naturally being their fathers ward.

You were moreso at that point a ward serving Winterfell as a whole, and Robb knew his father trusted that between you and Jon, things would get done without question. Their father always trusted Jon with as much in leadership, if not more then Robb himself sometimes. Considering by late night when they had arrived back, everything was in perfect order, clearly you both had spent the entire day doing just those duties.

Robb now and then, though then it was only a growing suspicion, couldn't help but think, it would have been so much easier on Jon, had he seized the opportunity of being alone in the castle, and taken you to bed. Jon was brooding, and intense and rough sometimes.

But even if no feelings were there, Jon very clearly adored you. He was brighter and smiled more when you were in Winterfell and you both always found your spare time with the other most often. It wasn't like his brother would have given you a miserable time, Jon loved doing things for you as it was.

Robb knew that was certainly the opposite between them. Jon would very likely have taken being the one to have your maidenhead very gentle and seriously, not letting you leave until he was certain you enjoyed yourself. Robb however, knew he was going to struggle to be easy and gentle come your wedding night. He also couldn't stop the thoughts of just what he wanted to do, what he wanted to explore with what was his soon to be, pretty little wife.

He hadn't been with a woman in years by then, but still. Women didn't come to Robb Stark for a gentle love making, they came to get fucked. He wouldn't have minded either. He didn't care if his wife wasn't a maiden on their wedding, certainly you. To any other husband you would have been married off, to had the Queen been given her way when you were a girl of fourteen, Robb knew you being a maiden would've mattered. But he didn't care.

If his brother of all people was the one to fuck you before Robb, that was the only one he'd trust.

But instead, Jon was a gentleman as always with you. The one opportunity he would have had to pull you into bed with him, and Jon didn't take it. Part in due because he was nothing but entirely respectable towards you and what all three men knew was your endearing innocence, but also because he was a bastard, and you were the Kings niece.

Inside the castle walls, their father wanted Jon to be treated no different then the rest of his siblings but everyone knew it wasn't like that in the outside world. Bastards were simply treated differently, and it wouldn't stand out in a good way to so blatantly show such treatment to Jon when many places in the North didn't treat their bastards as such. And he knew that too well, and never let himself get too complacent.

You had joked to Robb once that maybe he should've been born on Bear Island. It was a long standing rumor that the Lady of Bear Island, Maege Mormont, had all five of her girls from different fathers. She had never married, and her second eldest daughter Alysanne was unmarried with two children of her own as well. And they all bore the name Mormont and no one ever questioned that about them.

You had said in a quiet but what Robb knew was a very serious tone, that it would have fixed a lot of Jons personal struggles if the rest of the world outside the castle walls didn't treat him like a bastard the way most in here didn't. Though, you did also add amusingly, “Perhaps the lack of such loud, rowdy, Northern men has something to do with such tolerance amongst the Mormonts.”

Robb had been helping you with something in the storage by the stables, and he recalled Ser Harwin trying not to laugh as Robb grinned. Grabbing you by the hips and almost hauling you up and over to where a basin of fresh water sat. “If we're so rowdy, my lady, best not insult us in case we won't tolerate that little attitude.”

There wasn't any changing things now. You were about to be Robbs wife, and none of you could go back. Robb just wished Jon weren't so bloody selfless about you. But then, word had come to Winterfell that the next mid morning was when the Kings company would arrive and it was only a matter of time before Robb and Jon both would have to accept their fates.

As it stood, Catelyn had told all three of them, him, Jon and Theon that they were to at least look respectable for the King. Sending them off to Tommy to get cleaned up. Facial hair clean shaven, and hair nice and freshly cut. She said it was for the King, but all of them doubted that. Jon was the first to speak up, “Why's your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?”

Theon, who was waiting to go last had that answer. And both wolves did a good job at not letting either of them have a real reaction as your name came from his mouth. “It's for her I bet.” Gesturing towards Robb, “And if you have to look all nice fancy for your betrothed, then so do we apparently.”

“Not like she'd care.” Both eyes directed up towards Jon who was stood opposite of where Robb was being tended to first. “We spent half her life roughing her up in the training yard, looking nice for one day won't change any of that.” Jon was doing a better job at appearing neutral these days.

Theon replying, “I'll wager the Queen will spend half the morning tomorrow trying to doll her up. Might get to see what a royal girl is supposed to look like on her for once.” Robb had passively asked with jest if he'd been thinking of that a lot. Theon's face falling amusingly flat. “You assume I'm thinking of her, when we got the Queen coming our way. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink.”

Robb not bothering to entertain that conversation, “I hear the Prince is a right, royal prick.”

Theon had joked about all the southern girls he'd get though, and Robb still noticed it. Even with the change in subject, Jon was silent. But it wouldn't change. You'd arrive tomorrow morning, and in some week time, Robb would be the one to marry you before the Weirwood.

He wasn't going to make it worse for his brother, by treating him as if he knew any different. If Jon hadn't said anything by now, clearly, he didn't want Robb to know anything. And he respected that, so instead, as he stood, Robb did what he knew best. Just play normal. Smacking Jon as he shoved him passed to switch positions with a playfulness on his voice, speaking the opposite of the truth.

“Go on, Tommy, shear him good. He’s never met a girl he likes better than his own hair.”

Neither of you were sure when this idea even came about, or if either one of you had actually said it in the open air. It was just felt in the backs of your mind as you both sat there, where this day was leading ultimately. What would it's end result in and what happened from there.

It started off as a strange feeling as normal as it felt. You and Jon rarely spent time alone so freely, but both of you sat in the quiet to eat. Being able to take your time, joke and laugh freely not worrying too much about what to do or say. It wasn't often you got to see Jon smile and laugh so easily and it made you feel just a bit warmer on the inside whenever it was from something you said.

Jon also, had never looked so freely bright and adoring at you out in the open before. The workers and guard around the castle didn't pay much notice to it, not much to pay attention close too. Most of the Starks gone for the day, leaving behind Lord Stark's younger ward and his bastard son. Eyes didn't pry as much. It certainly made Jon a little more playfully bold.

You had been at that point picking mindlessly at the food in front of you, mostly taking advantage of the fantasy of having a normal meal as if you two were a normal, domestic couple. Speaking candidly through bites, “I could almost swear he did it just to make me uncomfortable.”

Jon's brows narrowed as he leaned forward across the other side of the table from you, “He never tried anything did he?”

In truth you almost laughed, shaking your head instead. “Petyr Baelish is a smarmy little weasel, but isn't stupid. He doesn't just do whatever he wants, he had to be clever about it. And for me, what he wants is just to enjoy making me stand there and discuss budgetary matters, while he moonlights as the capitals favourite whoremonger.” Your eye roll came with a sigh, and Jons shoulders relaxed noticeably.

Tilting his head a bit, you knew the look in his eye was genuine as was the softness in his tone. Perhaps if you were speaking of here in Winterfell, that advice would work. “You should tell someone, you sit on the council like him. He shouldn't get to treat you like that.”

But the doubt in your eyes came as strong as your tone was flat. “And say what? That I'm being forced to sit in a building full of naked women for free? I'd be laughed out of the small council chamber before I even finish that sentence.” Jon shook his head almost too himself, when you let your forearms rest crossed on the wooden table as your voice softened. “It's only annoying. Not upsetting, you don't have to get protective about everything,”

Your foot moved to gently nudge what of his leg you could reach when Jon sent his hand down to grab at your foot, pulling you closer to the table as he let your foot rest on his lap. Your boots just short enough that with one of his hands resting visibly on the table, the other gently pushed just enough of the skirt of your dress up, that he could run his hand mindlessly over your shin and calf.

Jon said nothing about how flustered his touch was making you, speaking to you like normal save for the mischievous glint in his eye. “You look like you want to say something.” He knew you too well, as soon as you went to lightly kick him, Jon grabbed your shin firmly and tugged you back into place, his grin growing easy as your face twisted in an exaggerated offence.

Your voice a accusing jest with narrowed eyes, “Aren't you just the funniest man to ever walk these halls, Snow.”

Jon only smirked, nodded at your plate with as much mocking disapproval of your tone. “Finish your food, Baratheon. We have work to do.”

Nothing about the average course of the day stood out, it was easy to get things done in between Jon being able to more freely enjoy your company with whatever you both had to do. You laughed a little more easily, Jon teased you a little more purposely, and yet you both were ignoring the inevitable of what was being led too.

For six years this little romance had been brewing in secret, and in those six years it had taken a long time to get to here. Sure, technically you were gone for months in between but for many couples Jon would have assumed that distance would've made both parties even more eager to push things faster and quicker. Not to say the pair of you were terribly slow, no, you both went at the same pace.

Jon had no more experience then you did, and you knew a lot less about a physical relationship then even he did. He was certain there was very little you were likely even aware that there was to try, and the only thing you came to him with on your own wasn't your idea. Just what you heard the girls who hung around the Winter Town brothel would speak of, and assumed it was something you were supposed to be doing.

It had taken perhaps, a little bit longer to get to this point because Jon didn't want to rush you into anything. You clearly had a not very fair view of what was expected of you as a woman in terms of sex, and it took those first couple of years with the other to gently teach you that you were supposed to enjoy each other, and nothing more. You always did things for others, and Jon knew you assumed that this was just another one of those things.

Neither of you had even done very much in reality, not compared to what you could have been doing with the other. But somehow, you both landed on this. That maybe this opportunity was for the act that mattered the most. You were returning to Kings Landing not long after that day, and you both had decided it was the right time.

Jon had spent a lot of time thinking about it, how to do it, what would be the most comfortable for you and by that late afternoon he had gone through the plans in his head more times then he could count as he made his way to his own chambers. First plan being to make sure everything was as organized as possible, make sure it was warm enough before going to go get you.

But you instead, had apparently decided to make that step for him. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you sitting at the edge of his bed. Your hands wrung together in your lap clearly trying to not appear as nervous as Jon could tell you were. Realistically he knew no one else was around, but he found himself checking the hall behind him regardless before closing the door.

Something a little more easily playful on his tongue couldn't get spoken faster then your rigid explanation, trying to appear as calm with a little shrug. “I figured it would be more simple if I were already here, rather then you having to come fetch me and we then would have to walk over and pretend as it everything was normal.”

Nodding gently, Jon paced in slowly as if not wanting to startle you. His eyes narrowing a bit in thought as he tried to gauge just what your nerves were settled at. “How long have you been waiting?”

You shrugged, trying to appear normal as if Jon couldn't read you like a book. Glancing away as you glanced around his room to nothing, “Long enough I almost talked myself out of it again.” Jon repeated the word again as the came to stand somewhat in front of you, a good few feet away to give you space to think. “I only meant, I won't particularly know what I'm doing so maybe you wouldn't..”

Only a few paces of footsteps rung out before Jon stood in front of you. One hand held out, your head tilting up to the bright, genuine shine in his eyes. As soon as you grabbed one, he pulled you up with the other, letting you rest your hands where you were comfortable, as he gently held you by your upper arms. Leaning down to softly rasp, “I don't need you to know what you're doing, I want you to enjoy yourself.”

Jon waited for you to nod, normally he'd want to hear you say it, but he could feel the nerves flooding your veins from where he stood. Letting a hand run over your hair before tilting you head back up to his eyes when it dropped, your voice was low when you finally spoke. If you weren't so nervous, Jon would have smiled at how formally you tried to approach it. “How do we start?”

The smile slipped in just as he leaned down to brush against your lips, one chaste kiss before mumbling against them. “However we like.” Slowly, as he captured your lips again, Jon felt your hands slowly follow up his chest to wrap gently around the back of his neck as he held you close at your waist.

His kiss was gentle, coaxing you to ease into things without rushing how deep he pushed you, if anything going slower then he normally would. One hand leaving your waist, he raked it tenderly through your hair before cupping the back of your head to keep your lips close against his strength over you. Your fingers slowly making their way through his curls in return.

Leaving you with little breathe left, Jon barley pulled from your lips. Almost moving in closer to you if you tried pulling back for air, making your hands tighten in his hair that much more. Gently running his tongue along your bottom lip, did you part ways for him to slip in, brush against yours as something like a moan tried getting pushed down in your chest.

Guiding you to move along with him, you started to relax in his touch. Just what he wanted, make you nice and calm for anything else. None of this would be good if you were tense, and Jon lived for the high pitch sounds you would gasp into his mouth. Deepening and licking into your mouth Jon let the hand on your waist move, grasping the light shall still partially around you, pulling it to the side and letting it drop to the ground.

Grinning into the kiss at your slight shiver in the cold air of his room, you wrapped your arms around him even more to seek his natural warmth. Once more now both his hands moving to slide along your waist down to your hips, running flat up and down at the soft material without ever committing to grasping it.

Just as your hands tightened again, it almost was enough to pull at his curls, causing a sound akin to a growl to leave Jon. Pulling from your lips, he kissed down to your jaw and along your neck. His cock stired at both that feeling and the high pitched gasp you were barley able to hide leaving you. His teeth scraping against the skin without breaking it, as his greed grew stronger.

Moving down and down your neck he reached your collarbones before he looked up, standing back at full height to tilt your head up to him while the other hand traced along just the very side of your breasts. “We can keep most of it on if you want, but I'd like to see you. All of you.” Swallowing nervously, he kissed you once before running his nose along yours. “It's up to you, we're not doing anything you don't want.”

Your hands dropped to his shoulders, digging into the leather as you thought for a moment before letting a bit of bravery through. “Could we..” Glancing down at him, Jon kissed you once more.

“I'll take some of it off, but I want you to do the rest of it, when you're ready.” Nodding a bit more eagerly, Jon stepped back. Pulling off his tunic, outer layers until just the soft material was left, easy to take off when you wanted to. As he took a step forward once more, his hands ran up your arms and to your shoulders. Toying with the fabric with a question in his eye, waiting for you to nod.

Ever so slowly, he started to run them down to your front. Waiting for one more nod when he stopped at the clasps of your dress before undoing them. Letting each go slow, your breathing increased despite trying to hide it. As it fell open, the dark shift sat underneath short on your legs. Restraining himself despite the way he inhaled deeply through his nose. He had seen parts of you, not all of you, not like you were about to let him.

Finally, he pushed the rest of the dress off as it landed on the ground by your feet. Both your gazes looking down, Jon smiled once more. “Sit for me,” Your eyebrow raised but he gave a playful shove to make you move back.

Innocent as he took your boots off, hand sliding up from your ankle to your calf as he looked up at you with bright eyes. He didn't move any further from there, just massaging the muscle almost until he felt you relaxing again and then guiding you to stand, now a bit shorter against him. Rasping lowly, “Can we take the rest of this off you now, or do you want to wait?”

Your face twisted in thought for a moment, before much more confidently shaking your head. Hands no longer tense on him, and a trust shining in your eyes as you leaned up to kiss him. Your touch now running across his facial hair at his jaw until Jon nibbled at your lips again to pull away. That time, there was no hesitation as he pulled the thin straps of your shift down your shoulders before pushing the material enough it fell off you entirely.

Eyes growing more needing and black as he looked down at you, Jon told himself to wait. One last thing, stepping forward he grasped your underwear with a hand on each side grasping as he kissed you a little bit rougher, a little more greedy as he just pulled them right down your legs. Grabbing your hips to prompt you to step out of them before Jon blindly kicked at everything by your feet.

Instead though, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his front as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Letting him deepen and bite at your lips while his other hand felt along your bare waist and hip. Other then the crackle of the fire, all that could be heard was how desperately he kissed you. Taking every sound you gifted him before tearing himself away from your lips, hands at your hips as you both gasped for air did he finally look you over.

There was no denying how unbelievably hard he was. Jon thought to himself, he was a fool for ever thinking you'd look like anything but exactly this. You were perfect to him, soft and plush in all the most unbearable ways that made his blood run hot. He was so glad he hadn't seen you like this before, he might not have been so noble about keeping you innocent if he knew you looked like that under those beautiful dresses.

Not a thing about the lustful awe Jon's eyes gazed over you was honorable. Part of him wanted to pick you up and throw you onto his bed then and there, but he knew you felt self conscious at how long he'd been so silent for. Finding your eyes, his own lips a bit parted as he struggled to find a more innocent compliment, instead he chose to pull your chin up, and press his lips back to yours for something much more slow and deep. “You...you are..”

Still struggling to find words, Jon did better with action. But you tried filling in the blanks with nothing even close to how worked up he was feeling. “Am- is it alright?” Brows narrowing he looked at you a bit confused and you shrugged. Your hands sat uselessly at at his shoulders. “I know it's..other girls are more impressive then this..especially when I'm, you know..standing here having to compare to you.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into his front a little more, hands addicted to running along your bare frame. “And what's that supposed to mean exactly?”

Drifting down to his chest and down along his stomach, your fingertips pressed into the defined muscle there with a mumble. “I mean, I have eyes Jon. You're all muscle and I'm...not...”

Eyes finding yours, he barley managed to rasp out, “Your softness is everything I dream about, I promise.” Before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a firmer kiss. That time his restraint snapped just a bit as he finally crowded you enough before pressed you against the furs of his bed. Hands guiding you to the middle as he climbed over you as he ran his tongue along yours with nowhere now for you to go but to be at his kiss's mercy.

You moaned deeply against him, causing Jon to pull up and off you, kneeling in between your slightly spread legs for him. He wanted to control himself, but gods be good you made it so difficult. Hands grasping at your thighs as he almost closed his eyes to will his heart to calm down but you knew where his eyes black now, were staring.

Everything Jon found got better and better, and as he could see what you willingly let him look at between your legs, his cock ached. He had wanted to know what being inside you felt like for so long, he dreamt about it on his worst nights. But here, able to see too the wetness, where he'd so easily be able to slide inside you, he inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. He wanted to take care of you, not rough you up because of his own cock.

One step at a time. Looking back, he focused on your face. Nervous but desperate to hide it. Slowly he took your hands into his, putting them right at the edge of his shirt. “Just start with this.” But even though your hands curled against the fabric, you looked down to them but didn't move. Your own heart raced enough you felt a bit dizzy.

Murmuring your name, you shook your head as if you'd push forward and do it. Reaching over, he cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead as you whispered with a very quiet but honest vulnerability, “Could we both...”

He'd never seen you so nervous and uncomposed before. Covering your hands with his, only then had Jon noticed they were almost shaking. Steady under his warm touch, he never left your eyes as he helped you pull the fabric of his shirt up and off him. On tossing it nowhere to care as he cupped the back of your neck.

Both of you leaned in that time, and somehow as soon as your hands ran along his bare chest did Jon feel that rush of need. Pushing you down against the furs on his bed, his kiss grew demanding and greedy as you responded eagerly. One thing, only one thing was keeping you from him.

And yet, the second his covered cock ground into your bare, wet core, he felt that feeling. Kissing you rougher he tried to shove it down. Not now. Jon willed himself to not do this, he said he wasn't going to worry about this right now. The more he rutted into you, the more he bit and licked into your mouth and the more sounds you made, the more Jons cock twitched begging to be freed.

But the more he felt that, the more those thoughts returned. His own hands currently groping at your breasts, twisting and pulling at the small buds as he loved and yet his mind wouldn't stop. As soon as the thought hit him, Jon tensed in his whole body.

What if he got you pregnant?

Brows furrowed into the kiss, he tried to ignore it but his mind repeated it and repeated it, and suddenly he had stopped kissing you. Your hand gently pushing against his chest to look up at him, his name so gentle on your lips with worry. “Jon? Are you alright?” He swallowed and tried to regain his breathe, but the thought spoke again.

What if he got you pregnant?

Your hand cupped his cheek as you tried to sit up a bit. “Do you want to stop?”

No, he wanted this so badly. He had planned this for almost a month, he wanted to be ready. He had to be, you were leaving for Kings Landing soon. He never had wanted anything more then sharing himself with you, sharing both of your first times together. So he shook his head, leaning back into your sweet tasting lips, “No. No, I don't want to stop.” Pushing you back into the fur he was a little less desperate this time.

Get over it, he told himself. Just shut up and get over it.

Your body was so soft and so perfect, you fit against him like you had been made for him. Your lips were so sweet, your sounds so beautiful but then he'd think more. Everyone would hate him. They'd know it was Jon, who else would it be? A beautiful little black haired baby with your eyes but they'd all call your child a Snow and it would be his fault.

Jon wanted to share this with you, he always had. Jon wanted to bed you so badly and yet as he had you bare under him, he struggled to see past how much he'd be ruining your life. Ruining his own child's life. He could be cocky and say it's a rare chance just this once could get you pregnant, but he had no reason to think it wouldn't.

You'd return to Kings Landing and be shamed as soon as everyone found out. They'd call your child a Snow and Jon couldn't handle that. He never wanted that for whatever child he had.

Being a bastard was lonely and miserable, the only reason he could stand it was because of you, but he would be horrible and selfish to force his child to live that way all because Jon was in love with you.

Just maybe, as Jon's hand trailed up your thigh enough he could feel the heat between your legs, it was a blessing in disguise when you pulled from his lips almost in a jolting panic. Stammering with wide eyes when Jon sat up, you clearly started to panic. “I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..”

Brows furrowing, Jon gently ran hands along your hair at the back of your head cupping you gently to stay in place. “Don't be sorry, it's alright.” You shook your head trying to deny that, but Jon leaned in more gentle in his gaze and softness. “Look at me,” Finding his gaze, he could see the slight bit of nerves tinged with the fear of the unknown. “We don't have to to this. We can stop right here.”

You looked away frustrated, no doubt at yourself. “I'm sorry..” Jon went to tell you again to stop apologizing but you continued, clearly trying not to let your eyes water at how much was running through your head. “It's not you or anything..I...” Sighing out you looked back up at him, Jon letting his thumb run along your cheek. “I don't know if I'm ready..for..this part..”

He didn't say it, but in truth, Jon was relived. He couldn't do this with you, when all he was worried about was ruining everything your life could be by getting you pregnant. You and what children you had shouldn't start here, with a bastard. No matter how in love with you he was, how much he always will be.

Murmuring your name, he leaned in no run his nose along yours. “Do you want to know something?” You nodded, as your hands gently ran through his curls almost soothingly. “I don't think I'm ready either.”

It was strange to laugh at that, but you did, and so did Jon. Laughing gently into the other before he pulled you in for a much more innocent, but eager kiss. “We are a mess, aren't we?” Jon laughed a lot more freely at that, his heart growing in his chest at the giggle on your own lips before he captured the sound with a kiss. Running a hand again along your hair, you moved yours at the same time to shift the both of you.

After a little moving, Jon had you laying mostly on your side as he did facing you, his hand running now freely but without greedy intention along your bare side. Your own hands sat at his chest and collarbones, sharing just an innocent kiss for the way you both looked. Your voice was quiet, but a lot less nervous as the minutes passed between you. “You don't have to, but I was wondering..I want to wait for you..and was hoping maybe you would wait for me too?”

Jon just grinned. “I'm not here to rush you, darling. I'll always wait for you.”

You'd both have to get up eventually, but for now, Jon pulled you into his chest. Keeping your bare frame tucked into his warmth. If only for a little while, you both could spare a nap at least. Wrapped up in the others touch and safety.

As Jon kept your head tucked into his chest, he buried his face happily in your hair. Thinking to himself, that he's never wanted anything as much as he wants to just be with you.

He would take all the time in the world to wait until you both were ready, there wasn't and couldn't be a single soul in the world Jon would ever want to give himself too other then you. You were the woman he loved, you were his heart, something that made his lonely, miserable life worth it. Jon was utterly in love with you, and as long as you both had that together?

The rest would come easy, in time.

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