#Brienne: he isn’t wearing pants!!!

[esther-dot]

Jon when Sansa shows up at the wall:

^ Sansa

^ Everyone else

#Sansa: a rose? for me?? 🥰😍😘 #Brienne: he isn’t wearing pants!!! #jonsa #jonsa crack

[fromtheseventhhell]

It took her back to her childhood, to long grey days at Riverrun. She remembered the godswood, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her brother’s laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves. She remembered making mud pies with Lysa, the weight of them, the mud slick and brown between her fingers. They had served them to Littlefinger, giggling, and he’d eaten so much mud he was sick for a week. How young they all had been. (Catelyn V, AGOT) None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. (Sansa I, AGOT)

--

“He did not know you,” Ser Rodrik said after, wondering. “He saw a pair of mud-spattered travelers by the side of the road, wet and tired. It would never occur to him to suspect that one of them was the daughter of his liege lord. I think we shall be safe enough at the inn, Ser Rodrik.” (Catelyn V, AGOT) “What were you doing to that cat, boy?” Myrcella asked again, sternly. To her brother she said, “He’s a ragged boy, isn’t he? Look at him.” She giggled. “A ragged dirty smelly boy,” Tommen agreed. They don’t know me, Arya realized. They don’t even know I’m a girl. Small wonder; she was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats. (Arya III, AGOT)

--

Her two older brothers had both died in infancy, so she had been son as well as daughter to Lord Hoster until Edmure was born. Then her mother had died and her father had told her that she must be the lady of Riverrun now, and she had done that too. And when Lord Hoster promised her to Brandon Stark, she had thanked him for making her such a splendid match. (Catelyn VI, ACOK) “And Arya, well…Ned’s visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart’s desire. She had Ned’s long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. (Catelyn VII, ACOK)

--

He had forgotten Catelyn, until the iron brazier came crashing into the back of his head. Helmed as he was, the blow did no lasting harm, but it sent him to his knees. “Brienne, with me,” Catelyn commanded. The girl was not slow to see the chance. A slash, and the green silk parted. They stepped out into darkness and the chill of dawn. Loud voices came from the other side of the pavilion. “This way,” Catelyn urged, “and slowly. We must not run, or they will ask why. Walk easy, as if nothing were amiss.” (Catelyn IV, ACOK) It was the scariest thing she’d ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry. (Arya IV, AGOT)

--

“I’m almost a man grown, and a king—your king, ser. And I don’t fear Jaime Lannister. I defeated him once, I’ll defeat him again if I must, only …” He pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. “I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but …” “… but not for the girls?” Her voice was icy quiet. “Girls are not important enough, are they?” (Catelyn I, ACOK) That much was true, Arya knew. Knights were captured and ransomed all the time, and sometimes women were too. But what if Robb won’t pay their price? She wasn’t a famous knight, and kings were supposed to put the realm before their sisters. And her lady mother, what would she say? Would she still want her back, after all the things she’d done? Arya chewed her lip and wondered. (Arya IV, ASOS)

Some parallels between Arya and Catelyn that I noticed during my re-read. It's interesting to see not only how similar they are, but also see how many moments they have that directly mirror each other.

#arya stark #catelyn tully #catelyn stark #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #I will add more as I come across them #Hurray for Arya and Cat parallels that actually look at how they're similar and not just reduce them down to being /feral uwu/! #Their relationship has always driven me crazy because they are so similar and yet Cat was still so hard on Arya #ahhhhh the fucked up relationship between mothers and daughters!!!! mothers who think they're doing what's best #and the daughters who suffer for it ahhhhh!!!!! #obviously they love each other but they very obviously have their issues and them being so alike makes it that much more fascinating #I'll always be mad that we (for now) don't have any one page interactions between them

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: Aftermath Chapter 6 - The Man Who Sold The World

Warnings: Swearing, slight violence, some Kate and Wheaty cutensss, usage of drugs (Bliss)

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: In the penultimate chapter, Paige, Kate and Mandy finally meet face to face with Joseph Seed, but there will be bloodshed, and maybe a few sacrifices the family will have to make. 

Guest OCs: Just the usuals. 

Guest Characters: Archangel Raphael [Supernatural: mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned], An Archangel? [read until the end]

Note: One more chapter!!! Then New Dawn begins.

*****

Another few weeks have passed, October is here and that means Fall in Montana is beautiful. The fallen leaves, the crispy cool breezes, orange, red and yellow leaves. Fall colors.

Pumpkins, hot chocolate, sweater season, blood shed, violence, and crazy fucking Cultists. 

The Winchester-Smith compound has never looked more alive. The trees on the property with their orange, and yellow leaves.

The threatening words of graffiti on the gates of the compound. Sinner. The Father. The Power of Yes. 

John Seed’s followers tried to retaliate, and avenged his death, but the Winchester family is always 10 steps ahead of them.

7:00 am. A letter arrived at their front door for the 3 females of the Winchester family that morning. From the man whom they’ve been looking for, The Father Joseph Seed himself.

Telling them to go to his church at 5:30 that evening. He didn’t say for what, or why, but they weren’t gonna let this opportunity slip.

“It’s clearly a trap” Kenny tells his wife.

“What if it isn’t?” she asks.

“Why would Joseph send you a letter telling you to go to his church?!?” Nate asks, as he pours coffee in a cup.

“I don’t know, but we’re going” Kate says.

“You two are pregnant!!” Kenny exclaims, “You aren’t going”.

“Okay! Then who else is gonna take our place?” Paige asks.

“I’ll take your place, Mandy and one of the guys can go” he replies. 

“Joseph asked us, and us only to go. We aren’t risking you two going, and probably getting killed” Kate tells him.

“What if he kills you guys?!” Mark asks.

“Remember the letter he left us? When we killed his brothers? He said that we were forgiven for all the shit we’ve done” Paige informs them.

“He could be lying!” Mark adds in.

“Joseph is telling the truth” Mandy steps in. 

They all turn around to face her, “How do you know?!?” Kenny asks.

“I spent 6 months with him. I can tell if he’s lying or not. Writing or speaking I can tell” she says.

Paige looks down at the letter, “So what do we do?!?”.

Mandy takes a deep breath, “When 5:30 comes we leave for church. Whatever happens, happens. This is where it all ends”.

They all stare at her in anticipation.

“I just got the chills when you said that” Mark mutters.

“Yeah for real” Adrian says, looking at her like she just gave him life changing news.

****

A few hours later. 

10:00 am, everyone had just eaten breakfast, Paige is feeding Cristina 2nd her morning bottle.

Kate just threw up, morning sickness and she hates it. 

She called Wheaty, and they’re gonna hang that afternoon. Not telling him about the letter from Joseph to meet at his church.

Kenny, Mark, Nate, Cody, Marty, Adrian and a few others finished putting up one of the 2 houses. Rachel is having a panic attack, knowing that Joseph knows she’s living with the Winchesters. Mandy sitting in her room, blinded by her thoughts. Wondering why Joseph wants the 3 of them to go to his church.

What could he possibly want?. What is the meaning, or purpose of this?. Is he gonna kill them? Does he want to make peace with them?. Is he gonna surrender himself? What is he gonna do?.

Paige is sitting on the front porch swing, holding Cristina while “Fade to Black” by Metallica plays on her bluetooth speaker. Humming along with the song, with Cristina falling asleep in her arms.

****

2 hours have gone by, 12:00pm.

“Things not what they used to be. Missing one inside of me. Deathly loss l, this can't be real. I cannot stand this hell I feel. Emptiness is filling me. To the point of agony. Growing darkness taking dawn. I was me, but now he's gone.”

Kenny steps outside, and sees this. A huge smile grows on his face. He takes a seat next to Paige on the swing, putting his arm around her. She leans closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He places a kiss on her head, rests his cheek on her head. 

Lightly swing back and forth on the swing. Little moments like this they love. They don’t need to go out to fancy restaurants every weekend, or a weekend get away for the both of them. 

Cristina falls asleep in her mothers arms, letting out soft nasal snores, making Kenny snickers at this.

“You know I still don’t like the plan” he tells her. 

“I know you don’t” she responds. They sit in silence for a moment.

“If you could guess what Joseph wants. What would you guess?” he asks.

She sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe make peace with us, or make some sort of treaty between everyone in Hope County”.

“Your mom seems to know a lot about Joseph. Like how he thinks, or what possibly goes through his head.” he tells her.

“Yeah, my mom is really good at reading people, even if she’s not trying to. It’s like a power she has. Growing up I couldn’t even lie to her, and I’m really good at lying, but she knew. She always knew. Kate takes a lot after her, they both try to see the good in people even if they don’t deserve it. I take after my dad, he didn’t trust anyone outside the family. Like if he was still alive, and all this shit that happened, like Rachel turning on the Project, he wouldn't trust her either. Even if she had a change of heart, he wouldn’t trust her at all”.

Kenny zones out as she’s talking, still being able to hear every word she says. He places his hand on her 9 in half weeks pregnant belly. 

“You think your dad would’ve liked me?” he asks, looking up at the sky.

Paige looks up at him, looking into his blue orbs and smiles “If he knew I trusted you, then he would’ve trusted you as well”.

He looks down at her, and kisses her forehead. 

Paige sighs, “My mom-” she says before getting cut off by a soft “mom” from the infant in her arms.

Her and Kenny look at each other wide eyed, then down at Cristina who is half asleep.

She picks her up, having her stand on her lap.

“Say that again” she tells the 11 month old in her hands, “Say mom”.

“Say mama” she tells her again, “Say mama”.

“Say dadda” he jumps in.

Paige glares at him, “This is my moment”.

“Say mama” she tells her again slowly.

“Mama” Cristina mutters her first word, very softly that it sounds like a mumble.

Paige gasps loudly, her eyes widened “She just- she. She said mama. She said her first word!!!”. She gets up from the swing, and goes inside the house.

“Mom!!!” she calls out as she goes inside.

*****

Kate went on her date with Wheaty. She wanted to go hunting, but since she’s 7 in half weeks pregnant, they changed their date plans. They decided to go to the camping spot where they first met a few years back.

“It looks the same” she jokes.

“Camping spots usually never change” he replies. They sit near the water, on some boulders. 

“So how’s the pregnancy?” he asks.

She looks down at her belly, chuckling “I threw up this morning. I’m peeing a lot but my mom and sister said that's normal, other than that it’s going pretty good”. 

“Thought of any names?” he asks, putting his arm around her. 

She thinks about it for a brief moment, “If it’s a boy his name would be either Gabriel Joel Eddard, or Samuel Dean Rhaegar. For a girl Daenerys Arya Brienne, or Lyanna Pamela Cersei”.

“What is up with you and these Game of Thrones names?!” he laughs, kissing the side of her head. 

“They’re nice names!. It’ll give them character, plus Pamela isn’t a name from Game of Thrones, and neither is Samuel, Dean, Gabriel and Joel” she laughs. 

“Don’t be surprised if little Daenerys asks for a dragon, or 3 for her birthday, or an Iron Throne” he jokes. 

“And if she does I’ll be very happy about it, and I’ll get her a stuffed dragon. One of those giant plush ones that are like 5-6 feet tall”.

They talked, they laughed, they made out. They enjoyed their time together, holding her in his arms as they watched the lake. Watching the boats, and jet skies go by.

Even the subject of marriage and kids came up on their date. Even though they've started dating back in August but have known each other over 2 years. 

She starts reminiscing back when they first met. She still remembers that night very clearly. She still has the photos. 

"I still remember that day when we first met" she tells him.

A smile appears on his face, "Yeah me too". 

"I never had a crush on anyone until I met you" he tells her. She looks up at him. 

"Really?" she asks. He nods his head, she moves closer into his arms. Enjoying every single moment of it. 

Kate knows this might be the last time her and Wheaty ever hang out again. Their last date together, and they don’t know it.

Resting her head against his shoulder as they sit by the lake. His arms wrapped around her. 

"Also I wanted to give you this" he says, getting something out of his pants pocket. He pulls out a bracelet, similar to the ones he wears and puts it on her wrist. She smiles as he puts it on her, holding her hand in his. She looks up at him, and kisses him.

***

4:15 pm Kate is still on her date with Wheaty. Her sister and mother prepare themselves as they wait for her.

“Where is she?!” Paige asks, getting annoyed.

“We still have a whole hour” Mandy tells her, “She’ll be back. Soon hopefully”.

15 minutes later Kate pulls into the driveway. 

She enters the house, “It’s about time you show up” Paige tells her.

“Well sorry!” she responds sarcastically, “I had a date with Wheaty, and I wanted to see him before we’re killed!”.

“We’re not gonna get killed” Mandy steps in, “Because we’re not going”.

They all look over at her in confusion. Mandy was having 2nd thoughts about confronting Joseph, and she made the decision not to go to the church.

“What do you mean we’re not going?!?” Paige questions her, “You literally said a few seconds ago that we’re going. Implied it”.

“We’re not going. We’re not gonna give Joseph what he wants” she tells them. 

“Mom?!” Kate mutters in disbelief and confusion.

Paige scoffs, shaking her head “Mom, this is our only chance. To get rid of Joseph. Put an end to the Cult, and kill whoever is left”.  

Everyone, Paige, Kate, Kenny, Adrian, Martin, Cody, Mark, Nate, Barbara, Rachel, and everyone else in the house look at Mandy. About 30, plus, eyes staring back at her. 

“We’re not going” she tells them, “I don’t care what Joseph wants. We’re not going”.

Paige, scoffs at her mother, “Why?. Why the change of heart all of a sudden?!?”.

Mandy glares at her eldest child, and says “You wouldn’t understand”.

Kate stops her older sister from doing or saying anything else to their mom. 

She still plans to go and confront Joseph. All the damage, pain. suffering and bloodshed he had caused. It’ll all end that evening, nothing will stop Paige from ending The Father. 

5:20 rolls around, Kate and Mandy have no intentions of leaving for church. 

The youngest Winchester thinks they should go.

“Mom?” she asks.

“We’re not going Katella” she says, not looking up at her youngest daughter. 

Paige comes downstairs, and is immediately out the door, and goes to the Impala. 

“Paige?!?” Kate exclaims, going after her. Too late she’s already driving like a maniac off of the property. Leaving behind a cloud of dirt.

“Son of bitch!!” she mutters, “She’s going after Joseph”.

They grab the keys to the Monte Carlo, and drive after Paige who is probably already at the church.

**** 

Church of Eden’s Gate

Paige enters the compound, breaking down the front gate with the car. She stops the car, exits it. Pistol ready in her holster. A few peggies on the property staring at her. She ignores them, she’s there for Joseph. She’ll handle the hillbillies later.

“Joseph!!!” she shouts his name, echoing in the sky “Joseph!!!”. 

Approaching the church, the man himself Joseph Seed steps out. She stares at him intensely. He looks up at the sky, closes his eyes and says, “And the lamb broke the 5th seal, and I saw under the altar the souls of Martyrs. Slain because of the Word of God”.

Pointing to Paige, “You. You turned my sister. You poisoned her mind with your wretched words”.

She pulls her pistol out of its holster and aims at him, “I didn’t change her. She finally saw your monstrous ways. She changed on her own”.

“Lies” he hisses, “Your disgusting words against God, and his word”. 

She turns off the safety on her pistol, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here. Right now”. Her voice filled with anger, and violent intentions. 

He walks around her, she follows his movements. Gun still aimed at him. 

“I told you. Your mother. I told you that we were living in a world on the brink. Where every slight. Every injustice. Where every choice reveals our sins”.

Paige narrows her eyes at him, her pistol still aimed at him, not lowering it once. 

“And where have those sins led us?, Where have those sins led you?”. 

The sound of tires screeching, breaks Paige’s concentration, she turns her head and sees her sister's car drive on the property.

Kate and Mandy get out. “Paige don’t!!!” Mandy exclaims, running towards her. 

She turns back to Joseph, and aims her gun at him again. 

“Paige what are you doing?!?!” Kate exclaims.

“What does it look like I’m doing??!” she replies sarcastically, “I’m ending it all”. 

Joseph stares at Mandy, “Paige, you can’t do this” she pleads.

“Uhh, sure I can” she replies back. Rolling her eyes. 

Mandy gets in between the gun and Joseph. “No, I mean you can’t kill him”.

Lowering her gun, glaring at her mother, “What are you talking about?!?”.

Before she could explain herself, Joseph speaks up. 

“Mandeline”, his voice so calm that it sends shivers up her spine. Giving her goosebumps. 

She closes her eyes, sadness and shame written all over her face. She turns to face him. Her eyes meeting his. He stares at her with so much intensity that you can almost feel the anger radiating off of him, and the fear radiating off of her. 

“You betrayed me, my family, my flock, and God. You dare to show yourself to me” he tells her, slowly approaching her. 

“Joseph, I’m sorry, but I had no choice. I couldn’t stand by and watch everything happen” she explains to him.

He points at her, “You turn my family into Martyrs. And I plan to do the same with yours”. He walks around them, and they see their friends Mary May, Nick Rye, Pastor Jerome, Grace Armstrong, Jess Black, Tracey Lader, Wheaty, and Tammy Barnes all under the influence of Bliss holding Kenny, Mark and Nate hostage. 

“Wheaty!!!!” Kate cries out, seeing her boyfriend drugged up with Bliss.

“Kenny?!?” Paige says under her breath, “How the fuck did you get to them!?!?!”. 

“Joseph let them go!!!!” Mandy yells.

He turns to her, and says, “Your friends, and family have been taken and torture, and it’s your fault. Countless people have been killed, and it is your fault. The world is on fire, and it’s your fault. Was it worth it?. Was it?”.

“You motherfucker” Paige mutters angrily, “Me killing you will fucking worth it, and I can promise you that”. 

The followers on the property gather behind the 3 Winchesters, blocking them from escaping. 

“Kenny what happened?!? Was it Rachel?!?” Paige asks.

“No!” he mutters. 

“The others are fine. They got us, Rachel took off when they showed up” Nate wheezes. 

“Paige?” Mandy mutters softly.

“Not now” she responds, “Joseph I swear you better-”

“Paige!” she yells, breaking her attention from him. 

“Mom!. Now's not the time” she tells her.

“You can’t kill him” she tells her almost in a whisper.

She looks at her, eyes furrow, “Yeah I can, he has our friends and family hostage!!”.

Mandy looks back at Joseph then back at Paige, “No I mean you can’t kill him”.

“What do you mean I can’t-” She stands in front of her once again, blocking the bullet from hitting Joseph.

“Raphael” she mutters, interrupting her. 

“Raphael?!?” Kate whispers, “The Archangel?!?”.

She nods her head, “Yes, I was told by Archangel Raphael that Joseph had to be protected, and I was the one to do it. That’s why you can’t kill him.”

Kate and Paige look at their mother in disbelief, and confusion.

“Because Chuck spoke to him” she whispers to them, “About the end. You can’t kill him because if you do everything, everyone will die. Cease to exist. The end of life as we know it”. They both glare at her with mixed emotions. 

“You knew this whole time?!?” Paige yells, “This whole time!!. If Joseph gets killed, hurt and harmed in any way. Chuck will drop a bomb on all of humanity?!?”.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!?!” Kate asks, betrayal in her voice.

“I couldn’t say anything. Raphael forbidden me from saying anything to anyone!!” she says.

Paige lowers her pistol, putting it back in her holster.

Shaking her head, “I can’t believe you. He could be playing him for all we know” she tells her.

“Let them go” she orders Joseph, pointing to Kenny, Mark and Nate. 

Joseph stares at her, “Are you deaf?!? I said let them go!!!” she orders him again.

Mandy holds her back, “Let me handle this”.

She turns to face Joseph, and pleads with him “Joseph please, let them go. We don’t want anymore bloodshed. Please let them go, and we’ll leave”.

“Wheaty too!” Kate shouts.

“You betrayed me. Betrayed God. I forgive you for what you’ve done to my family, but that I can’t forgive” he tells her, stepping close to her, “Your family will pay for what you have done”. 

The few followers grab Paige and Kate shoving them onto the ground, taking their guns and other weapons away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!!” Paige yells, struggling.

“Get off me!!” Kate shouts, fighting to be let go. 

“Joseph, it’s not their fault!!. It’s mine. Let them go, and you can deal with me” she pleads with him again.

He grabs her shoulders, “This is where it ends” he whispers to her. Tears stream down her face. 

“You peggie fuckers!!. Pieces of fucking shit!!” Paige mutters as a peggie pushes her face first into the ground. 

“Get the fuck off of her!!” Kenny yells at him.

Tears streaming down Mandy’s cheeks, if only she was honest with her family. If only she had told them the truth. All of this wouldn't have happened. Her family was gonna be killed because of her. Her own greed. 

“When are you gonna realize that every problem cannot be solved with a bullet?” he asks her. 

“It doesn’t have to end this way” she pleads with him. 

Two of his followers, grab her. Preventing her from stopping whatevers gonna happen. 

One of his Chosen has a sharp knife in hand. Almost like a miniature machete, holding it in front of her eldest child. 

“Really Joseph? You’re gonna kill two pregnant women!” Paige yells. Grabbing the Father’s attention.

He stops them, having Paige’s full attention. He looks at her with a questioning look on his face. 

“Yeah” she says, a smug look on her face “I’m pregnant. So is my sister. She’s carrying your little brother's kid. John”. 

He looks over at the youngest sister, and she nods her head. “It’s John’s kid, Joseph. You kill us, you kill your nephew/niece, but keep in mind we’ll never be family”. 

He looks up at the sky, backing away from them. His back to all of them. “Let them go” he says. They free the family of hunters, showing them all mercy. 

“Wheaty?!” Kate cries, trying to snap him out of it, “Wheaty please. It’s me, Kate”. 

She holds his face, cupping it, hoping to get him back into reality. All their friends drugged up, blind from reality. Paige grabs her arm, “Come on, we have to get out of here”. 

She resists, shaking her head “No, Wheaty please snap out of it. We have a child on the way” she cries. The Bliss has taken over his state of mind that he can’t comprehend anything.

Mark and Nate practically dragged Kate back into the car. Her, her mother and sister in the Impala, Kenny, Nate and Mark in the Monte Carlo. They all drive back to the compound.

*****

Little did they know they’re not the only ones that have had an issue with Joseph, and the Cult. The new Deputy has had their fair share of issues with the Seed family, and their followers.

Liberating their outposts and destroying their properties. Making the Seed family look like a family of psychopaths they need to be locked up. 

When Faith took off, she went to her gate and met with the Deputy. They put up a fight against her and they ended up killing her. 

Faith. Rachel would’ve been the adopted sister to the two sisters. Rachel Winchester would’ve been her name. 

****

They all arrive back at the compound. Kate in tears, Paige in shock.

The others come out, and see all their friends alive. Their children and wifes stand at the front porch. 

“Holy shit!!” Cody says relieved, “You’re all alive!!”.

They all nod, “Yeah, yeah we are” Mandy mutters. 

“Is Joseph alive?!?” Adrian asks. They all nod in disappointment, “Yeah, the fucker is still alive” Kate mutters angrily. 

“Where’s Rachel?” Kate asks them. The others shrug, “We don’t know, she fled the property when the peggies arrived”. 

“So now what?!” Mark asks, shrugging. 

Paige shakes her head “I don’t know, we’re gonna have to-”. 

As she’s speaking, it’s almost like God himself was making a huge entrance. Lighting up the entire sky. 

A bright white light blinds them all, covering their faces from the burning brightness. 

When the bright light clears, a giant mushroom-like cloud in the distance fills the sky. 

“Oh my god!!” Nate mutters in horror, “Oh my god!!”. 

A huge storm flies at them, causing the entire ground to shake violently. Making them stumble, and fall. The trees, and land go up in flames within seconds. Animals running to seek shelter. The whole sky orange, everything is a fiery orange red. 

“Shit! he was right!” Martin screams in horror, “He was right!”.

“Damn it Chuck!” Paige mumbles angrily with a hint of fear in her voice. 

Realization hitting hard, “Wheaty?, I have to get Wheaty!!” Kate yells.  

She gets stopped by her mother and brother in law, “Kate no!!”. 

“I have to go back for him!!” she cries, trying to get to her car. 

Paige tries to hold her back, “It’s too late for him!!. You’ll die if you go back!. Kenny! Adrian! Get the cars underground. Everyone else get the children, pets and go down to the bunker”. They get the cars underground to the bunker garage. They get all their kids, pets, and all go down to the bunker. 

Everyone settles underground. Fear, anger. So much emotion in one room. The distance rumbles of explosions going off, making it sound like the king of all thunderstorms is happening right above their heads. Paige looks around the main room of the bunker to see if everyone made it down. She counts everyone that was on the property. 

Herself, her daughter, Kate, Kenneth, her mother, Barbara, Mark, his wife and 2 kids, Nate, his wife and 3 kids. Cody and his wife, Martin and his fiancee, Adrian and his wife. 

“He was right” Kate mutters, playing with her bracelet, “Joseph Seed was right, and we didn’t see it coming. God, the Collapse, this sort of thing is right up our alley, and we didn’t believe him!!”.

Paige sighs in disappointment, “It’s not that we didn’t believe him. He didn't believe us, which is not surprising. It’s that he claimed that he spoke with Chuck, and for all we know. He couldn’t been played by him”.

Kate is about to say something when a fluttering sound, and a loud thud a few rooms away throws her off. 

“Did you hear that?!?” she asks the others. The others stay back while her and Paige go to investigate it. Kate then sees a single golden, brown feather on the floor.

“Hey, look a feather” she says, pointing at it. Paige, who doesn’t see it, looks at her in confusion. 

“Where?!?” she asks, looking around for it. They get to the source of the sound, and see a man with his back to them, kneeling on the floor. 

Paige pulls out her pistol, and aims at the intruder. 

They both see the same man, but Kate sees a little more. Tattered up golden, brown angelic wings. They approach the man, and stand in front of him. He lifts his head to look up at them, and they see the wounded, beaten up Archangel. 

“Gabriel?!?” Kate mutters. 

____

When the bombs fell

Not long after (The Angels fell)

#far cry 5 #paige winchester #mandy winchester #kate winchester #kenneth smith #joseph seed #eden's gate series #eden's gate: aftermath #faith seed #fc5 #the seed family #the deputy #hope county #project at eden's gate #spn references #far cry 5 x supernatural #mary may fairgrave #nick rye #fc5 wheaty #kate winchester x wheaty #john seed #jacob seed #holland valley #henbane river #whitetail mountains #the collapse #fc5 the collapse #my ocs #my writings #my series

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

For the date tag writing meme, @catherineflowers29 asked for Oct. 20 - Friends to Lovers with Dom/Sub Undertones

Title: this is getting good now

Author’s Note: So in a perfect fictional world, I think Jaime and Brienne would hook up before she brings up...well, you’ll see.

Disclaimer: I know very little about BDSM, so don’t take my word for anything. NSFW.

Brienne storms into the apartment, crossing in front of the television, and straight back into her room. Jaime sighs and picks himself off the couch. Through her door, he can hear her crying. He knocks softly. “Bri?” The crying stops, but there’s no response. “What happened?” Jaime tries again, his voice low and steady. 

“Nothing,” she cries, but her voice is a choked mess. 

He tries the doorknob, but it’s locked. “You’re scaring me. Will you please tell me what happened?” 

The lock clicks and Brienne opens the door a crack. Her eyeliner is smudged and her eyes are red-rimmed, but it only serves to make her irises look more blue. “It’s stupid.” Her voice cracks and her eyes fill with tears again. 

“Hey,” he tries to soothe her even though she hasn’t let him into her bedroom yet. “It’s not stupid if it has you this upset.” 

Brienne nods, finally allowing him inside. The first thing he does is gather her into a long hug, hand stroking across her shoulder blades. They’re nearly the same height, so she can’t even cry into his shoulder, but her cheek is pressed against his and he can smell her shampoo, coconut and jasmine. 

When she’s finally able to talk again, he listens. “I broke up with Hyle,” Brienne breathes. 

Jaime is immediately, perhaps irrationally, angry. He’s ready to jump in the car, drive across town, and punch the good for nothing Hyle Hunt. “What did he do?” he practically spits.

She grips the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turn white. Oh gods. If he tried something when Brienne wasn’t ready or forced her to do anything, Jaime would do worse than punching him. “It’s nothing he did,” she says slowly, her voice nearly a whisper. “It’s more…” Her cheeks flush and she bites her lip. “More what he didn’t want to do.” 

He isn’t one hundred percent sure what that means, but since he apparently has no filter or tact, Jaime says, “Like a sex thing?” 

Brienne’s neck turns red and she falls back onto the mattress, dragging one of her pillows down over her face. “Yes,” she replies, her answer warped and garbled from where it’s pressed against the pillow. 

He nearly laughs at her embarrassment, but bites his tongue to stop himself. “Good for you then.” Jaime clears his throat. “I mean, you should always stand up for yourself. Especially when...it comes to...your desire.” He almost chokes over the word.

She screams into the pillow and both of them dissolve into laughter.

*

He doesn’t press her any further about what she asked of Hyle. But it infiltrates Jaime’s dreams, imagining all the things Brienne might ask him to do, all the things she might like, might want. One night he wakes up and his cock is so hard it’s painful. 

He rubs a hand across his jaw. He’s never thought of her this way. She’s his best friend. 

When he finally palms his cock, Jaime pictures her. Those freckles sprinkled all over her delicate pale skin, wondering if she blushes everywhere too, thinking about what she sounds like, what she tastes like. His hips buck so hard he nearly lifts off the mattress. “Fuck,” he mumbles. 

*

After a few weeks, Brienne seems to be doing better. Usually when something is bothering her or she’s been hurt, she’ll stay pretty quiet for a few days. When he arrives home from work one night, she’s in the kitchen making dinner, music cranked up, shouting “Hey!” when she hears the door close behind him. 

“Hey yourself,” he grins, leaning against the counter. 

“Long day?” She turns down the music. “There’s beer in the fridge.” 

“You’re a saint.” Not just any beer, but his favorite beer, which they usually reserve as a special treat. There’s hardly any space left on the counters, packed as they are with veggies, measuring cups, spoons, and wine. “This looks elaborate.” 

“Yeah, I was just in the mood to...cook.” She flushes slightly and it gives Jaime pause, but perhaps Brienne was already imbibing before he came home. Whenever she drinks more than a glass or two of anything, her cheeks get all pink. It’s cute. Gods Lannister, you’ve got it bad. He leaves to change clothes and when he comes back, he notices Brienne isn’t wearing her usual apartment loungewear. 

She’s got on black jeans which in the bright light of the kitchen, really show off the curve of her calves, the thick muscles of her thighs, and the curve of her ass. Her top is some silky blue thing, perhaps what she wore to the office under one of her usual blazers. When she leans forward to chop vegetables, the shirt dips down and he can just make out the swell of her breast. Jaime takes a long swig of his beer and nearly chokes. Her bright blue eyes focus on him and gods is he really standing here half hard in sweatpants? He nods but ducks out of the kitchen again, settling on the couch. A moment later, she comes out, a glass of water in hand. “Here,” she offers, his fingers brushing against hers as he takes it from her. Brienne frowns. “Are you really okay?” 

Jaime can only nod, wondering how embarrassing it would be to stroke one out in the bathroom while his best friend is making dinner for him in the next room. He manages to calm himself down a little bit by watching a mindless action movie he’s seen a million times, but after a half an hour, he realizes he hasn’t even offered to help. “Is there an occasion I don’t know about, Tarth?” he teases. 

Jaime hasn’t called her Tarth in years, not since they were on that rec league soccer team together where he irritated her to no end. He still has no idea how she came to regard him as a friend, much less agree to share a living space with him. And that’s as far as it will ever go. She’s way too good for you. But she was too good for Hyle, too. Jaime wonders if he should bring it up, tell her she should have never dated that asswipe, but he doesn’t want to say anything if Brienne’s finally feeling better. 

“No occasion. Not really.” But her throat bobs when she swallows and the spaghetti straps of her tank do little to conceal her blush. She’s bending over the counter again, everything in the kitchen too low for her tall frame, and gods, Jaime wants to slip up behind her and-- “I have a favor to ask you.” He perks up at that. 

“Can you get the chicken out of the fridge?” She smiles sweetly. “But don’t toss out the liquid. I need that for the dish later.” 

“Are you sure I can’t do more to help?” But Brienne only shoos him out of the kitchen.

The apartment begins to smell amazing, his stomach growling, relieved to be hungrier for food than for his roommate. They talk about the usual things over dinner: the fate of their favorite soccer teams, Tyrion’s new business, how soon is too soon for Brienne to ask for a promotion at her new job. “You spoil me,” Jaime tells her, pushing away from the table and starting to gather plates, when she puts a hand on his wrist. 

“Wait.” Her face is flushed from the several glasses of wine she consumed over the course of the meal. “There was actually a reason I did all this.” 

He tries to ignore the fact that his heart rate picks up. “Oh?” Jaime sinks back down into his chair. 

“I wanted to ask you a favor.” She can barely look him in the eye. “I…” 

“Listen, whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s not going to change anything between us.” He doesn’t know how he sounds so calm when he really wants to tell her everything that has been going through his mind the past few weeks. 

“Do you know what BDSM is?” The moment should be hilarious, because Brienne is practically hiding her face in her napkin, but all Jaime can think is ohmyfuck. 

“Um, yeah, I do.” Why do you sound so casual? “Wait. Is that what--” Everything clicks into place. Hyle wasn’t interested. But she thinks he might be? It’s a huge risk to take, one which makes him admire Brienne a million times more. They’ve been friends for years. He could easily say he doesn’t think about her that way. Yet she felt comfortable enough to ask him. “You want to try it?” his voice is a choked whisper. She nods, her blue eyes steady on his. Fuck fuck fuck. “With me?” 

Her neck colors. “I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing.” She starts to stand, but this time Jaime catches her wrist.  

“Brienne.” He isn’t sure if the desire is clear in his voice, but her whole face changes from hurt to shock to surprise before he pulls her down for a kiss. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks,” he murmurs. “How’s that for embarrassing?” 

“Actually.” She drags the word out before leaning over to kiss him again. “That’s really fucking hot.” Her voice dropping husky and low sends a jolt up his spine. ��I couldn’t figure out a way to casually bring it up. I mean, I should have just asked if you thought of me that...” 

“No,” Jaime mumbles in between kisses, whimpering when she nibbles at his lower lip. “This is good. This is--I meant what I said, about standing up for yourself, and asking for what you want...what you…” 

“Desire,” she breathes, her hand skimming down the front of his shirt. 

“Gods yes,” he growls before her tongue slides into his mouth. 

When they break apart again, breaths already growing rapid and sharp, he manages to stand even though his knees wobble a little. Brienne’s eyes fall to the obvious erection in his pants. “Jaime,” she whispers, but a pleased grin crosses her face before she reaches out and strokes him through the fabric. He’s almost embarrassed by his reaction, a breath sucked in over his teeth, and muscles twitching under her touch. Her hand stills and he lets out a low whimper, ready to beg if that’s what it takes. “We should talk about the rules,” she says coolly. There is a strength in her eyes that is new to him. 

“Are you going to tie me up?” It’s a joke, but Brienne has always been a terrible liar, and there’s a subtle shift in her face that tells Jaime she would enjoy it. Fuck fuck fuck. He’s in way over his head. 

“It’s not all about whips and chains,” she replies defensively and Jaime can sense her shying away from him. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop making jokes,” he tells her. “I want you to talk to me. This is about what you want.” 

Brienne regards him warily, innocence and skepticism returning to her face. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” Her voice is small. “It would change things between us.” 

“No,” he says, perhaps a little too forcefully, because she frowns. “It’s not a bad idea. I want...fuck,” he sighs. “I want you. So yeah, that’s going to change things, but I hope not in a bad way.” 

The change in her demeanor is immediate and Brienne practically throws herself at him, mouth firm against his and then her hands are at his hips, dragging down his sweatpants, and oh gods oh gods, she’s down on her knees taking him in her mouth. His hands run through her hair, sweeping it back, and holding it at the crown of her head so he can see her. He’s not going to last long and when he manages to relay this to Brienne, she only takes more of him into her mouth, bobbing her head faster until he comes, his legs shaking, a groan falling from his lips as she swallows. 

“Fuckkkk.” 

She licks her lips, still on her knees, a smile on her face as she tells him, “Very good.” And he thinks he’s half hard again hearing her say that. Jaime isn’t sure where his shy, sweet best friend is, but gods, he really, really likes this woman in front of him, too. 

But he’s doubting whether he can survive the rest of the evening. “You’re going to kill me, Bri.”  

“Do you like me taking control?” she asks, tilting her chin up to look at him, even as her hands run down his thighs, his sweatpants still around his knees. 

“Um, yes,” he hisses. “Please.” 

“That means doing what I say,” her voice sharpens into a warning and a tingle runs up his spine. 

“Fuck, yes. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Brienne nods and rises to her feet, helping him pull his sweatpants up. “I don’t think I ask for anything unreasonable, but if for any reason, you feel uncomfortable, you should have a word that you can say and I’ll stop.” 

“Brienne…” he says, still shocked that they’re really doing this. 

“What’s your word, Jaime?” Her eyes burn into his, bright as the sea, as blue as the sky after a rainstorm, sparkling like-

“Sapphires,” he murmurs. 

“Good.” She doesn’t say another word, but walks to her bedroom, him following behind. Brienne sits down on the edge of the bed, stretching out her arms behind her, resting her weight on her hands. The way she regards him makes Jaime swallow and try to steady his breathing. “I want you to undress me.” He’s been so eager to follow her commands he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask things of her. 

“Can I ask you to sit up?” Jaime gives her his most charming smile. If he’s breaking the rules, perhaps it will placate her a little. She nods and does as he asks, placing her hands in her lap. Normally he might seduce her, nipping and kissing her neck as he slides the silky fabric of her shirt up her body, but Jaime’s already aching for her touch again, her mouth on his, so he simply lifts her shirt over her head, Brienne raising her arms, and he exhales a whoosh of air as he sees the color of the strapless bra she’s wearing matches her top. More evidence of the trouble she went to for all of this. “Seven hells, Brienne.” Without even realizing what he’s doing, he gets down on his knees in front of her. “I want to touch you, kiss you. Please.” 

She runs a hand through his hair. “You’re being very good, Jaime. Only a little bit longer.” 

“I want-” but he stops as Brienne arches her back, her hand skimming over her skin to undo the button on her jeans. “Gods, woman,” he moans. 

She places her hand at the crown of his head, tugging at his hair. “Undress me.” 

Jaime reaches up to pull down her zipper with shaking hands, letting out a noise at the back of his throat when he sees that her panties are the same shade of blue as her shirt and bra. “Can I stand up?” 

“Yes.” Brienne nods and Jaime is surprised when she lets him press her back against the mattress so his hands can slip her jeans over her hips. For a moment, they both stay there, him arched over her body. He cups a hand at the back of her neck and kisses her hungrily, the soft sound at the back of her throat telling him Brienne may not be as in control as she seems. His hand smoothes down her spine, undoing her bra, and tossing it across the room. He kisses her again, her heart hammering so fast he can feel it under his hand. “Now be good and finish undressing me,” she murmurs against his mouth, punctuating it by a nip at his lower lip. 

Jaime sinks back down to his knees and pulls on one leg of her jeans, dragging the fabric down those long, long limbs of hers, before tugging them off over her feet. He rests his hand on her ankle afterwards, thumb brushing across it, even as his eyes travel over her body. She’s strong and gorgeous and Seven help him, he’s been such a fool to not see it for so long. This time without even asking, he rises to his feet again, hands at her hips as he pulls the blue silky fabric of her panties down the same path as her jeans, before crouching back down to his knees and spreading her legs, practically licking his lips when he sees how wet she is for him. But Brienne’s hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Since you’re so obedient, take off your clothes.” She doesn’t have to tell him twice, he nearly trips over himself, standing naked before her in a flash. “Gods,” her husky voice purrs. “You’re gorgeous.” For some reason, standing in front of her, exposed as her eyes rake over him, makes Jaime feel shy and yet incredibly aroused. “But I like you better on your knees.” His cock is as hard as when he woke up from his dream, harder maybe, and he moves stiffly to the floor. “What do you want to do, Jaime?” 

“I want to taste you.” His voice sounds unsteady, unlike himself, and gods, he can already taste the tang of her on his tongue.

“If you want it, then do it.” Brienne arches an eyebrow at him, a challenge in her voice.

He nearly says yes ma’am, but instead a strange combination of a groan and yelp come out of his mouth as Jaime scoots forward to kiss her thighs and softly sink his teeth into her flesh. Brienne lets out a cry as he drags his tongue over the length of her, nuzzling her swollen skin with his nose. He lifts her legs to rest on his shoulders and she makes an approving noise in her throat. When he finds her clit, her hand threads through his hair with a moan, and yes, this is exactly what he wanted, the firm but gentle pressure of her hand on the back of his head as he worships her with his mouth. 

“That feels so good,” she gasps. “Keep going.” He hums against her and she writhes against him, Jaime pressing a firm hand to her hip to still her. “Fuck,” she moans, hand twisting in his hair, but he does not quicken his pace. Jaime is happy to obey her orders as long as she allows him to see her like this, coming undone underneath him. Her thighs tighten around him and he wishes he could speak, to encourage her, but he doesn’t want to stop. Jaime lightens the pressure from his tongue as she comes, her legs quaking, crying out his name. A momentary stillness grips her body, her fingers running through his hair, but he only continues tasting her, sucking at her clit as her thighs clamp around his head again and she screams. 

When he emerges from between her legs, Jaime can’t help but wear a smug smile. Brienne laughs, and he grabs his t-shirt, quickly wiping his face before dropping down onto the bed beside her. She kisses him, Jaime making a noise of approval in the back of his throat. Brienne runs her hand through his hair, a gesture that makes him feel content and safe. He closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation. “You did perfectly,” she tells him.  

“Only perfectly?” he asks, cocking one eye open. 

“Fine,” she admits. “Amazingly well.” He leans forward and kisses her then. Even after he pulls back, his thumb lingers at her neck, tracing the long lines of her throat. “You’re a little bratty.” 

“Is that what they call it?” 

“Mmmhmm. But I like it, I don’t want to be in charge all the time.” The idea of him getting to command her as she had him makes Jaime excited in a whole new way. 

“Good,” he murmurs in her ear, making her shiver. “Because right now, I want to fuck you.” 

“Yes, please.”

#jaime x brienne #date tag writing meme #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #brienne as a dom kind of

[dancinginthecenteroftheworld]

A prompt (if you haven't got enough of them already): Jamie and Brienne are roommates. If Jaime hasn't done laundry recently, sometimes he borrows her t-shirts or sweat pants or whatever. This time, however, Brienne has just been way too busy, and all her underwear is dirty.

Jaime borrows her clothes all the time. No matter how much Brienne yells at him for it. So borrowing Jaime’s clothes should, in theory, not be all that weird. After all, Brienne would have more clean clothes herself, if half her tee shirts and a good chunk of her sweat pants hadn’t disappeared into Jaime’s closet. 

It’s just the matter of which article of clothing Brienne needs that is giving her pause.

This is what happens when you work too many twelve hour days in a row. You run out of clean clothes. Brienne should have learned this lesson last election season, but apparently she hasn’t. 

And now her underwear drawer is empty, and while Brienne can justify re-wearing a sweater, jeans, even her dress pants, recycling dirty underwear is a bridge too far. 

She could go commando, a voice in her head suggests. The voice sounds a lot like Margaery, who would undoubtedly forgo underwear without a care. 

Brienne just can’t, though. The idea makes her feel so uncomfortable, and she knows with her luck, the one day in her life she skips underwear would be the day she gets in a car accident or tears her pants on set. 

So she’s in Jaime’s room, staring at his open dresser drawer while wrapped in a bath towel that barely goes past her hips, because all her extra large bath sheets have also somehow disappeared. 

Brienne is going to yell at Jaime next time she sees him, she really is. But right now the more pressing issues is finding underwear and making it to work in time for another long, exhausting day.

The rows of boxer briefs look somehow intimidating. Brienne tells herself it will be just like her usual boyshorts. And Jaime won’t even know, considering how little attention he pays to things like laundry. She can wash them when she finally gets around to doing her own clothes and slip them back in the drawer. 

Never mind that thinking about putting something Jaime has worn against his naked skin, against very personal areas of his naked skin, makes Brienne feel a little light-headed. 

Except that as soon as Brienne gathers the courage to step into a pair of black briefs and pull them up, the door to the room swings open behind her. She hears it, just like she hears the sharp intake of breath from Jaime. 

Brienne stares at the wall in front of her. Maybe if she doesn’t say anything, Jaime will just turn around go away and they can just pretend this never happened. 

Brienne is not that lucky. 

“Are you wearing my underwear?” Jaime’s voice sounds strained and Brienne is reminded that this is very much not a normal roommate thing to do. Especially when your roommate is a different gender. Especially when you haven’t asked.

“I”m sorry,” Brienne’s hand hovers over her hip, the other one clutching her towel tighter. She feels like she should take them off, but she also feels like that is an even worse idea. “I’m out of clean laundry and you always steal my clothes.”

“I don’t steal your underwear.” Jaime’s voice sounds closer. Brienne hunches in on herself, wondering if she can some how make herself small enough to slip by him unnoticed. 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says again. She’s going to have to move. Which is a shame, because she really likes this apartment, it’s so close to work and has great light and she’s going to miss it a lot when she goes. “I shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t say that.” Jaime’s voice is even closer, yet Brienne still jumps when he settles his hands over her hips. “Have you borrowed my underwear before?”

“No,” Brienne manages to get out, thankful that at least she can give a reasonable answer. 

“But you’re wearing it now.” Jaime’s breath is hot against Brienne’s neck.

Brienne nods, slightly and then feels Jaime’s forehead against her hair as he groans. Jaime’s hands flex on her hips. Brienne isn’t sure what’s going on. 

“Fuck, Brienne,” Jaime breathes. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Brienne’s voice has deserted her entirely and she just shakes her head. 

“I shouldn’t be jealous of a piece of fabric,” Jaime says and Brienne’s brain flat-lines momentarily because that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. 

Jaime pulls her back against him and Brienne might not have ever felt a man’s cock before but there’s no mistaking what’s pressing up against her. She gasps despite herself and feels Jaime wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her tighter. 

“How come it gets to touch you?” Jaime mutters. “When I don’t?”

Brienne wonders if the buzzing in her ears is real or if this is all some strange hallucination. Maybe she’s actually lying on the floor of her room, half-conscious. 

“I don’t understand,” she finally gets out. 

“What’s to understand?” Jaime rocks his hips against her, nuzzles his nose against her neck. “You wearing my underwear is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen it,” Brienne points out, before the sentence registers. Because she’s still got a towel on. And she’s pretty sure the door didn’t open until she was basically done pulling them on.

She hopes the door didn’t open until she was done. 

“Will you show me?” Jaime spins her around then, facing him and Brienne searches his face for a sign of what’s going on. It has to be a joke, it has to be, but Jaime’s eyes are dark as he stares at her, his lips parted and his breath coming slightly faster than usual. “It’s only fair.” 

His hands move to the edges of her towel as he talks, slow enough that Brienne could stop him if she wanted to. Even with one hand still clutching the top of the towel around her chest. She should stop him. 

Brienne doesn’t stop him, as Jaime pulls the edges of the towel apart and drops his gaze.

Brienne can’t help following where he looks, wonders what he’s seeing as he looks down, the front looser than she’s used to, her thick thighs making the legs fit with no problem. She hasn’t shaved, and there’s a fuzz of white blond hair scattered across her pale skin and stubborn freckles. 

The noise Jaime makes is not one Brienne imagined a man would ever make around her. 

“Fuck,” Jaime says, and keeps staring. 

“I have to go to work,” Brienne finally says, because she’s getting increasingly confused standing there. 

Increasingly aroused, too, and she hopes it isn’t noticeable. 

Jaime lets her go, and Brienne fixes her eyes at a spot over his shoulder as she starts to step around him. 

“I’ll give them back after I wash them,” she says, hoping to restore some sense of normalcy to this strange situation. Which can’t possibly mean what it seems like it means. “Or not. I can throw them out.”

“Give them back.” Jaime catches her wrist before she can get too far. “But Brienne?”

Brienne still doesn’t look at him, though she turns slightly to show she’s listening.

“Don’t wash them.”

#teaandbanjo #i write stuff

[ddagent]

Would you maybe write something for this one? Please?! "Cut off from his father, Jaime dabbles at a phone sex line as he enjoys talking dirty. His favourite customer is an innocent blonde who comes to the sound of his voice."

LMAO, this is hilarious: I donated this idea to @braimeficideas because it was on my list and didn’t really have anything for it. But screw it, here’s some paragraphs. 

It was late, and Jaime Lannister had slept all day. Since his father had cut him off, his life had changed dramatically. Gone was the penthouse; the state-of-the-art electronics and million dragon view. Instead, Jaime was staying in a cheap apartment in Storm’s End where the walls shook every time there was a clap of thunder. No more three-piece suits; Jaime spent most of his time in soft pants and the occasional t-shirt. He’d been offered numerous jobs from his father’s competitors, but Jaime wanted the time to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. 

To pay the bills, Jaime took up a job at a phone sex line. 

Shae, one of the strippers at Tyrion’s home-away-from-home, had given him the hook-up. Jaime had always enjoyed talking dirty with his girlfriends; liked working them both up with his words until they were wet and desperate. The money was good, he could work from home, and it felt the ultimate fuck you to his father. 

Jaime had just got a drink of water when his first call of the evening came in. “This is Jaime. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?” 

“Brienne.” A fumble on the other end of the line. “Shit; I wasn’t going to say my real name. Can I start again?” 

He chuckled softly. A first-timer. Cute. “I can call you anything you like, Sweetling. Blue Eyes, Brown Eyes…” Jaime caught sight of the book he was reading; a historical account of female knights in Ancient Westeros by Doctor B Tarth. “Wench?” 

“Brienne is fine.” 

Jaime got the Bluetooth headset attached and laid down against the rumpled sheets. “I’m sure you are.” 

“I’m–I’m really not.” 

Ah. He knew the type. Little dating experience but too shy to pay for a whore, so they paid for him instead. A tidy compromise. “Brienne, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You’re not with some half-brained man tonight, you’re with me. And there are no men like me. If I want you, I want you.” He wet his top lip. “And I want you.” 

A huff of air echoed on the line. “You’re really good, aren’t you?” 

“I’m the best, Brienne. Let’s not worry about what you look like. I’m more interested in what you’re wearing.” 

“Bit of a cliche, isn’t it?” Oh, she was going to make him work for it. Her discomfort had turned to criticism. “Next you’ll be telling me you’re in some boxer briefs or an expensive suit.” 

“Nope,” he said, the last syllable popping. “I’m in soft pants, with no underwear, and no shirt.” He felt Brienne would relax with some honesty. “I ran out of laundry detergent, and it makes my cock easier to grasp. What about you?” 

A pause. “A t-shirt. And men’s boxers.” Another pause, as if she was working towards a confession. “I don’t like a lot of women’s pyjamas. They’re too small; too lacy. I’m too big. Too–too tall.” 

“How tall are you?”

“Six foot three.” 

Fuck. “You’re taller than I am.”

She sighed. “Doesn’t surprise me.” 

What surprised him was how his cock stirred at the thought. He’d always enjoyed a good set of legs on a woman, and he bet Brienne had a fantastic pair. “I’m thinking of your legs wrapped around me, Brienne. I’m thinking of how easy it would be to fuck you standing up if we’re about the same height.” 

What followed was a series of stuttered breaths, and Jaime knew he had her. 

#braime #jaime x brienne #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime #today has been a good day #anonymous #fic: phone sex operator verse

[kidcataldo]

Lannister Family Values

Jaime, Brienne and their four children: Galladon, Joanna, Alysanne and Gerion

Brienne let out a soft satisfied whimper as Jaime released himself inside her. It had been three years since her last pregnancy with their youngest, Gerion, and Jaime wanted to aim for ten children, but he could settle for half that. They shared one last kiss before he pulled out and plopped himself down beside her.

“Jaime…” she breathed out. He smiled, feeling her large hand stroke his forearm. He didn’t know if he had it in him for round two just yet, but he was willing to try. He turned to face her, his green eyes meeting her blue ones, and felt his cock stir. “I forgot to ask last night,” she said, her voice breathy. “Did you have a chance to read the email I sent you?”

He kissed her chin. “Did you send pictures of yourself in sexy lingerie again?”

Brienne blushed. She sent photos to him a few months ago for their anniversary. He unfortunately was away on business on the day of their anniversary and she sent the pictures as a surprise for him. He opened the email in the hotel lobby and nearly fell out of his chair in shock. His sweet innocent Brienne was hardly a maiden these days. Needless to say, he quickly ran to his room and replied back with a lengthy video. “The house, Jaime. I think we finally found our new home. It has five bedrooms and three and a half baths… The kids can each have their own bedroom. There’s even a pool.”

Jaime sighed, stroking his wife’s belly softly with his left hand. “I saw the photos. It looks nice…”

“…but?”

“But it’s out in the middle of nowhere, Brienne.” He motioned towards the window, at their beautiful city view. “We belong here in the city with other people.”

“We’ll have neighbors, Jaime,” she said.

“Yes, brown-nosed snobbish elitist,” he scoffed. “I lived that life before. The men cheat on their wives. The women gossip. The children are spoiled. I guarantee you; we move there and our neighbors will force us to join their snooty country club within a week.”

“You’re already a member of a snooty country club, Jaime,” she reminded.

“Yes, but I hardly ever go,” he protested. “If we move, I’ll have to start going at least twice a week. I’ll be forced to mingle with the other country club dads. I’ll have to bond with them over golfing. Golfing, Brienne.”

She rolled her eyes and stood, giving Jaime a good very good view of her body. Brienne, his beauty. Beneath the sheets, his body told him he was definitely ready for round two. “I called the realtor. We’re seeing the house Monday.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but she had already entered their bathroom and closed the door. He heard her start the shower as he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms to go out and prepare breakfast. He was tempted to join her and start an argument. The city was their home; this was where all his happy memories were. He first met Brienne at Stark Enterprise when she was interning for Catelyn Stark. They became fast friends—slow lovers—in the city. They fell in love here. They raised their children here.

He unlocked their bedroom door and opened it. But feeling something soft beneath his foot and retracted back into their room, startled. He looked down to see his youngest on the floor with his bare butt facing Jaime. He was only in his red pajama lion shirt. He looked like the bear with no pants from the children’s book Jaime sometimes read to him.

“Hi, daddy,” his son greeted.

“Hi, Geri,” said Jaime. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I peed in the big bed again,” said Gerion shamefully, “and Adon kicked me out. I tried coming in with you and mama, but your door was locked.”

Jaime sighed as he lifted his son into his arms. “Galladon!” he called out. He walked over to the boys’ room and tried opening the door. It was locked. He pounded on the door with his fist. “Galladon, you know this door isn’t supposed to be locked. Open up.”

He was met with a high-pitched screech and he turned to see his eldest daughter by the washing machine, her basketball jersey scrunched up in her hands. “You were supposed to wash this last night,” Joanna said.

He remembered putting the clothes in the washer, but before he could start it Brienne asked him to bathe Alys while she dealt with a stubborn Gerion, who refused to eat the vegetables on his dinner plate.

“Put it in now,” he said.

“There’s no time. I’ve got a game in an hour, dad.”

“I thought you had two uniforms,” he said. Joanna rummaged through the laundry basket and pulled out another equally dirty basketball jersey. “Oh… well—”

He felt a tug on his pants and looked down to see his other daughter, Alys, looking up at him with her mother’s big blue eyes. “Daddy, can you make me a funny face pancake for breakfast?”

“Uh—sure,” he said. He turned back to his sons’ bedroom door and knocked again. “Adon, open the—”

The door opened. “What?” asked Galladon tiredly.

“You kicked your brother out?”

“Only because he peed on me,” he said. “How come Jo and Alys get to sleep in separate beds but I get stuck with the baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” said Gerion, though the cute pout he made with his lips told Jaime otherwise.

“Dad!” said Joanna, holding up her jersey.

Jaime set Gerion down. “Help him get dressed,” he told Galladon before turning to his daughter. “We’ll spray it down with Febreze and put it in the dryer for a bit.”

“I’m almost ten now, dad,” said Galladon, following Jaime into their little laundry corner. “I should have my own room—at least my own space. Can’t we switch rooms and have Jo and Alys be in the big bed?”

“No way,” said Jo, disgust in her voice. “Alys pees the bed too.”

“I do not!” Alys’s voice could be heard from the kitchen.

“What about bunk beds,” offered Galladon.

“I… I want to sleep with you and mama,” said Gerion, who was now fully naked. His pajama shirt was atop his head wearing it like a hat.

Brienne’s voice echoed in Jaime’s head: “I told you so.”

“Yeah, Geri can sleep with you guys,” said Galladon. Both boys nodded in agreement.

Jaime opened his mouth to speak but the sound of Alys dragging a chair distracted him. He quickly made his way to the kitchen where his youngest daughter stood on top of a chair, reaching for the microwave.

“Alys, honey, what’re you doing?” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“Helping you cook, daddy,” she said.

“Dad!” said a frantic Joanna beside him, holding up her jersey.

“When can we start moving Geri’s stuff into your room?” said Galladon.

“What’s all this?” he heard Brienne’s voice. He turned to see his wife in her blue bathrobe, her hair twisted up in a towel. He breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the kitchen, naked Gerion at her hip.

“Daddy and I are making pancakes,” said Alys happily.

#jaime x brienne #braime #braime bunch

[sydneysageivashkov]

Everything We’ve Done (Is There On Our Faces) 4/?

It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.

It restarts like this:

Arya and Sansa wake up as children again, a message ringing in their ears. The Old Gods need Westeros to be strong and united to defend the Wall, and the Old Gods don’t forget oaths easily.

(Time travel AU. Eventual Sansa/Theon, Arya/Gendry, Jaime/Brienne.)

AO3 | FF.net

“Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” asked Arya.

Sansa suppressed a smile and turned to face her sister. They were in the grass gardens, and Arya was gloomily sniffing at a blue winter rose.

“We only heard about Jon Arryn after we got the dire wolves,” she pointed out. “There’s still time.”

“It’ll be soon, though, won’t it?” asked Arya. “I feel like I’m going mad. We’ve come back and we’ve spent all these months doing nothing.”

“It hasn’t been nothing,” said Sansa. They had organised for increased shipments of wheat to come in from all of the keeps across the North. Already, Sansa knew that they would have far more food come winter than they had had last time, even everything else stayed the same. Arya and Robb had taken to organising the rebuilding of the Broken Tower. When the day came, it would be able to house more refugees from throughout the North when they took shelter in Winterfell – and it would be too busy when – if, she supposed – the King came for Bran to stumble on Cersei and Jaime Lannister risking a tryst there. Letters had gone to Lord Commander Mormont, asking if he had any odd reports. Sansa and Arya had sent an anonymous letter to Jon Arryn, warning him to always test his food. There wasn’t much that they could do to influence southron politics from Winterfell.

Arya huffed. “I know, I know. But Gods, I feel like there’s so much more we could be doing. I could have killed Ramsay Snow by now, or ridden south and slit the throats of some Freys and Lannisters.”

They had already had this conversation a hundred times over. Sansa knew that Arya didn’t truly desire to ride out and assassinate anyone who might be a problem for them, only that the inactivity and lack of news was driving her mad. It didn’t stop Sansa’s anxiety from racketing up every time Arya mentioned riding to the Dreadfort and taking Ramsay Snow out herself.

“Soon,” soothed Sansa. “It can’t be long now.” The moon had waxed and waned twice since Sansa and Arya had woken up, children again. They had passed into the next year. The Ranger from the Night’s Watch had to be riding south from the Wall any day now.

“Sansa! Arya!” Sansa looked over at the sound of Bran calling their names. He was waving them over urgently. “Mother said that I needed to get you both,” said Bran. Sansa exchanged a look with Arya. They had finished with the Septa for the morning, and weren’t expected anywhere until the afternoon.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sansa, hurrying over to Bran with Arya on her heels.

Bran shrugged. “There was a lady at the gates who wanted to see you.”

“A lady?” repeated Sansa.

“A lady all in armour!” exclaimed Bran.

“Brienne,” realised Arya, and took off running.

“Are they in the Great Hall?” Sansa checked, and when Bran nodded, she picked up her skirts and ran after Arya. Bran kept pace with her as they ran – he might have been shorter, but he didn’t have any skirts to get in his way. Arya, who after several weeks of stubborn refusal to wear anything else had won the right to wear leggings for day-to-day tasks, streaked ahead of both of them. As they ran into the courtyard, Sansa saw Theon, polishing a sword for Ser Rodrik. He looked up, startled, as Sansa sprinted past.

“Theon, come on!” she shouted. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the sword in his hands, before putting it aside and running after her.

“What’s going on?” he asked, as he drew level with her.

“Brienne is here,” she panted out. “It isn’t just us, Theon!”

Arya was holding the door for them when they arrived. She pointedly ignored Theon, but when Sansa stepped through the doorway, Arya went with her. Their parents were seated at the High Table. Brienne was standing in the centre of the room, and at the sound of them entering, she turned to look.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya,” she said. “I know that this will seem strange to you -”

Sansa burst into a beaming smile, running the last few steps and throwing her arms around Brienne. Brienne caught her, tentatively accepting her hug.

“I should have known,” said Sansa. “I should have known there was no where we’d go where you wouldn’t follow.”

“My lady?” said Brienne.

“We came back, too, Brienne,” said Arya, coming to stand next to Sansa when Sansa let Brienne go.

“Theon, too,” added Sansa, because she knew Arya wouldn’t.

“Lady Brienne,” said Ned, standing, “with my daughters’ decidedly warm reaction to you, I will be honoured to accept you into my household as my daughter’s sword shields. I hope that you will be able to protect them as well as you did in their last lives.”

Arya let out a delighted whoop, and Sansa knew that she couldn’t suppress her smile if she tried.

“They know everything,” said Sansa. Almost everything, anyway, she thought to herself, but didn’t say – she still didn’t know how to tell their mother about Littlefinger.

“Then – if you don’t mind, my lord – it should be Ser Brienne,” said Brienne. Her voice started out quiet, but it grew in strength as she spoke.

“You were knighted!” gasped Sansa.

“Just before the battle, my lady,” confirmed Brienne. “Any knight of the Seven Kingdoms may anoint another, so Ser Jaime knighted me.”

There were a thousand things that Sansa could hold against the Kingslayer, starting with Bran being thrown from the Broken Tower and ending with him serving as the Lord Commander of Cersei’s Queen’s Guard, but knighting Brienne was not something she could fault him for. If there was anyone in Westeros who lived up to the ideals of a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, it was Brienne of Tarth.

“He may have been an Oathbreaker, but it was the right and honourable thing to do,” said Sansa. “If anyone is a true knight, it is you, Ser Brienne.” A slow, shy smile spread across Brienne’s face at Sansa’s words.

At the High Table, Ned nodded slowly. “Aye, Ser Brienne it is,” he said.

Beside him, Catelyn stood. “Although I am grateful for all that you have done for my daughters, Ser Brienne,” she started. Brienne ducked her head at Catelyn’s words, and Sansa could see her smile widen. “… All knights have been dubbed by another Knight, and I doubt that the Jaime Lannister of this time will back your knighthood.” Brienne’s smile dropped off her face, and Sansa shot a glare at her mother. “You are a Knight, Ser Brienne,” added Catelyn, her voice more gentle. “No one can take that from you. But here in Winterfell, we have agreed to keep the girls’ situation – quiet, as it were, so that Lord Varys and the Lannisters cannot use it unscrupulously. The decision is yours, Ser, but it will look unusual.”

“That isn’t fair,” protested Arya. “Brienne’s a knight. She’s more than earned it.”

Sansa grimaced and stepped backwards, away from Brienne. “But Mother’s right,” said Sansa. “At best, people will think you a liar or mad. At worst, it will bring attention to us that we don’t need, Arya. Even as it is, if Varys finds reason to look into the North, he’ll be able to tell we’re preparing for war. We need to prevent any attention.”

“The Wildlings are gathering to march on the Wall,” countered Arya. “Robert loves Father; if we tell him that we’re preparing for the Wildlings, he’ll believe us.”

“Lady Sansa and Lady Catelyn are right,” said Brienne, her voice flat. “It is my duty to protect you both. If not acknowledging my knighthood publicly is needed to keep you both safe, then that is what I will do.”

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” said Sansa. “I wish…”

“People might not have believed me even if we had lived past the battle, and Ser Jaime and the others were there to say that it happened,” said Brienne, dully.

“Brienne,” whispered Sansa, stricken. She shouldn’t have said anything. People would have thought Brienne a bit mad or presumptuous, but what did that matter?

No. They needed to remain inconspicuous where possible. That would be difficult enough as it was, as daughters of Ned and Catelyn Stark, fourth and fifth in line for Winterfell, and having Brienne in their household would cause a stir even without her going by Ser.

Catelyn left the High Table, approaching Brienne in the centre in the room. “I am told that it was because of an oath you made to me that you protected my daughters.”

Brienne nodded. “I was your sworn shield first, my lady. You sent me to retrieve your daughters with Jaime Lannister, in exchange for his release.”

Sansa exchanged a quick glance with Arya. They hadn’t mentioned that part of Brienne’s story before. Beyond blinking, though, Catelyn didn’t falter. She reached out and took Brienne’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” said Catelyn, gratitude flowing through her voice. “I don’t know exactly what it would have been to be the Catelyn of your time, separated from all but one of my children, but I can imagine. You searched for them when all else had given them up, and you rescued Sansa from a monster. Although most people, today, would not believe it, you have proven yourself a true knight.”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked them back. “Lady Catelyn, it was my honour to serve you and your daughters. I only wish I could have done more to protect you.”

Catelyn’s jaw tightened slightly at the reminder of her brother’s wedding, but she said, “From what I’ve been told, there was not much you could have done. Better that you survived to serve and protect Sansa and Arya.” She patted Brienne’s hand gently before releasing it and stepping back.

“That isn’t all,” said Ned, drawing Sansa’s attention back to the High Table. “I received a raven from Jeor Mormont. One of his rangers seems to have deserted immediately after arriving back from a long ranging. I have sent word out to keep an eye out for him.”

Sansa turned to look at Arya and Theon. “It’s beginning.”

-

Arya stood on the battlements of Winterfell, the breeze rushing through her hair. It was a little chilly, standing in the breeze, but Arya barely registered it.

Sansa was still inside the castle. She had whipped herself into a frenzy over the past two weeks, writing down every piece of information that she could think of and making sure that their parents, Robb and Jon memorised them. Arya knew why she was so anxious – if Jon Arryn hadn’t heeded their warning, the letter about his death would arrive in a matter of days, at most. Sansa wasn’t just preparing for the future; she was preparing for Joffrey, trying to build up every defence she could against him.

Well, all except one. Sansa still hadn’t told anyone the truth about her treatment in King’s Landing. Arya hadn’t told anyone the entirety of what had happened to her, either, so she couldn’t really argue with Sansa on that front.

Still, Arya had no doubt Sansa would be out soon. Ned and their brothers had ridden out to collect the Night’s Watch deserter, and that meant one thing: the dire wolves. Nymeria was so, so close.

A horn sounded in the distance and Arya looked up. She could see them, riding back towards Winterfell, one member all in black and the others carrying something they hadn’t set out with. Arya grinned and ran for the stairs.

The gates were opening and the party clattered through. Arya darted from her spot as they dismounted. “Nymeria!” she called. In Jon’s arms, the grey direwolf cub started to wriggle. With a yelp, Jon dropped her, shaking his hand. Nymeria charged across the courtyard and Arya scooped her up into her arms.

“Oh, girl, I’ve missed you,” she whispered into Nymeria’s fur. Nymeria burrowed further into Arya’s arms. “You know your name, don’t you? You came back with me. Of course you did.” As soon as she realised, it felt obvious. Of course Lady and Nymeria had come back with Sansa and Arya – anything else would have been wrong.

Sansa appeared at the door of the Library Tower. She darted over to Robb and very gently took the small, grey cub from his arms and cuddled the pup close to her chest. As Arya watched, Lady stretched up to lick Sansa’s chin repeatedly. Sansa giggled, clutching Lady closer.

“So those two are yours, then,” said Jon. He had Ghost still in his arms, while Bran and Robb had Summer and Grey Wind, respectively. Theon held Shaggydog in his arms. Arya couldn’t help a moment of spiteful glee at the sight; Shaggydog was as wild now as he had ever been, and Theon was struggling to keep him contained.

“This is Lady,” said Sansa, her voice quavering. Lady rested her head on Sansa’s shoulder, and Sansa brushed her cheek against her. Tears were leaking down her cheeks, but Sansa was smiling so wide that Arya almost worried her face was going to split in two.

“And that little monster?” asked Jon, humour in his voice.

“This little monster is Nymeria,” said Arya proudly. “Once, last time round, she bit Joffrey and made him bleed.” Sansa tried to shush Arya, but it was lost amongst the loud, boisterous laughter of Robb and Jon. “You were such a good girl,” crooned Arya, shifting Nymeria so that she could look the direwolf in the eyes.

“Any word from the Red Keep?” asked Ned, more seriously.

Sansa shook her head. “It’ll be any day now, Father.”

“If it comes at all,” said Arya, cuddling Nymeria back to her chest. “He might have listened to us, you know.”

Sansa bit her lip. “We need to consider what we’ll do if Robert never comes North. The Lannisters, Stannis and Renly will go to war, no matter what Jon Arryn does.”

“Inside,” said Ned, gesturing towards the Great Keep. Arya couldn’t help but clutch Nymeria a little closer, unwilling to put her down so soon. Sansa did the same with Lady. Ned half-rolled his eyes and added, “You can bring the direwolves.”

“Excuse me, Lord Stark,” said Theon. “I should take this direwolf to Lord Rickon.” Theon had taken to being exceedingly polite to all of the Starks, aside from Sansa, who had rolled her eyes at him the first time he tried to call her ‘Lady Sansa’, and Arya, who had told him not to talk to her at all.

“I’ll go with him,” said Jon, immediately, with an edge to his voice.

Sansa stepped closer to Arya and murmured, “Maybe we should ask Brienne to stay with Bran and Rickon for now. At least then Jon and Robb won’t spend every other second hovering over Theon’s shoulder.”

“But then they won’t talk to him at all,” said Arya, with exaggerated disappointment. Sansa shot her a look, and Arya dropped the act. “Honestly, Sansa. I don’t know what you expect.”

Sansa sighed. “I expect nothing, but he’s not that man anymore, Arya. You’d all see that if you gave him space to be anything.”

Arya shrugged. “I’m not best known for my forgiveness,” she said. “If you want Robb and Jon to treat him differently, you’ll have to take it up with them.”

Sansa pursed her lips and turned to Ned. He was finishing giving instructions to Ser Rodrik as they turned to look. Ser Rodrik took the Night’s Watch deserter by the arm and led him towards the Guard’s Hall. “Come on,” she said, leading Arya into the Great Keep.

Catelyn was waiting for them at the entrance to Ned’s solar. She eyed the direwolves in their arms nervously. “I thought your lord father was retrieving the deserter,” she said.

“He did,” said Arya glibly. “He also found our direwolves. This is Nymeria, and that’s Lady.” Nymeria shifted slightly in Arya’s arms at the sound of her name, and lifted her head to butt against Arya’s jaw. “Nymeria!” exclaimed Arya, although the scolding was made immediately ineffectual by Arya’s giggling.

“We had them last time,” said Sansa. “Grey Wind used to ride into battle beside Robb, you know, and Summer sacrificed himself for Bran.” She heaved Lady up higher and brushed the top of Lady’s head against her chin. Lady leaned into the touch, her tail wagging. “You couldn’t ask for better protectors for us, except for maybe Brienne.”

Robb came up behind them, Grey Wind trotting at his heels. Ned walked beside him. “I’ve told Ser Rodrik to place Gared into the holding cells,” said Ned. “We will question him tomorrow. Hopefully, a night in a safe place and a good meal will return some of his wits to him and we’ll get more information on the Others soon enough.”

Arya nodded, her heart beating fast. It hadn’t been long ago that she had been complaining to Sansa that things were moving too slowly, but now the deserter had arrived and Nymeria was in her arms, she could see the future before her again, each date between now and the Long Night standing clear in her memories. It wasn’t far away, now. It had never been far away, but she had let herself get carried away in the blissful dream that was the Winterfell of her youth.

At least we’ll know, she thought to herself. We’ll know how far south the White Walkers are by now.

“Did he not say anything?” asked Catelyn.

“He said that he knew he should have warned the Night’s Watch, but that he had to warn his family,” said Ned, grimly, as he let them into his solar.

“Write to Jeor Mormont,” said Sansa. “Perhaps if you are taking this seriously, he will, too.”

“If we can convince the Night’s Watch – or at least Lord Commander Mormont – it’ll be easier to start treating with the Wildlings, too,” said Robb.

“Send Jon,” said Sansa. “When the time comes to treat with the Wildlings, send Jon. They respected him, last time. They knelt to him. If anyone can help to treat with the Free Folk, it will be Jon.”

Catelyn pursed her lips, but did not say anything.

“When I get something out of the deserter, I will summon Mormont to Winterfell,” said Ned. “We will discuss the matter when he arrives.”

“Why not go to the Wall to discuss it?” asked Robb. “We may be able to treat with the Wildlings while we’re there.”

“We may yet have the King riding for Winterfell soon,” said Ned, his eyes shifting to Arya and Sansa. “He will be more likely to believe me than you, Robb, or your mother. When Mormont returns the Wall, I will send representatives with him to treat with Mance Rayder on my behalf. Jon will be one of them, though perhaps there will be more.”

Catelyn cleared her throat. “We need to discuss what we’ll do if Robert doesn’t come North.”

“We need to expose Joffrey as a bastard,” said Arya. “Stannis will go to war if Joffrey is crowned king. He thinks that he is the rightful king.”

“He will be the rightful king,” corrected Ned. “You are right, although I would prefer to find some way to keep the children safe when the truth comes out.”

“Cersei will murder you if you give them any warning,” said Arya.

Sansa held Lady tightly and said, “You need to send me south.”

“What?” demanded Arya, rounding on her sister. “You’re not going south alone!”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Brienne,” replied Sansa. She turned back to Ned and Catelyn. “I am not a tactician or a warrior or a general. I can do little about the Others that you cannot. I am a lady, though, and I know how to play the game of thrones. I can climb the ladder – and not a single person in the Red Keep knows that. Send me south.”

“We can’t send you into danger,” said Catelyn, her voice tight. “This isn’t a discussion.”

“If you go south, I’m going with you,” said Arya.

“Absolutely not,” hissed Catelyn.

“You might be the politician, but I’m Arya Underfoot,” continued Arya, as if Catelyn hadn’t interrupted. “You’ll work the lords and ladies, while I’ll spy and keep you safe. You’re not going south alone.”

“Can you do it?” asked Sansa. “Can you stand beside Cersei and Joffrey and not do anything?”

“Can you?” asked Arya. “Robert will want you betrothed to Joffrey. Are you sure you can endure being betrothed to him?”

“We’ll out him as a bastard soon enough,” said Sansa, but there was a hint of nerves in her voice. She joined her hands together. Arya watched them closely, noticing the almost-controlled shivers racing through them.

“You’ll still be betrothed to him for a time,” persisted Arya. “And once Robert knows what Cersei has been up to, he’ll need a new queen. Who’s to say he won’t be looking for a second Lyanna?”

“Arya!” exclaimed Ned, horrified.

Sansa stared at her, her breathing heavy. She opened her mouth then closed it again. After another moment, a slow smile stole across her face. Arya tilted her head in confusion at the sight as Sansa said, “I might be able to do something about that.”

-

Sansa found Theon in the armoury, like she usually did, these days. He was cleaning the swords, running the polish along the blade in slow, careful movements. She leant against the doorframe, watching him, watching his hands and the fingers he hadn’t had only months ago. She needed time to find the right words.

“I need your help,” she said at last.

Theon looked up. He hadn’t realised she was there until she spoke, but he hadn’t startled at the sound of her voice. It was progress.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She entered the room and pulled up a stool across from him, perching on the edge of it. “I can’t be available for marriage when Robert Baratheon comes North,” she said. She hesitated, then said the true reason – “When Joffrey comes North.”

“Jon Arryn’s dead?” he said. “Your warning didn’t work?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, there’s been no word from King’s Landing – but Littlefinger wants a war between the Starks and Lannisters. He’ll find a way, and pinning the death of Jon Arryn on the Lannisters is the easiest way to cause tension.”

“So you think it’s still coming,” said Theon.

“It’s just a question of when,” said Sansa, “and whether it comes before the Night King.”

“You don’t need to marry me, then,” said Theon, beginning to polish the sword again.

Sansa reached out and grabbed his hand, the polish staining her fingers. “If Jon Arryn lives, I still need to go to south if I have any hope of preventing war, and soon,” she said. “Before Cersei can have Robert killed. I need to get Cersei exposed, and Littlefinger, too, if I can. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen will be disinherited and Stannis made heir to the Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms will remain stable – well, at least until Daenerys Stormborn crosses the Narrow Sea.”

“And why do you need to be betrothed for all of that?” asked Theon.

“So Robert doesn’t try to marry me off to Joffrey,” said Sansa. “I will not be party to his fantasies of Robert and Lyanna come again. If I am betrothed to you, then the deed is already done.”

Theon dropped his gaze, freeing his hands from hers. “You don’t need me for that.”

“Of course I need you,” said Sansa, her voice forceful enough that Theon peeked back up at her. “Who else can I trust, outside my family? You won’t hurt me, Theon. You’re the only man outside my family I can say that about with absolute certainty. And…” She bit her lip, then said all in a rush, “You’re the only one who understands. You’re the only one who ever will.”

Theon licked his lip before he stood up, placing the sword back into its place and picking up another one. “You always dreamt of marrying a prince,” he said. “I’m just a squire, Sansa. For a time, I was barely better than a dog.”

Sansa surged to her feet and grabbed his wrist. “You were always better than a dog,” she said. “Don’t ever say that again, Theon. You were always better than what Ramsay tried to make you. If all you were was Reek, you would never have saved me.”

“I’m still not the prince you dreamed of, Sansa,” he said, looking down.

“And what prince should I marry?” she asked. “Joffrey? Renly? Or should I cast my net further and marry Viserys Targaryen? No, Theon. The songs are just that: songs. I was a child then. Now I know better. No one will ever marry me for love. All I can hope for is to marry a man who is better than Joffrey or Ramsay, and you can be that man. You will be that man.”

Theon closed his eyes and leant closer, so that his forehead rested against hers. “Gods, Sansa. You deserve better than just a husband who’s better than Ramsay Bolton.”

“I deserved better than being beaten by the King’s Guard for my brother’s victories, or being sold to the family who murdered my mother and brother,” said Sansa. “But that still happened. Nothing will change that. Maybe I deserve to marry for love, but it will never happen, Theon. What can happen is for me to marry someone I trust; for me to marry you.”

“I’m not a good man,” said Theon. “You deserve that, at least.”

Sansa slid her hand down his wrist to wrap around his hand. “You aren’t a good man,” she agreed. “You have done terrible things, Theon. But you also saved my life and helped me escape Ramsay. You supported your sister in the Kingsmoot and rescued her from Euron. You came back to me and swore to fight for Winterfell. You sacrificed yourself to give Bran a little more time. You may not be a good man, Theon, but you are capable of doing good things. Do this one more good thing for me. Help to protect me from Joffrey.”

Theon groaned, letting her lace her fingers through his. “Your brothers are going to murder me for this. You know that, right?”

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I can handle Robb and Jon.”

-

Gared was ushered into the Great Hall by Ser Rodrick and Jory and seated across from Ned. Robb and Jon sat on either side of Ned, while Rodrik and Jory turned to take up positions by the wall.

“Gared, you are aware of the consequences of deserting the Night’s Watch, do you not?” began Ned. Across the table, Gared nodded jerkily. “You will not be pardoned for desertion; you have committed a crime and you will be punished accordingly for it.”

Gared swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. “I knew what I was doing, my lord.”

“You claimed yesterday that you wished to warn your family,” stated Ned. “While you won’t be warning them personally, by answering our questions honestly, you will be helping them by helping us to properly prepare the North for the coming winter. Do you understand?”

Gared’s lips parted and he nodded hurriedly.

“Good,” said Ned. “You claim to have encountered the Others. Where and when did this occur?”

“I was -” Gared’s voice stumbled. He cleared his throat and started again. “I was on a ranging with Will and Ser Waymar Royce. We were meant to be pursuing Wildling raiders. We came across a village. I knew there was something wrong, but we went in anyway… There was no one there, but no bodies, either. Then the Others came. They killed Royce, and then raised him again as a wight to kill Will. I escaped. Gods, I escaped, but for how long?”

“Where did this happen?” prompted Robb, although his voice was gentle.

“We were nine days north of the Wall,” said Gared. “In the haunted forest.”

Nine days, thought Ned, leaning back in his chair. The White Walkers were only nine days from the Wall, but it had taken them another seven years to breach it. What were they waiting for?

“Can you describe the Others?” asked Jon.

“They were…” Gared trailed off, his eyes glazing over for a moment. He started and came back to himself. “They were cold. I barely know what else to tell you. Their skin was white as ice, their eyes like the coldest stars overhead. They had swords made out of ice that shattered Royce’s sword as soon as they touched. They even sounded like cracking ice when they spoke.”

“They spoke?” repeated Ned. Sansa and Arya hadn’t mentioned anything about communication. In hindsight, though, it felt obvious; how else would the Others be capable of organising an army? They likely didn’t have to issue commands to the wights, but surely they would have to organise with each other on how to continue their campaign.

But how far did their communication go? Sansa and Arya had called their leader the Night King. Did they have noble houses and laws like the Seven Kingdoms? Did they marry and have children? Ned couldn’t help but remember Old Nan’s story of the Night’s King’s bride, with skin like ice and eyes like blue stars.

Does it even matter? he wondered. It didn’t change the fact that the White Walkers were coming for them all, and that in Sansa and Arya’s future, they had laid waste to the North.

“I don’t know what they said,” said Gared. “It sounded… mocking, though.”

Mocking. Ned supposed it made sense. A race coming to wipe out all of humanity was hardly going to be empathetic towards the humans tasked with protecting the realms of men. Still, something about the revelation stung, made Ned feel somehow more powerless than ever in the face of the oncoming apocalypse.

“Did you inform anyone in the Night’s Watch before you deserted?” asked Ned.

Gared shook his head. “I couldn’t stay. I had to warn my family. I had to.”

“I will send for Lord Commander Mormont,” said Ned. “Your execution is stayed until you can make a full report to him of what you have seen.”

Gared slumped in his chair before peeking back up at Ned nervously. “My family, though -”

“If your information is found to be valid, the whole realm will know of it well before the Others reach the Wall,” said Ned. He nodded to Ser Rodrik, who took Gared by the arm and escorted him out of the hall. Jory lingered.

“Do you truly believe this, my lord?” asked Jory.

“Jory, you must not speak of what I am about to tell you to anyone,” commanded Ned.

“I swear it by the Old Gods and the New,” said Jory, immediately.

“This isn’t the only information we have about the Others coming south,” said Ned. “I cannot explain to you or to anyone the source, but it is trustworthy. The White Walkers live, and they are marching for the Wall.”

Jory mouthed the last few words to himself then asked, “If you cannot tell anyone else of the source, is that why you are questioning the deserter? To convince others?”

“Exactly,” said Ned. “I cannot stress enough how sensitive this source is. You must never speak of it again, on pain of death.”

Jory’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly. He knew that Ned would not make such a threat lightly. “I won’t, my lord. Not ever.”

“Summon Maester Luwin for me,” said Ned. “I need to send a raven to the Wall.”

-

It took another three weeks for the letter to arrive, but it came, as Sansa always knew it would.

Jon Arryn, once Hand of the King, has been found guilty of high treason. He has been stripped of all titles and has been sent to serve on the Wall for the remainder of his days.

#sansa stark #arya stark #theon greyjoy #theonsa #got #fic

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Patients AU

Jaime Lannister may be a patient at the King’s Landing Hospital, but that doesn’t mean he is in any way patient. He is only “allergic to bullshit,” a note Jaime keeps adding to his medical report, even though the nurses strike it out every time, much to the young man’s dismay. He is there to get treatment for his injured hand, even though Jaime would much rather be back in the mountains, as climbing is his one true passion. However, that same passion is what got Jaime into the hospital because he sustained that hand injury during a hiking trip and now suffers from the aftershocks of infection and severe bone damage.

And no matter what Doc Tarly may say, Jaime will not have that amputation.

He is that hand, after all.

Something new happens for a change when someone from the military appears on Jaime’s floor, who soon turns out to be a woman, even though she easily passes for a guy. The tall blonde wears a thick bandage on the left side of her face and otherwise isn’t really pretty to look at, but Jaime will admit that even in baggy army pants, those legs seem to go on forever.

At first, Jaime reckons that the female soldier is just here for visit, maybe for some colleague who got a worse injury than her and was brought here, or to talk to some medical colleague as she is busy going through reports, seemingly knowing what to make of them. However, that is when Doc Tarly approaches and starts to fuss that the woman never should have gotten out of bed, after all she is “a patient, not the doctor,” though the blonde woman isn’t having any of it: “They wouldn't show me my report - and now I know why. That medication is far too low. I told you specifically to go for the highest dosages possible.”

“And I already told you over the phone that I want to increase the dosages over time so that your system can adjust. Those are strong medications, which take a toll on the immune system...,” Sam insists, but the soldier, yet again, won’t have it, "You don't have to tell me that, but you may recall that I have places to be, so I will not ease into much of anything. I have a schedule and a flight booked back to the warzone, and I have any intention to board that flight. So we should get started ASAP so that I am finished with the treatment by the time I get on that plane.”

Jaime watches the exchange in perplexity, only to blurt out asking, "Wait, I get sent out of the office when I talk to you like that and you take advice from her, Doc? That seems unfair!"

"I am a doctor myself," the woman retorts, pointing at the pass clipped to her uniform reading Dr. Brienne of Tarth. "Hence, the case is quite different. And who are you anyway?"

"Jaime Lannister. You can become my best friend if you tell the Doc that he won't get to chop off my hand. He seems to listen to you,” Jaime bargains. “Or at least you manage to scare him!”

"I don't have time for this," is all she has to say before turning her attention back to the dark-haired doctor. "Sam, with all due respect, I need a higher dosage. We should tackle this with all measures necessary. I need to be back in the warzone ASAP."

"How about we start by you actually acting like a patient for a change and return to bed? And then we discuss the dosages another time, yes?" Sam suggests, and Brienne, if very reluctantly, starts to walk ahead. Jaime watches the two leave, only to see how Dr. Tarly almost has to catch her from falling as she staggers back to her room. It may be that she is strong, but there is no doubt in Jaime’s mind that her condition is serious, very serious.

As he has nothing else to do, Jaime starts to pick up interest in the female soldier, even more so when he catches her video chatting with someone and suddenly sounding almost sweet, which stands in stark contrast to her bossing around and not wanting to talk to anyone, himself foremost.

Brienne, for her part, doesn't want to get involved in much of anything, focusing all of her efforts on getting out of the hospital. After all, she has more important matters to handle than sit around and wait for Sam to come around doing things more closely to the health plan Brienne set up before she was forced to relocate to the capitol. And Jaime Lannister only ever proves to annoy her and keep her from just that, acting as though he owned that floor, waltzing his way into her room without ever knocking, asking her all kinds of questions Brienne does not want to answer.

“You, sir, are a miserable pain in the ass.”

“But at least I have a great ass.”

However, things start to warm up between the two when Brienne helps out Jaime when he has a dizzy spell following another spike in his fever due to the infection without calling in the docs as Jaime doesn’t want to get yet another lecture about how he should follow through with amputation. Thus, she helps him back to bed and tends to him, taking the time to listen to him and his problems, which is a change for Jaime. As the two continue to talk, she can’t help but note that Jaime, for all his outgoing nature, never has anyone coming for visit.

“That stands to reason. I don’t want anyone to come and by now people have understood it. Took long enough to train them in that regard.”

“Why wouldn’t you want that?” she asks.

“I don’t want them to see me being all miserable and pathetic,” Jaime explains. “Tyrion, my little brother, took it the hardest. He is about as stubborn as I am and wanted to come by when I told him to stay home. We speak over the phone regularly, but I want to be at the top of my game once I see my brother again, if only to prove him wrong.”

"Because he also think you should have the amputation,” Brienne concludes. “And you want to show him that you don’t need it.”

"I am the only one who seemingly thinks I shouldn't have my hand chopped off,” Jaime huffs. “In fact, I seem to be the only one who wants me to keep that hand. But that’s the thing, there are no men like me, only me.”

Brienne thus also reveals the nature of her condition to Jaime soon enough: She got caught up in a wildfire explosion while in the warzone. The issue is that wildfire, a very potent, actually prohibited bio weapon, keeps eating away at tissue even after the explosion is long since over. Sam is one of the few experts who specialized in treating this kind of injury, using his knowledge from his previous research on Greyscale, which is why Brienne was brought to King’s Landing for treatment.

“If I had stayed in the warzone without getting special treatment, I may lose more and more facial tissue and look even more like the beast I used to be called as a girl than those kids ever would have known.”

And while Brienne bears the highest respect for Sam and values him as a colleague and friend, she would rather have him choose a more aggressive treatment, one that works faster. She can take it. She has to because she has any intention to be back in the warzone as soon as she can.

“I have someone waiting for me there.”

“Your… boyfriend?” Jaime asks cautiously. Because he assumed that it was her sweetheart on the other end of the line who managed to make her sound all sweet and kind for a change.

“No, not my boyfriend. Just a boy,” Brienne answers. “Podrick Payne.”

She took care of him when she found the young adult alone and abandoned in the midst of the warzone, with his family dead and no one to take proper care of him. Thus, Brienne decided to take him into their military camp under the pretense that he was her trainee, wanting to become an army doctor himself. However, she is well aware that the military only ever tolerated that because she was the one raising her voice, after all, Selwyn Tarth is one of the most respected members of the army, and Brienne remains uncertain about Podrick’s safety for when she is not around to make sure of it.

To make matters impossibly worse, jurisdiction and bureaucracy keep eating away at her about as much as the wildfire: When Brienne had to go to King’s Landing, she had to leave Pod behind as he didn’t have papers on him by the time he was found and he is a young adult already. Furthermore, Brienne is not his foster or adoptive mother in their books – and neither does she consider herself such – which is why he was not granted the privilege to come along, even though her father already made phone calls on her behalf. Ever since, Brienne has been fighting both the wildfire and the jurisdiction, which only ever makes matters worse for her, redirecting energy she would rather focus on getting better on worrying about Pod and making phone calls. Yet, Brienne remains determined to get back to the warzone to finally be reunited with Podrick and stay there until it’s figured out and she can take him away from there at last.

As time progresses, Jaime and Brienne grow closer and closer as both can connect to one another in unexpected ways, sharing in the frustration over their respective injuries and apparently mindsets, too. And while they continue to fight over the smallest of things, they agree on the important matters.

Brienne eventually gives Jaime the honest if heartfelt advice to have the amputation because then he can fight. She knows people who serve even with prosthetics.

“Why not climb mountains with it?”

She would rather trade with Jaime because then she could just get over with it. The vicious thing with her kind of injury is that it keeps spreading and she has to rely solely on the medication to work. There is nothing Brienne can do other than endure, whereas Jaime can put an end to the suffering and start over new. By contrast, she can't start over, and Brienne knows that if she goes with the wildfire burn not under control, things may turn truly ugly for her as the infection may well end up killing her, which is why she both has to get to Pod fast while at the same time has to get truly better before she can, so that Podrick can finally get the life he deserves.

Jaime, in turn, gives Brienne some good advice when he keeps reminding her that she has to think about herself, something that Brienne completely abandoned ever since she joined the military and especially ever since Pod stumbled into her life. And for the first time in a felt eternity, Brienne finds someone who is not a doctor who keeps supporting her, who won’t leave her side when she is getting the chills from the treatment or takes her hand when she goes through the extraction treatment that Sam designed to get the bad tissue so that new can grow, which is truly torturous to endure.

At the same time, Jaime finds someone in Brienne who is apparently a doctor, but not his doctor, who tells him that he is worth more than this hand and that there are alternatives for him. Brienne supports him by telling him the truth while at the same time leaving the choice up to him. She doesn’t pressure him and understands his reluctance to have the amputation.

And so, it isn’t until long that they find comfort and a bit of healing in each other’s arms, a bit of bliss in otherwise horrid situations as both still have to make the truly tough decisions with regards to their health, their future.

However, Brienne's deadline is drawing to a close and things are still not looking too bright for her. While the spreading of the wildfire has worn down, there is still continuous tissue damage happening, which is why it is essential that she stays on the medication and constant observation. Brienne is grows frantic, even though she tries to overshadow it by being her overly determined self. Jaime notices of course, and more than anything he wants to help the woman he apparently fell in love with in the hell of this hospital.

Which means that both now have to make some life-changing choices, not just with regards to their health, but also about what they want their life to look like after they leave the hospital. And it is not yet out whether there is a chance of healing for either one of them, or the infections spread too far already…

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got moodboard #got aesthetic #moodboard #aesthetic #wacky tries gimp #wacky writes fanfic #fanfic #ficlet #in smol

[the-jade-cross]

The Lannister Wolf - Part 3 Chapter 3

“I still cannot believe that they haven’t tried to take you prisoner or kill you,” Jaime observed.

Evelyn shrugged as she sat before him, tending to his wounded arm, “They did, but failed.”

Jaime smirked weakly at her reply but hissed when she poured water over his wound.

“When we get to Harrenhal tomorrow, this needs to be tended to immediately.” Evelyn observed.

Jaime rolled his eyes, “I doubt Locke and his friends would allow their prisoner to get medical treatment, considering they either rape or remove a limb from their prisoners.”

“You know, your hand is not a limb. You still have the rest of your arm, “Evelyn observed. “I could have been worse.” “How?” Jaime snapped.

Brienne was about to scold Jaime for being rude when Jaime felt a chill run down his spine as the stranger looked at him from within the depths of her hood.

“Your head could have been removed,” Evelyn pointed out with a deadpan tone in her voice.

Jaime looked down, suddenly feeling guilty.

“The Kingslayer makes a valid point though,” Brienne intervened. “How will he get treatment when Locke will not even let him near the fire for warmth?”

Evelyn smiled and while the two couldn’t see it, they sensed mischief radiating off the mysterious stranger.

“Locke cannot deny you treatment if you aren’t his prisoners.”

Jaime frowned, “I doubt he is going to free us.” However, Brienne caught onto Evelyn’s plan. “You’re going to take us prisoner from him?”

Jaime’s eyes suddenly widened and he tried to scoot away from Evelyn, “Why would you want us as prisoners?”

Evelyn chuckled, “I have no need of prisoners, which is why I will set you free the moment you two are safe and cared for.” “but why?” Brienne insisted. “Why spend so much time and effort helping us, to not get anything in return?”

Evelyn smiled, “Closure. That’s what I get.” Brienne and Jaime looked at her confused, but Jaime yelped when Evelyn pulled him back in order to rebandage his hand.

“Though, if you do want to do something for me, you could relay the message.”

“TO whom?” Brienne asked, wholly intrigued.

Evelyn finished tying Jaime’s bandage and set about using the rag and water to clean off the mud and blood from his arms.

“Cersei Lannister. Tell her that I may not be the one to come and take her down but tell her that she will pay for the things she has done.” Jaime’s eyebrows shot up in amusement, “Why is it that my sister is on the top of every hit list?”

“Gee,” Evelyn observed sarcastically, “I wonder.” Brienne covered her mouth to hide her grin but Jaime noticed.

“At least there will be one person I’ll get to see when I get home who isn’t on a hit list or out to kill me.” The guy remarked.

“Who?” Brienne teased. “Your stable boy?”

“My wife,” Jaime snapped back defensively.

Evelyn felt her heart freeze. He didn’t know…. H didn’t know she ran…. He didn’t even know that she had been with child at the time she left…

“How long has it been since you were home Kingslayer?” Evelyn asked.

Jaime pursed his lips in thought, “Almost a year and a half…. Maybe twenty months.” Evelyn chuckled, “Your poor wife. I hope your sister didn’t try to do anything in those twenty months of absence.”

Jaime bit his lip, “Even if she did, I know Evelyn could take care of herself. She was always able to handle herself without me. Whatever she chose to do in my absence, I know it was the right thing to do.” Evelyn felt her heart skip a beat. Even after a year of being apart from her, after a year of being a prisoner of her brother, after losing his hand and dignity, he still trusted her.

Brienne seemed to notice Evelyn’s interest in the young Stark who had taken the name of Lannister. An interest in a girl she had never met, obviously something Brienne held in common with this stranger.

“it sounds like you love her a great deal,” Evelyn said at last, skillfully disguising the lump in her throat.

Jaime smiled, his eyes drifting into another world with a look of fondness in his eyes, “Aye, I love her more than anything.” Brienne noticed the way the stranger was totally absorbed in Jaime’s words and it confused her.

“I just hope that when I return, she will still love me,” Jaime whispered.

Evelyn smiled, “if this lady was able to make the Kingslayer’s heart skip a beat, I am sure she will love you till her dying breath.” Jaime smiled sadly before turning to look across the camp at where Locke and his men were watching them warily.

“That bracelet,” Brienne said, pointing to the bracelet on Evelyn’s wrist, the only form of jewelry that the stranger appeared to be wearing.

Evelyn looked down at what Brienne was referring to and smiled. “My brother gave it to me when I was but a child.” Jaime studied the bracelet and Evelyn was glad that she never wore it around him and had kept it hidden in her bags until the day she ran away, then she brought it out and hadn’t removed it since.

“Eve!” a ten-year-old Jon called out.

Evelyn turned to see Jon dragging himself through the knee-deep snow which, for little Jon who hadn’t yet hit his growth spurt, was closer to his mid thighs than his knees.

“What is it Jon?” Evelyn asked, sitting up from where she had been lying on her back on her and Jon’s thinking rock, leaving a print of her body in the snow.

Jon finally reached the thinking rock and climbed up to sit in front of Evelyn, “How in the world do you not freeze to death lying in the snow?” Evelyn shrugged, “Maybe I just have a warmer body than you.”

Jon nodded in agreement, shivering. Evelyn scooted over and quickly wrapped her arms around her brother, pulling him into her side and rubbing his arms to warm him up.

“What are you doing out here if you’re so cold?” she asked, blowing warm air on his bare hands to warm them.

“I wanted to give you something,” Jon replied. “I know your birthday was three weeks ago, but this took longer to make than I thought.”

The boy reached into his pocket and drew out a small brown leather pouch barely the size of his hand and placed it in Evelyn’s hands.

Evelyn slowly moved her hands to open the pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a bracelet. Made of pure silver, the top looked like a dragon’s head and from how hard Jon spent on the band part of the bracelet, it looked like he meant for it to look like the tail of a dragon.

“it’s beautiful!” Evelyn whisper yelled, admiring the hard work that her half-brother put into her gift.

“you like it!?” Jon asked, hardly believing his ears.

Evelyn smiled and wrapped her brother in a tight hug, “I love it! I will treasure this forever!”

******

“We may never see each other again,” Nanteza pointed out as she and Evelyn walked toward the stables where the hands had brought out their two horses.

Evelyn nodded as she took the reins of her furry brown horse while Nanteza was handed the reigns of a lovely white stallion.

“That is how life is isn’t it? You meet someone but then you never see them again,” Evelyn sighed. “One of the reasons why I hate traveling because I meet new people but when I return home, I never see them again.”

“Writing is also hard because I live in Dorne and you in Winterfell,” Nanteza sighed, gathering the reins of her horse and lifting herself on with the grace of a dancer.

Evelyn smiled as she lifted herself up, a little less graceful than the slender Dornish girl before turning to Nanteza. “It is just like what you told me last night when we slept in Maya’s room. If fate sees it fit that we meet again, we will run into each other.”

Nanteza smiled, “I truly hope so. You, Maya and Lillia are the best friends I have ever had… not many people want to be friends with a bastard.”

Reaching over, Evelyn patted Nanteza’s tanned hand, their difference in skin tones contrasting before Evelyn reached into her saddle bag and drew out something.

“Here, I want you to have this.” She said, holding something small out to Nanteza.

When the girl looked at the cold metal object in her palm, she saw that it was an arrowhead. Long and slender, not bold and large like a hunting arrow nor incredibly slender and cylinder shaped like a warrior’s arrow but unique and elegant, the two-pointed barbs swirled around the arrow shaft like spiral stairs before disappearing into the end of the arrow where it would attach to the wooden shaft.

“It’s beautiful,” Nanteza whispered, running her fingers over the razor-sharp tip.

“My brother Jon is teaching me how to work with metal and I wanted to design my own arrowheads so when I grow up, my arrowheads are completely different from everyone else’s. Sort of like my trademark!” Evelyn explained. “This is my favorite design. I want you to have it.”

Nanteza smiled, her cheeks heating up at the mention of Jon before she tucked the arrowhead into her pant pocket, “Thank you Eve. I’ll always keep it with me.”

“Hey Warlock,” Brienne whispered, snapping Evelyn out of her thoughts. “We’re here.”

Evelyn lifted her eyes to see that she had been riding on Chance next to Jaime and Brienne who were both hand bound to two separate horses, Jaime flopping forward from exhaustion. Turning to look at where they were headed, she saw that they were riding through the gates of Harrenhal. Good. As they pulled into the muddy, soiled town and Jaime and Brienne were brought from their horses. A man with short greying hair approached them and Locke spoke loudly.

“Lord Bolton, I give you the Kingslayer!” he said, moving to kick Jaime forward but suddenly felt his foot swinging out from under him, the wrong way and he splattered in the mud.

Several of his men tried to hold back their chuckles but when the townspeople laughed, everyone else joined in. Lord Bolton lifted his eyes to see the petite, but intimidating figure move from around the fallen Locke to stand directly behind Jaime and Brienne who were both bound. He had been planning on paying Locke and throwing the two prisoners in the dungeon but when the figure placed a gloved hand firmly on both Brienne and Jaime’s shoulders to offer them support, he reconsidered his actions.

“Who is this?” he asked Locke as the man climbed to his feet, coated in mud.

“Don’t know my lord,” Locke admitted, wiping mud from his face as he glared at the back of Evelyn’s head, “Just came on us in the woods. Threatened to kill us all if we did not bring the prisoners here to be treated for their wounds.”

Lord Bolton raised an eyebrow with interest before turning to Evelyn, taking a step forward but nothing more when he saw Evelyn remove her hand from Evelyn’s shoulder to touch the heavy iron bow on her back.

“Then perhaps you were not the one who brought in our guests,” Bolton said, turning to look at Locke, “Keep your mouth shut and get out of here before you regret living.”

Locke’s eyes widened in shock and scurried back, his men following him as Bolton turned his sights back on Evelyn who had released her bow slowly.

“I take it you want a reward for bringing in these two people?” Bolton asked her.

Evelyn shook her hooded and masked head once, “They are under my protection now. They need food and the Kingslayer needs treatment for his amputation.”

“Of course,” Bolton said, having rethought trying to negotiate with the person when he saw the way the person’s eyes never left his but was aware of all the people around her. “Find suitable rooms for our guests and see to it that they have treatment. We will take later.”

Bolton turned to leave, finding it rather uncomfortable being in the presence of the unnamed stranger when suddenly Jaime spoke, having weakly gotten to his feet.

“Lord Bolton.” He said, causing Bolton to turn to face them. “Any word from the Capitol?”

“You haven’t heard?” Bolton asked, furrowing his brow, “Stannis Baratheon laid siege to King’s Landing. Sailed into Blackwater Bay and stormed the gates with thousands of men… and your sister…”

Bolton, hoping to make Jaime writhe with fear (after all, how could he pass up the chance to belittle the Kingslayer), approached Jaime and spoke softly. “How can I put this. Your sister… is alive and well.”

Brienne frowned in confusion at Bolton’s sudden change in behavior, but then she saw the threatening, warning stance that the Warlock had taken and realized that Bolton had probably seen that and had rethought his last words.

“Your father’s forces prevailed.”

Just then, Jaime’s legs seemed to give out from exhaustion before Evelyn stepped forward and looped one of his arms around her neck.

“Ser Jaime is unwell,” Bolton said, “Take him to Qyburn.”

Three of his guards approached but when Evelyn gave them a piercing glare, they moved to help her but made sure to only touch Jaime enough to support him. Brienne was escorted to a room while Jaime was taken to the healer. Evelyn took Chance to the stables and instructed the stable boy to feed him and from the way the boy avoided looking at her, she knew that she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone mistreating or stealing Chance.

As she left the stables on her way to the healer’s, she spied Ace sitting on a pole nearby. Approaching him, she reached up and ruffled his horned feathers.

“How is Calum?” she whispered.

Ace cooed and the girl smiled. “Tell Zinzi and Lady to stay safe. If it feels dangerous, tell them to move. I’ll come back to you by tomorrow evening.”

The owl rubbed his head against her cheek before flying off. When Evelyn eventually found the healer’s hut, she entered to find the man sitting across from Jaime, unwinding the crude bandages from Jaime’s arm.

Both looked up when she entered, light flooding into the dark room before she closed the door.

“How is he?” she asked Qyburn who gave her a wary look.

“He’ll live. The corruption has spread, I fear it must be cut away. The safest course would be to take the whole arm off.” Qyburn explained.

“Then you’ll die,” Jaime warned. “You are no maester. Where’s your chain?”

Evelyn sighed as she searched through her bag for the thing she knew Jaime would need.

“The citadel stripped me of it. They found some of my experiments too bold,” Qyburn replied. “I can leave your upper arm, make the cut at your elbow.”

Just as those words left the man’s mouth, Jaime grabbed him by the neck with his good arm and squeezed, “I don’t need my right hand to kill you.”

“Ser Jaime,” Evelyn scolded, almost forgetting to disguise her voice. “Let him help.”

Jaime released the man and Qyburn continued. “I can take away the rotting flesh and try and burn out the corruption with boiling wine.”

Jaime nodded in satisfaction, humming at the suggestion.

“With any luck that will suffice but you will need milk of the poppy,” Qyburn told him.

Jaime shook his head violently, “No milk of the poppy.”

The man frowned, “There will be pain… quite a bit actually.”

“I’ll scream.” Jaime suggested.

Qyburn was about to argue further when Evelyn placed her gloved hand on his shoulder and she knelt before Jaime, holding out a small cup of water that had a pink tint to it.

“This will help with the pain,” she explained.

Jaime stared at the liquid skeptically, “What is it?”

“An herb smashed into a liquid,” Evelyn explained. “It was used in the olden days before Milk of the Poppy was discovered. It will numb your body long enough for the maester to fix you.”

Jaime went to object but was met by a pair of shadowed eyes, warning him to not argue and he took the glass, downing the liquid.

Evelyn nodded in satisfaction before turning to the maester who began to prepare his instruments, “I will wait outside.”

The maester nodded and Evelyn headed to the door but not before a weak hand gripped her wrist and she turned to see Jaime grabbing her wrist with his left hand.

“Do you think Evelyn will hate me when she sees what I have become?” he asked her.

Evelyn smiled, feeling tears prick her eyes and thanked the heavens for her hood and mask, “She loves you for who you are. Not for who you aren’t. I have a feeling she will love you even if you shaved all your hair.”

Jaime chuckled softly at the lighthearted tone in the Warlock’s voice and he smiled faintly before leaning back, feeling his body go numb, “Thank you.”

Evelyn smiled, knowing he didn’t see it before nodding and then exiting the building. Cersei Lannister was going to pay for splitting them apart!

#got #game of thrones #jaime lannister #jaime lannister x oc

[oadara]

It irks me when people say that Dany is nothing without her dragons. GRRM described her as a warrior Queen some years ago. He compared her to Nymeria the warrior queen from Dorne. I can't find the source but I do remember reading it. I wonder how Martin feels when people try to deminish one of his favorite characters? He must take some offense or something.

Hey anon,

I’m sure GRRM is used to it by now, but I think he probably laughs to himself when people are so off about one of his characters. 

Regarding Dany, her dragons are in a way a symbolic representation of her own power. People who say she’s nothing without her dragons don’t understand the character and quite frankly have a really shitty memory. Her dragons did not make her strong enough to survive and get the respect of Drogo, or to cross the Red Waste, or to come up with the entire plan to sack Astapor without anyone’s help, or her plan to make Yunkai put down their swords with minimum bloodshed. He dragons are not what inspires her people or keeps them loyal to her, it’s her and fight to free the slaves and to treat them like people. 

It’s funny that you mentioned Nymeria because I was discussing with a friend the many similarities Dany shares with her. GRRM has compared Dany to Nymeria (who is Dany’s ancester from her great-great-grandfathers marriage to Mariah Martell) on a couple of occasions. Here is one: 

In particular, given that Nymeria was a warrior-queen, is there a certain amazon tradition?

“The Rhoynar did impact Dorne in a number of ways, some of which will be revealed in later books. Women definitely have more rights in Dorne, but I would not call it an “Amazon” tradition, necessarily. Nymeria had more in common with someone like Daenerys or Joan d'Arc than with Brienne or Xena the Warrior Princess.”

I found this fantastic comparison between Dany and Nymeria, I’ll quote my favorite parts but you can find the discussion here: (The bolded are quotes from the books.)

The refugee, the nomad, the woman wearing the literal skirt and metaphorical pants

“In the songs, Nymeria is said to have been a witch and a warrior; neither of these claims is true. Though she did not bear arms in battle, she led her soldiers on many battlefields, commanding them with cunning and skill.”

Dany is doing the exact same thing. She’s a warlord that’s not a warrior. And yes, you can be a warlord with absolutely no skill at arms, else Dany wouldn’t be called Aegon the Conqueror with teats.

Now let’s skim over Nymeria’s general history as it applies to Dany so far.

“Only Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar spoke against him. “This is a war we cannot hope to win,” she warned, but the other princes shouted her down and pledged their swords to Garin.”

In AGOT, Viserys is dreaming his fool dreams about re-taking Westeros with Dothraki. Dany knows better. She’s also somewhat skeptical of the Dothraki taking Westeros from the start, mostly thanks to Jorah Mormont educating her.

“The same fate awaited her own city, she saw.”

Nymeria runs for it after Valyria massacres the Rhoyanar men.After Drogo dies, Dany hatches her invaluable dragons. She’s also left with few Dothraki, and she has to flee from various Khals (on top of her constant running from Robert).

“Nymeria’s voyage was long and terrible.”

The difficulty of the Red Waste corresponds to this.Then, Nymeria had her Odyssey: Rhoyne -> Basilisk Isles -> jungles of Sothoryos -> Isle of Naath -> Summer Isles (Isle of Women).She couldn’t stay in any of these places, because~

“(…) arrived at Yeen to find that every man, woman, and child in that haunted, ruined city had vanished overnight.”

Haunted (to the eye) ruins, like the House of the Undying?

“The sullen wet heat oppressed their spirits, and swarms of stinging flies spread one disease after another (…)”

and

“On Naath, the Isle of Butterflies, the peaceful people gave them welcome, but the god that protects that strange land began to strike down the newcomers by the score with a nameless mortal illness”

Illness, like the Bloody Flux outbreak? Also, Missandei - one of Dany’s main helpers - is a friendly girl from Naath Dany finds somewhere at the halfway point of her journey.

“Basilisk Isles (…) only to fall afoul of the corsair kings (…) carrying off hundreds into slavery.”

and

“new towns on Basilisk Point were raided by slavers,”

Well, what do you know, Dany’s slave liberation campaign isn’t working out so well. In fact, seemingly half of the slaving Essos is sending armies against her in ADWD - Yunkai, Qarth, New Ghis, Tolos, Elyria, Volantis, the Harpies within Meereen itself.

“In the Summer Isles (…) its thin stony soil yielded little food, and many starved.”

As Dany approached Meereen, the slavers put the land around it to torch to starve her out. She still took the city, but many of her people are nonetheless starving.

“The battered, tattered remainder of the ten thousand ships sailed west with Princess Nymeria. This time she made for Westeros.”

Dany at the end of ADWD:

“Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy’s city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.”

The once and future queen

Back to Nymeria and why I think Dany will do well in Westeros~

“Dry, desolate, and thinly peopled, Dorne at this time was a poor land where a score of quarrelsome lords and petty kings warred endlessly over every river, stream, well, and scrap of fertile land.”

Wet, desolate and overflowing with corpses, at the end of ADWD Westeros is a fucked-up continent where a score of quarrelsome lords and petty kings war endlessly over everything. Euron, Tommen, Aegon, Stannis, KINGINDANORF? are just the Kings we have. (Does the Night King count?)

“Most of these Dornish lords viewed the Rhoynar as unwelcome interlopers, invaders with queer foreign ways and strange gods, who should be driven back into the sea whence they’d come.”

Yeah, Dany will have barbarians, slaves (you think Westerosi can notice they have no collars?), the infamous Imp, dragons, a trail of burning enemies behind her. She won’t get warm reception from most.

…

And they lived happily ever after

Well, probably not. I don’t see how GRRM will keep Dany on Nymeria’s track without breaking his tone.

“Though she married twice more (first to the aged Lord Uller of Hellholt, and later to the dashing Ser Davos Dayne of Starfall, the Sword of the Morning), Nymeria herself remained the unquestioned ruler of Dorne for almost twenty-seven years, her husbands serving only as counselors and consorts.”

I suppose that in a certain way, Mors can also work as Drogo, old Lord Uller as lame King Hizdahr, and the Sword of the Morning as… Jon NOT DARKSTAR, because I refuse to contemplate the possibility of Darkstar (she already did Bad Boy Daario). The husbands as consorts works for Hizadhr, and whomever her prophesized 3rd husband is, Dany will be leading in her own right - Drogon, Dracarys! helps there.

“She survived a dozen attempts upon her life, put down two rebellions, and threw back two invasions by the Storm King Durran the Third and one by King Greydon of the Reach.”

Dany already survived at least 4-5 attempts on her life - AGOT wineseller, ACOK manticore and arguably Undying, ASOS Titan’s Bastard, ADWD Poizdar do Loqust. I also don’t see Stannis bending to Dany, same for Tyrells who’ll stay with Tommen Lannister. Other possibilities for revolting kingdoms are Dorne (the irony!) and Iron Islands.

…

That was pretty awesome, there are more quote at the link if you want to read all the parallels between these awesome women. 

I will add one thing regarding Nymeria’s 3 husbands vs. Dany’s 3 husbands.

Nymeria’s first husband (Mors Martell) came from a people who are famed for their horses (Dorne), Dany’s first husband came from a people famed for their horses (Dothraki). 

Nymeria’s second husband came from Hellholt (Lord Uller), which is symbolized by a sort of fiery yin-yang thing, it’s half this and half that, it’s divided basically. Dany’s second husband was symbolized by the Harpy, half woman, and half bird. 

Finally, Nymeria’s third and final husband was Ser Davos Dayne the Sword of the Morning, I do wonder if the Sword of the Morning will play a role in the books as it has been mentioned a lot. And whether Jon will use it or not. Jon does have a connection to an actual Sword of the Morning in Author Dayne. And of course, there is the whole War for Dawn thing going one. 

Sorry, I hijacked your asked but yeah, Dany doesn’t need to wield a sword to be kickass, just look at her very kickass ancestor Nymeris. 

TTFN

#daenerys targaryen #queen nymeria #jon snow #jonerys #q&a

[trueloveforeverbeautyandthebeast]

Live Blog for Game Of Thrones 7x06 "Beyond The Wall"

# Tormund freaking Gendry out making him think that he wants to have sex with him # "smart people don't come here looking for the dead" lol Tormund has a point, this is a terrible plan # Tormund admitting Mance was wrong not to kneel repeating very similar words Dany spoke a couple of episodes ago to Jon # He was a good man, he deserved a better son :( poor Jorah, you made mistakes but you are now someone he would be proud of # poor Gendry, stands no chance arguing with the hound # Jon being a sweetheart and offering his sword to Jorah # I love Dany's northern boys bonding :) # I broke my fathers heart, your killing me Jorah :(  # "It will serve you well and your children after you" wink wink # Arya speaking about how unfair it was to be a girl in a man's world but her father was still proud of her being different, I love that # God I understand both girls, I know how much they both loved Ned and Arya would have rather died than write that letter but at the same time Sansa was manipulated into believing it was the only way to save her father from being killed so of course she wrote it # Come now Sansa I know your angry and yes the vale helped win the battle but they would of never won the battle on their own without Jon, Wun Wun, House Mormont and the Wildlings # "you never would have survived what I survived" neither girls could have survived each others situations and both suffered differently but greatly # Arya cutting to the root of Sansa's fear knowing she doesn't want the northern lords to read her letter #damn Iceland is beautiful # Gingers I hate, lol Sandor I wonder if he still thinks of Sansa # Dick I like it lol # I want to make babies with her lol # "does she want to carve you up and eat your liver" "you do know her" lol # Beric trying to convert Jon to the Lord Of Light and Jon not being interested # Excuse me Beric, are you saying Jon will never be happy because his being brought back. I hope your bloody wrong # Tyrion not happy at not being called a hero # Dany telling Tyrion she's happy his not a hero because she doesn't want him to die. Aww :) # "they all try to outdo each other, who can do the stupidest bravest thing" Dany you too are in that list lol # Haha Tyrion telling Dany all the heroes fall in love with her and Dany vemently denying it # "I suppose he stares at you longingly because his hoping for a successful military alliance" omg I love Tyrion # "his too little for me" lol Dany coming up with lame excuses to deny her feelings # "I know your brave" aww massive feels # lol Tyrion and Jamie promising to keep their girls well behaved, like they could # I'm not sure I'd call Dany impulsive, passionate maybe due to her keeping her emotions bottled up but executing the Tarly's to me was not impulsive, she didn't see another option though they could of taken the black but denied it # Tyrion trying to instruct Dany on the importance of understanding her enemies to better predict them, good advice # Yep Dany and Tyrion are most definitely going forward with breaking the wheel, I wish we knew the details # Dany lashing out after Tyrion brings up the very sensitive subject of a heir, Tyrion not realizing how much Dany yearns for a human child in her arms # god damn those polar bears are terrifying # someone bloody save Thoros! Go Jorah, poetic The bear kills the wight bear # Littlefinger you liar # Sansa stating how shit the northern lords are # "I don't know her anymore" that's sad # Jorah and Thoros talking about the siege of Pyke and Thoros doesn't even remember he was so drunk lol # hey get your hands off Jorah's throat! # Damn Jon kicking ass, killing a white walker. Your doing amazing sweetie! # wow the wildlings are like vampires, kill the sire and the underlings die # omg shut it up, it'll get others # ouch poor Sandor, at least it isn't a normal zombie otherwise he'd be doomed # Jon knowing bad shit is about to go down so he orders his new bro Gendry to write his future wife a letter to save them # Jorah being the first to realize they are on a frozen lake # Yes fall into the lake you bloody zombies # Run bloody faster Gendry # Concerned daddy Davos :) # Poor Thoros :(  # Jon taking The Hound's drink to burn Thoros body lol I see you show putting Jon on a elevated spot to make him look as tall as The Hound ;) # Jorah being the one to point out the sire white walker dies, the wights he makes die. Damn my brave bear is so smart # "Daenerys is our only chance" aww # Beric pointing out if they kill the night king the war will be over # Sansa gets invited to Kings Landing and is all "hell no, never going back to that dump full of horror again" # Damn right Sansa, you need to stay and help prepare for the north. I don't really think Arya or Bran have any desire to manage the north if she left. # Brienne worrying over Sansa :) # Sansa being a Braime shipper, I love it # wouldn't call Winterfell the safest place Sansa as when the white walkers breach the wall Winterfell will be one of the first places they go # Sansa being cold to Brienne :( Brienne only wants you to be safe Sansa # "the most important person in the world can't fly off to the most dangerous place in the world" so here for protective Tyrion # omg that dress is so beautiful, best dress I've ever seen in game if thrones. The pureness of the white, the almost dragon scales, the vibrant gold down the back and yet still being practical enough to have room to wear riding pants # Tyrion willing the risk the deaths of Jon/Jorah and co if Dany stays safe # "If you die, we're all lost...everyone, everything" :( # Dany being the impulsive hero she said Jorah and Jon are # Tyrion on the verge of tears :( # Sandor you bloody idiot, you just gave your only defense away out of anger # oh no the lake has completely frozen over :( # yes Jorah, keep kicking ass # Jorah saving Jon! :) # Jon very protective of their captured wight lol # where the hell are you gonna fall back to Jon your surrounded in the middle of a lake # come on guys bloody save Tormund # Yes Sandor the hero, that's what I'm talking about # loved Jon's little spin of his sword # poor nameless wildling being torn apart by a wight horde while Jon watches # Jon looks so defeated like his accepted his gonna die :( # here comes Jon's wifey with her dragons and epic music # Wow the graphics of Ice and Fire look so epic, burn them all! # Dany looking like a beautiful warrior queen atop Drogon # Jon staring up at Dany in awe # Jon pushing past all the taller guys like Tormund to get closer to Dany :) # Jon and Dany reaching for each others hands desperate to touch each other ;) # All the guys climbing up on Drogon while Jon stays fighting and Jorah calls for him # omg Sandor impaling the wight on one of Drogon's spikes lol # Tormund looks shook staring at Dany # Dany looking back at Jon, going hurry up bae # omg No, Viserion screaming in pain as the Night Kings magical staff destroys his insides 😧😧😭😭 # Dany watching her baby fall from the sky and die, not believing what she's seeing😭😭 # omg Drogon crying and Rhaegal trying to follow Viserion😭😭😭 # Viserion's beautiful golden eyes closing😭😭😫 # I can't believe Viserion is dead, he was by far the sweetest. He was the smallest, most gentle dragon who was the most affectionate and in the books didn't have a desire to hunt like his brothers instead wanted to curl up to his mother and have his belly rubbed😭😭😭😭 # Everyone looking in horror at what happened and Jorah looking at Dany knowing this is destroying her😭😭😭 # Jon turning and fighting in so much anger knowing one Dany's children are dead and giving the Night King the evil eyes # Jon knowing they plan on killing more of Dany's children and willing to sacrifice himself so they can all get away😱😱😭 # Dany watching Jon, someone else she loves going down in the lake😭😭😭 # Dany giving the Night King evil eyes before she gets the hell out of there # Drogon being smart and learning from field of fire 2.0 to swerve to avoid being hit # Jorah falling off Drogon before Tormund saves him # Dany looking down holding back her tears for Jon and Viserion knowing she has too much responsibility to break down😭😭😭 # omg Jon is alive! Go baby, saying that though multiple people have almost drown in this show but none have died # Benjen saving Jon from certain death with his incredible fire swinging cannon ball # Jon being so shocked to see his uncle and wanting him to come with him :( # Jon seemingly watching as Benjen is overrun but with this show who knows😭😭 # Dany looking so crushed but wanting to wait a little longer holding on to a slither of hope that she hasn't lost two special someone's she cares for😭😭😭😭😭😭  #Dany about to leave before the horn blows once and sees Jon on a horse # Dany looking in horror as Davos and the others strip Jon of his wet clothes showing his black and blue bruised body and all his unhealed scars knowing Davos was right and he really took a knife in a knife in the heart😱😱 # yuck Arya, having a bag full of faces is really unhygienic that's not what the house of black and white taught you😷😷 # damn Arya, you sure know how to creep the hell out of your sister # poor Sansa, she doesn't understand her younger siblings. Bran being the three eyed raven, Arya being a faceless assassin # Sansa not wanting to play Arya's game of faces just wanting to know what the hell is going on # "the world doesn't let girls decide what they're going to be" damn that is so true in Westeros😒😒 # Jesus Arya, are you screwing with your sister and playing the game of faces for yourself. I seriously doubt Arya would have any desire to be like Sansa or kill her sister for that matter. # wow Sansa seriously thought Arya was gonna hurt her # I wonder how long Dany has been there, with her change of hair and clothes I'm guessing it's been a few days. Has she been taking shifts or been there the entire time I wonder # "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" Dany trying to hold back her tears😭😭😭 # oh wow Jon taking her hand wanting to comfort her even though his suffering too😭😍😭😍 # Even though Dany lost her child, she doesn't regret it knowing she had to see the white walkers for herself😞😖 # "the dragons are my children... They're the only children I'll ever have" Dany you are breaking my heart and I hope your wrong😭😭 # "we are going to destroy the night king and his army and we'll do it together. You have my word" oh Dany your killing me😭😭😭 # "Thank you Dany" damn Jon already starting with the nicknames😏😏 # "how about my queen" omg Jon's voice is pure sex when he says that. The way his looking at her, that voice no way he means that as just his fealty😍😍😏😏 # "They'll all come to see you for what you are" omg Jon your killing me😍😭😍😭 # the way slowly puts her hand in his and Jon looks down at their joined hands😍😍😍 # "I hope I deserve it" book/S1 Dany finally coming out and it's breaking my heart😍😍😭😭😭 # The way Jon is looking at her omg 😍😍 # the way the feelings overwhelm Dany and she tries to pull away but Jon holds on to her tighter omg and just stares into her eyes with so much love 😍😍😍 # Dany knowing right then how they both feel about each other and pulling away and Jon's look and breath of utter disappointment # Jon's heavy breath as he pretends to sleep as Dany composes herself and leaves then his heavy breath as he opens his eyes once she's gone😍😍😍 # what the hell are they doing to Viserion, let his soul rest in peace😠😠😠 # don't touch him asshole😠😠 # oh no poor Viserion, his one of them now and the only way I can see this ending is Dany being forced to kill him to let his soul rest like she did with Drogo😭😭😭😵😵 #Viserion deserved better! 😭😭

#gots7 #beyond the wall #game of thrones #jonerys #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #got 7x06 #jorah mormont #viserion #snowstorm #tyrion lannister #jon x daenerys #dany and jon #daenerys stormborn

[wintermell]

disarmed

Here’s the first fic for the 3 for 300! This one got 12 votes, and was the second highest. I accidentally deleted the asks I got, so I don’t know who sent me this prompt (if it was you, let me know!).

Sansa asks Jon (her husband and king) to teach her to fight with a sword and she's surprisingly good at it, proud Jon and fluffly Jonsa please ❤️

disarmed

(ao3)

“I’d like to learn how to fight.”

Jon raises his eyebrows and sets aside his ale. “Why?”

Sansa neatly spreads blackberry jam across a piece of bread. Her hair is in a simple braid, and she wears a plain light blue dress with an embroidered shawl draped across her shoulders.

“I don’t know. It seems useful. I’d want to be able to protect myself if I must,” she says.

“My love, you know that I’ll always protect you. I’d fall on my sword if you asked.” Jon reaches over to intertwine their fingers.

“Gods, stop being so dramatic. All she did was ask you to teach her how to fight, and you’re spouting out a fucking song,” Arya grumbles over her plate of eggs and sausage. “If you don’t teach her, I will.”

“That settles it, I suppose.” He kisses his wife’s cheek. “We can start this afternoon.”

Bran sips his tea. “Can I watch? I’d like to see Sansa knocking Jon silly.”

“Sansa couldn’t do that,” says Arya. “Jon is an experienced fighter, it would take someone great to knock him down.”

“I’ll bet ten silver dragons that you’re wrong.”

“I’ll take that bet!”

“Are you really so doubtful of me, sister?” Sansa asks, popping a strawberry in her mouth. “I’m simply wounded.”

They laugh at each other and begin discussing the latest gossip in Winterfell. It’s never hard to find a reason to be happy anymore. The war is in the past, and they’ve all survived their share of struggles. With the dawn came a new chance for happiness, and the Starks had taken every chance they could get.

Come midday, Jon stands out in the training yard, fiddling with his belt as he waits for Sansa. Life in Winterfell is busy as usual. Maids carry baskets of clothes to wash and mend, and squires cross the yard quickly to deliver assorted items. Tormund and Davos are chatting over by the armory, while Brienne polishes her armor nearby.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had to finish stitching these pants.”

Sansa is in an outfit similar to his, but sewn more precisely to fit her body. The sight of her in a jerkin and trousers is enough to make him hard, and he shifts his stance so that Tormund won’t keel over and die laughing. She carries Oathkeeper, glinting proudly in the afternoon light.

“You can’t use that,” he says. “You should start with a sparring sword.” Sansa huffs indignantly.

“Brienne said it was fine if I borrowed it. Besides, you’ve got Valyrian steel. Who’s to say you won’t cut me?”

He laughs at how she lifts her chin with pride. “I’d never dream of hurting my lady wife.”

Tormund grumbles at them to get on with it, already, and Jon begins teaching her the basics. She handles them surprisingly well. Brienne watches and comments, giving Sansa advice on where to keep her shoulders or place her feet.

“It’s a bit like dancing, isn’t it?” Sansa says, repeating a blocking movement. Her posture is impeccable, and Jon struggles to make corrections. It’s almost enchanting, the way she moves with such grace and purpose, like a bird in flight.

“We can start sparring, if you like,” he says.

“Do you think I’m ready?” she asks.

“Aye, you’re a quick learner. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. We can start slow.”

“In my experience, I thought you liked it fast.” Sansa winks at him, her sapphire blue eyes like two oceans inviting him to drown.

“I… er…”

“C’mon!” Arya and Bran are sitting near Brienne, watching intensely. “I’m betting on you, Jon!”

Jon disarms her easily the first few times, but she begins to pick up on his pattern of movements, sidestepping his advances and dodging his swings. Jon is a talented swordsman, but he finds it hard to fight when it’s Sansa’s beautiful face across from him.

“You’re being too gentle,” she says. “I’m not made of paper. I won’t get better if you’re not trying.”

He tries to gather his wits, but it proves impossible. She’s getting better at predicting his actions and perfecting her own. Sansa takes a swing at his shoulder, and he dodges and strikes the flat side of his sword at her knees. She falls over unceremoniously.

“Shit, Sansa, I’m sorry,” he says, offering her a hand up. Brushing her hair out of her face, she composes herself and brandishes Oathkeeper.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. You need to be-”

“I don’t want to be too rough. If you got hurt-”

“-harder, Jon.”

He gulps, while a confident grin spreads over his wife’s face. Their blades clash again. His mind begins to wander, and he finds himself staring at the soft curve of her neck. She’s got such a pretty neck, with her smooth skin that reminds him of pure silk. He’s spent many nights trailing kisses down her neck, leaving small marks that she’d fuss over the next morning.

He’d quite like to see her in nothing but that jerkin, he thinks, and is already falling victim to the sweet fantasies in his head.

A sudden burst of pain in his arm jars him back into reality. Sansa has sliced through his sleeve, leaving a substantial gash in his upper arm. He looses his footing and tumbles to the ground, while Longclaw lands in the mud.

“Fuck!” he yelps, in a pitch that’s too high to be dignified. Tormund cackles in delight.

“Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry!” Sansa cries, immediately kneeling by his side. “You might need stitches for that- gods, I’m an idiot-”

He cuts her off by crashing his lips against hers. She melts into his arms with a needy moan. One of her hands rests on his upper thigh, travelling upwards and making his breath hitch. For a while, it’s just them, forgetting the world as they stay tangled in each other’s arms.

“Oi, Snow! Enough of that! This is a courtyard, not a bloody bedroom,” Tormund grumbles, shaking his head. Davos is looking away politely. Arya hands over ten silver dragons to Bran while complaining bitterly.

“I think I’m done with training for today,” says Jon, barely repressing the urge to whisk her away and have her against any available surface.

“I’m not. I’ve already knocked you to the ground, and I think I’d like to do it again.” She presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth and fetches her sword, leaving him thoroughly disarmed.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jonsa fic #jonsafw #3 for 300

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Do you know that feeling most people have that they need to kiss a certain person /right the f now/? I need the same but with hand holding - no matter the verse.

A/N: I know next to nothing about fencing.

Brienne smooths the dress over her thighs. The hemline fell a little higher than she remembered from her shopping trip with Sansa. She bites her lip, unsure. The deep blue does bring out her eyes. 

There’s a soft knock on her door and she panics, wanting to slip back into her jeans and comfy sweater, even though it’s only her dad. She opens the door a crack. “Yes?” 

“We should head out soon if we’re going to make it on--” Her dad’s eyes widen. “Are you wearing a dress?” 

Brienne sighs, fearing that would be everyone’s reaction. She flings open the door. “Is it too much for the party?” 

“You look beautiful.” Her dad’s voice wavers and she nearly rolls her eyes at the emotion in his tone. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He steps forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving her alone. 

She pulls on a pair of matte black tights under her dress. Sansa would have a fit if she knew her friend was mixing navy and black, but Brienne draws a line at freezing to death for fashion’s sake. 

Jaime Lannister invited her to his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party.

They didn’t even go to the same school, but Brienne knew the invitation was a big deal, even before her best friend, Sansa shrieked about it. 

Brienne met Jaime when she started taking fencing lessons a few years before. Due to their similar heights, they got paired together often. Everything he did or said seemed to be a joke. She hated him. He never took anything seriously, but he was a fierce fighter. 

At their first competition, Jaime was in earshot when an opponent taunted Brienne. “You’re a large target, sweetheart. Maybe you should try a different sport. Like rugby.”  

Jaime charged and almost broke the guy’s nose. Since then, they’d developed a grudging respect and an unlikely friendship. But recently, with all the time they spent together, she’d begun to think of him differently.  

At their latest match, they sat in the stands next to each other, close enough so whenever Jaime moved, his arm brushed against hers. Even through the fabric of her jacket, she could feel the goosebumps pop up along her skin. They were supposed to be watching their competition, but mostly, Brienne watched Jaime out of the corner of her eye, their shoulders pressing together when he pointed out an opponent’s trick or skill. 

She was not so much a fool to think Jaime would ever be interested in her. He was beautiful. Long haired and lanky, with an easy smile. No doubt he had a line of girls waiting for him back at Lannisport Academy. 

Called for her first match, she shook off her thoughts as she warmed up. Except his was the voice she could pick out of the crowd, cheering her on as she stepped onto the piste. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before she began. 

She won her first bout, but lost her second. Frustrated, she slipped off her helmet, only to find Jaime waiting for a hug. “You did well.” 

“I should have had the second one,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Despite the thickness of their outfits, she reveled in the brief moment in his arms.  

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Jaime gave her a smile as he shook his limbs out, preparing for his bout. 

*

This is not her. She wants to tell her dad to turn around and take her back home. If Jaime likes her all dressed up, then he’ll only be disappointed by the real her, the one who prefers to wear hoodies and flannel pajama pants and throw her hair up into a ponytail. 

She didn’t even ask who else might be attending, she’d been so happy about the invitation. Letting out a shaky breath, she turns to her dad. “When we get there, you should come in for a minute.” 

He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I wasn’t invited.” 

“But you know them. The Lannisters.”

“You’ll have fun. You don’t need me there.” Fun. It isn’t the right word for any of what she’s feeling. Why was she ever excited? She keeps having visions of Jaime abandoning her by the food table to sneak off with some smaller, prettier girl. Margaery Tyrell, perhaps. 

As the car pulls up to the Lannister house, Brienne marvels at how much bigger it looks at night, looming over the other houses on the street. Only now it is decked out in white lights and tasteful decorations. There are people trickling up the curved driveway, a stately door wrapped in a large crimson bow. 

Brienne hesitates. “I’m glad you’re going,” her dad replies, ever supportive. “I hope you have a nice time. But know you can always call me. Text when you need a ride home.” 

“Oh, Jaime has his learner’s permit. I’m sure he can-” She stops, seeing the look on her father’s face. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll call you.” 

Brienne steps up to the house, her boots crunching along the driveway. At least she had not abandoned one wardrobe staple, her black combat boots. 

She rings the doorbell but there is loud music emanating from inside. The door pushes open easily and Brienne quickly sees why, an eight piece band is set up in the entryway. The hall must have twenty foot ceilings, because her gaze keeps traveling up, up. There are guests leaning over the balcony, chatting, drinking, and swaying to the music. She has no idea how she will find Jaime in all of this. 

Looking around, Brienne hopes to find a buffet or somewhere else she can seek refuge. A woman in a crimson dress hurries over to her, smiling as she approaches. She has Jaime’s smile. “You must be Brienne. I’m Jaime’s mom, Joanna.” 

The woman has kind eyes but a formal demeanor, so Brienne responds as politely as she can. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lannister.” She’s so flustered, she nearly curtsies. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“It wasn’t me. Jaime’s always been allowed to invite a few friends. He told me to be on the look out for you. He’s upstairs in the game room. It’s on the third floor. Second door to your right. You can’t miss it.” The woman gives her directions with such ease, but Brienne’s heart sinks. Of course she was not the only one Jaime invited. She expects she will find the game room full of preening girls who will no doubt make fun of her dress and boots. 

A tree decorated with gold and crimson lights is placed on the third floor landing. To the right, at the end of the hallway is a room under the eaves of the house. “Jaime?” 

The room is a teenage boy’s paradise. Various sports memorabilia line on the walls, a poole table is placed in the middle of the room, and one wall is flanked by a large flatscreen TV, hooked up to a gaming console. The image on the flatscreen pauses and Jaime lifts off a headset. “Brienne! You’re here!” He practically leaps over the back of the couch, catching her up in a brief hug. Her stomach flips at his reaction. She’s also relieved to find Jaime alone. 

When he steps back, he pauses. Brienne’s face flushes, mentally begging him not to say anything. She turns towards the television, pretending to be fascinated by whatever video game he’s playing. It doesn’t prevent her from seeing how Jaime’s gaze travels up her body. 

She steps around the couch, trying to act natural, and flops down onto the soft leather. “What are you playing?” 

“Oh, shoot. Hold on a sec.” Jaime vaults over the couch again, grabbing up the headset. “Hey, Addam? Yeah, sorry. I need to go. Catch you later.” He presses something on the controller and the game disappears, returning the TV to a black screen. 

“Addam isn’t coming?” Brienne asks, surprised. 

“Nope, not this year. He’s on vacation with his family.” He nudges her leg with his own. Brienne finally gathers up the nerve to look at him. His green eyes stand out against the dark crimson of his button up shirt, a black tie draped loosely around the shirt’s collar as if he started playing before he was fully dressed. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” 

Her skin prickles with heat. She changes the subject, hoping Jaime won’t notice the color in her cheeks. “I met your mom.” 

“Oh, yeah? How was that? The Spanish Inquisition?”

“No,” she tilts her head, thinking. “She seemed nice.” 

Jaime sighs. “I guess we should go down for a minute. At least we can get some food. Then I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart.” He stands, fiddling with his shirt and tie.

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? I’d like to see that.” 

“Well,” Jaime fumbles for an insult, his train of thought distracted by trying to tie his tie. “I hate this stupid thing,” he groans. 

Brienne stands. “Come here,” she says gently. His eyes widen, surprised, but he steps towards her. She can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. Reminding herself to breathe, she adjusts the tie so the skinny end is on top, then wraps the bigger side around twice, before flipping it up. “Hold this,” she tells him. Jaime takes the bigger end in his fingers as Brienne adjusts the skinny end, distracted by the way his breath hitches when her fingertips graze his neck. She takes the end from him and threads it through the loop at the front. “Ta da.” 

Jaime moves towards a mirror behind the door, adjusting the knot. “Where did you learn to do that?” He looks impressed. 

“My dad,” she shrugs. “He’s very big into knots. Nautical knots. Tie knots.” 

His eyes wrinkle up at the corners as he lets out a laugh. “Come on,” he gestures. “Food, then I’m kicking your ass.” 

“Right,” she nods, following him into the hallway. 

“Brienne?” 

“Hmm?” she asks, only half paying attention. 

“You look really nice.” She freezes, glancing up at him. His eyes are steady and warm. 

Her heart is beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. “Um, thanks,” Brienne murmurs. “You do too.” 

“This old thing?” he affects a high pitched voice, making her laugh. As they start down the stairs, Jaime reaches for her hand. 

His palm warm against hers before she jerks away. Her movement causes her to stumble slightly down the stairs, landing on the one below him. “What are you doing?” 

A hurt look passes over his face. The gold lights on the tree are reflected in his eyes as he studies her. “What do you mean?” 

“Jaime.” She crosses her arms over her chest. He had not been this impossible since the bickering days of their fencing lessons. 

“Brienne,” he pleads, but her thoughts are hurtling forward and she can’t understand his meaning. “I was taking your hand because, well, isn’t that what you do when you have a crush on someone and you want them to know your feelings?”  

“What?” Certain she must be dreaming. Her arms loosen ever so slightly. 

Jaime smiles, a gentle chuckle at the back of his throat. “I like you,” he repeats. “So, will you please…” He holds out his hand.

Brienne almost rolls her eyes, wants to push him, anything to break the tension. Instead, she uncrosses her arms, allowing her hand to slip into his. Jaime bends into a playful bow and her other hand clenched into a fist, mock hitting him in the stomach. “Ow!” he yelps as if she really punched him.  

Brienne holds his hand delicately, as if it might break, but Jaime threads his fingers through hers. His skin is surprisingly soft and the hairs on his arm tickle her wrist. She leans into him as they reach the second floor landing, a grin breaking across his face. “I wanted to do that for a long time,” he confesses, voice low. “Every time we sat on the bus together, coming back from a match. Wondered what you would say if I reached over and took your hand. Figured you might shove me.” 

“I might have,” she admits, unable to keep the smile off her face. “But I think I could get used to it.” Brienne squeezes his hand.    

#jaime x brienne #braime fanfiction #prompts #hand holding #new years eve

[ddagent]

More Jaime the Sex Operator. How does he describe fucking her against a wall?

Sequel to this. Not quite a direct follow-up but I hope that’s okay. 

Jaime yawned as he finished his third call of the evening. Jeyne (not her real name) liked him to pose as a high-flying businessman who came into town and used her for his own pleasure. He’d throw in a few choice business phrases as he talked about his throbbing cock. Her voice would get higher and higher before she came; Jeyne whispering how she’d count the days until he came back into town like Jaime had any control over when she called. 

Still, she paid for his television subscription and that wasn’t something to be sniffed at. 

He took a brief break, tossed his shirt in the hamper, and wondered whether his landlady would get annoyed if he took calls whilst he did his laundry. As he considered the bulging basket, his phone rang for the fourth time. Jaime attached the headset and slipped into his persona. 

“This is Jaime. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

A brief pause, and then, “It’s Brienne. We spoke last week?” As if she was calling about a job opportunity or something he was selling on the web. “I–you—”

“I told you I wanted to fuck you standing up. I had you place your hands against the wall as I fucked you with my fingers; then I fucked you with my cock as your breasts pressed against the wall.” Jaime fell back against his unmade bed. “Or was it a window? Anyone could have watched me fuck your cunt whilst you played with your breasts.” 

“It was not a window.” A huff. “It was just the wall. You remember, then.”

“Oh, Brienne, how could I forget?” 

His first-timer. She’d begged for his cock by the end. Jaime had been more than happy to give it to her; in reality, his own was straining against the material of his soft pants. He’d stroked himself in time to Brienne’s gasps as he whispered how hard he would take her; how he would pluck at her nipples and press his thumb against her clit. Jaime remembered coming with her; mouth clamped around his pillowcase lest she hear. 

He also remembered her adamancy that she would not be calling again. “Couldn’t keep away, then?” 

“For a service provider, you are incredibly rude.” Another huff. Jaime imagined her scowling. “But, yes, I…enjoyed before, and would like you to do it again.” 

His cock was already twitching; her clipped, rich voice hiding her barely restrained lust. Jaime palmed himself through his shorts. “If I ask you what you’re wearing, will you call me out again? You can be very rude yourself, you know. I’m just here, doing my job. I don’t come to your place of work and criticise you.” 

Her laugh was quite something. After a moment it petered out, and she said: “I’m wearing knickers and a t-shirt. They’re not lacy or anything, and the t-shirt isn’t white or see-through.” 

“You’re putting me out of a job.” Jaime wet his top lip. “Well, I’m just in my shorts. So let’s make it even. Take off your shirt, Brienne.” 

“Al–alright.” 

He heard the rustle of fabric. “Now touch your breasts. Cup them; massage them. Don’t touch your nipples just yet.” Brienne exhaled; a soft moan falling from her lips. “Gods, that’s it. You liked it when I played with your nipples before, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then twist them. As tight as you can bear it.” A ragged moan echoed through the phone line. Jaime slid the waistband of his shorts down and gripped his shaft. “Does that feel good?” Nothing. “Brienne, Sweetling, if you’re nodding, I can’t see you.”

“Fuck you.” 

“That’s what I’m about to do. Put your hands by your sides. Tell me how you feel.” She hesitated. “I’m here to make you feel good, Brienne. You can tell me; no judgements.” 

“My nipples are hard. They’re sore, but the good kind of sore. I ache, and I know I’m wet.” Jaime grinned. “I’m going to touch myself now.” 

A snap of elastic. Jaime pumped his shaft with his hand. “Are you, Brienne? Are you wet for me?” He buried his head in his pillow when she didn’t respond. “Come on, Blue Eyes, I won’t judge. Tell me how wet you are.” 

“Soaked.” 

“I’m hard. Harder than I think I’ve ever been.” Jaime didn’t even know if that was a lie. He just kept stroking his cock. “I want you touch yourself, Brienne. Feel how wet you are; imagine your fingers are my fingers. Imagine I’m touching your clit; sliding inside you. How many fingers can you take for me?”

“T–two. Maybe three.” 

“Keep your legs spread for me, Sweetling. Fuck yourself with your fingers; imagine they’re mine.” He was close. Too close. He had a job to do first. “Even better, imagine you’re putting on a show for me. Imagine you’re fucking yourself and driving me insane. Because you are, Brienne.”

“Jaime.”

“I hope you’re close to coming because I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.” She moaned his name; the name of the Gods, old and new. “Come for me, Brienne. Fall apart for me.” 

She did. And he fell apart right alongside her. 

#braime #jaime x brienne #agirlnamedkeith #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime #tv: game of thrones #fic: phone sex operator verse

[renaroo]

Day 1 Magic: The Broken Wheel

Disclaimer: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire series and related characters are the creative property of George R.R. Martin Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language, Past character deaths (canon and non-canon) Ships: DaenerysxSansa, past relationships mentioned including JonxDaenerys Rating: T Synopsis: [Hypothetical Ending AU] As warden of the North under Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of Westeros, Sansa finds herself host to the woman she once bent the knee to, and is concerned with the prospect of history repeating itself. Little does she know, Daenerys shares a similar concern. DanyxSansa. Sapphic September: Magic

A/N: So basically this is a perceived future where the united kingdoms stave off the Long Night and the Night King, Jon impregnated Dany, but then he died heroically in battle. This is years later, featuring Daenerys, Sansa, and the remains of both houses with the figurative and literal future for them embodied in the daughter of Dany and Jon. It got incredibly long incredibly fast 

While the Long Night had seen its end in a merciless prevailing of fire and sword, and the living men and women of Westeros and Essos were salvaged only by the innumerable losses of Westerosi and, for her concerns, particularly Northerners’ lives, it truly had been a long Winter. The longest to her memory, which reminded her of what Old Nan had terrified her with as a chid.

Fear is for the winter, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die, all in darkness. That is the time for fear, when the white walkers move through the woods.

Reality, bitterly enough, had been both greater and lesser than the tells of a midwife.

Lady Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Sworn protector of the First Men and the Free Folk, stood at the top of the eighty foot wall overseeing the white lands of her people. On her order, men and women were out there, even in the light falling snow, using brooms and at times shovels to clear the path to their hold from the Southern roads. They might not have done so happily, but they assuredly did so faithfully, and Sansa felt her gratitude for them far more than she felt the chill of winter anymore.

After a few moments of silence, Sansa took a collective breath, looking to the skies, out of instinct more than anything else, and then began to walk down from the wall, her embroidered dire wolf on her chest and the fur trimmings of her cloak nipping at the heels of her boots.

Winterfell was in a state of chaos in a way. An organized disaster under her very direction. Butchers preparing a feast worthy of a hundred men, the maids throwing out hot water over the grounds from their windows both from scrubbing the castle inside and for wetting down the fresh hay laid out over the grounds to keep ice and mud from coating where carriages and horses would be drawn in.

With a polite smile she nodded to each Northerner and Free Folk who greeted her or called her name as she passed them. But her stomach felt unsettled, and her heart heavy with memory.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Sansa,” a mocking tone came from over her shoulder.

Despite herself, Sansa turned enough to see what she already knew, her eyes rolling away from her sister as she turned back to looking where they were walking. “I told you not to do that,” Sansa admonished her sister. “Sneaking up on me like that, Arya… It just isn’t as funny as you think it is.”

“Even if it weren’t as funny as I thought, it’d still be funny,” Arya answered, picking up her step so she could be in stride with Sansa. Her clothes were heavier than Arya’s, thick with leather like armor, dull browns and dark navies. None of which was cut to the fit of a dress or even a lady’s pants like many Free Folk women would wear. Arya was just Arya. “Besides, you’re nervous and humor is supposed to help that.”

“I am not nervous,” Sansa argued, turning with Arya in toward the castle.

“You’re nervous and it’s making everyone else nervous because Lady Sansa is the Steel Wolf, she can’t be unsettled, all of her previous husbands had their cocks eaten off by dire wolves,”  Arya joked, quoting the North’s favorite rumors concerning their Warden. “If Lady Sansa’s scared, every man, woman, and child be they Northern or Free will absolutely lose their shit when a damned dragon lands inside the walls again.”

Sansa was already in the process of removing her gloves when Arya began laughing. She gave her sister a disdainful look and used one of the gloves to smack her shoulder. “Stop it,” she all but hissed at her younger sister. “And they don’t call me Lady Sansa, that’s you. Only you.”

“Well I can’t very well go around calling you Lady Stark when I’m a Stark or else I’d have to start going around calling Bran Lord Stark and seven hells if he deserves more brandishing of his incredible ego,” Arya mocked.

They continued up the tower, unspoken but fully aware of both of their destinations. Along the way people scurried about fulfilling all of Sansa’s commands from earlier that morning when she first received the raven from Dragonstone and learned that Queen Daenerys was coming to Winterfell with a full company of servants and soldiers consisting of her most loyal men and women. Not to mention her daughter and the two dragons.

Sansa couldn’t even force herself to think of the dragons.

“What do you think that she wants?” Arya asked as they made their way down the hall and toward Ban’s room.

“The Queen?” Sansa asked, as if the same question had not been racking her mind ever since the message first arrived.

“No, Brienne, she’s so indecisive about how many additional guards the hold will need,” Arya mocked. “Of course I mean the Queen. It’s not like she just arrives all the time. Like anyone goes North without reason. It’s colder here than in the South and the South still has at least two feet of snow last I visited.”

“There you go,” Sansa uttered distractedly. “Arya, the assassin, the worshipper of the Many Faced God, can travel around the world on a whim, but the moment someone else leaves their hold she has to assume the worst of everyone involved.”

“That’s because I travel all the time. It’s normal for me. It’s the rest of the world that lives, breeds, and dies in the same shit town that they were born in most of the time,” she replied candidly. “Did I tell you that the last time I saw Gendry he was in Flea Bottom? Flea Bottom. A hero of the Long Night and he was hanging around in Flea Bottom last I saw him. Who lives in fucking Flea Bottom?”

“I was born in Winterfell, I’m Lady of Winterfell, I live in Winterfell as we speak, I intend to eventually die here, too,” Sansa remarked. “What is your point, Arya? Just out of curiosity.”

“Can’t say I intended to have one outside of the fact that what you just told me was dishearteningly pathetic,” Arya replied. “I love Winterfell, it’s home. If I die here I would come back so the Many Faced God could fuck me over even more in the second life but at least in exchange I’d die somewhere other than Winterfell.”

Sansa glared at her sister before rolling her eyes and pushing open the door to Bran’s library. “Bran?” she called out, only to let out a long sigh as she saw him across the room, his eyes milked over and head tilted back in his chair as he sat by the window.

“Fucksake,” Arya muttered, marching over to their brother in irritation. “Brandon Stark!”

Sansa stood back. She did not pretend to understand the magic that supposedly ran through all of their veins, but strongest within Bran himself. It terrified her more than dragons or white walkers, the possibilities of the Old Gods having a hand on her and all of her family in a way few others had… That was information she didn’t know how to correctly process.

Arya stopped just in front of Bran and put her hands on his shoulders. “Whatever you’re watching in your head isn’t nearly as interesting as the mess Sansa’s made of Winterfell so come awake now. We don’t have time to play around like you’re dim, as funny as it is that most people in Winterfell whisper that that’s what this is.”

Bran took a deep breath, his eyes rolling back down with a blink and he looked expectantly at Arya. “You’re curious about Queen Daenerys and her intentions.”

“What, did you go and worg yourself into a mouse in the hall just to spy on what we were going to come up and tell you anyway? That’s completely useless,” Arya replied without missing a beat. “Sansa, tell him that if he’s going to go mental on us, he has to make it at least count.”

“I never waste my abilities on trivial matters. Everything the Three Eyed Raven does is for reason,” he assured Arya. “Good reason.”

With a dull look, Arya glanced at Sansa, as if she was supposed to be some sort of deciding factor in the tiff. Sansa felt a whole new wave of understanding for her mother she had never had before.

“I don’t understand any of this magic,” Sansa replied. “Bran can decide what he… worgs into and what he doesn’t. He’s a grown man.”

Bran nodded almost sagely.

“There you are, nervous again,” Arya replied, rounding Bran’s chair to grip onto its handles and push him. “Bran, what is the Queen coming to Winterfell for? Did you at least learn that instead of spying on us or whatever it is that you do.”

“Arya, the Queen is the mother to our niece,” Sansa reminded her. “Is it so outlandish to assume that Queen Daenerys would like for Princess Nathaleya to see the lands her father hailed from?”

“In all technicality, Jon was our cousin, son of Aunt Lyanna,” Bran reminded them, as if he had not told the story a hundred fold since the first days of the Long Night.

“He was our brother,” Sansa corrected. “Jon was and always shall be our brother, Bran. And even if you were very young when he left Winterfell for the Night’s Watch, I would hope you could remember him being our brother.”

“Besides, being reminded he’s not our brother makes me gag at who our cousin-in-law is to him,” Arya scoffed.

“Arya,” Sansa tried to correct.

“You both think it, too,” Arya insisted.

“I’m fairly certain that insulting the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is a doomed endeavor,” Sansa remarked. “Punishable by dragon.”

“Only if you don’t kill the dragon first,” Arya continued jokingly, She then patted Bran’s shoulder as she pushed him out into the hall. “Come on now, tell me what you know. It’s always something, isn’t it?”

Bran glanced up to Sansa for a moment. He always had that look of knowing more than he should, though for the life of her, Sansa couldn’t figure out what he was thinking then and there with that look.

“What?” Sansa asked, that time hearing the nervousness in her voice herself.

“Do you know why Queen Daenerys is arriving from Dragonstone?” he asked curiously.

“No, why would I?” Sansa asked almost defensively. “I don’t… worg or… change my faces, or… There is nothing unusual about me.”

Arya’s cackling laughter filled the hall. “Nothing is more convincing of a woman’s normalcy than her declaring it,” Arya almost howled.

“You are a living Stark,” Bran added. “There is nothing more unusual in these changing times than that.”

A depressing silence fell over the three of them for a few more strides. There was a humility to the comment that was deafening.

“Princess Nathaleya has the blood of a Stark running thick in her veins,” Sansa stated lowly. “No man nor woman lived and breathed the words of our father the way that Jon managed. No one else embodied the name of Stark as Jon did. For every silver hair on top of the princess’ blessed head there is a bone or nail or eye or heart that is Stark.” Sansa made a point of looking Arya’s way. “That must be why Queen Daenerys comes to the North. Because it is where the Stark in our Princess thrives.”

Arya raised her brows slightly before leaning in over Bran’s shoulder and whispering loudly, “Perhaps Sansa’s magic lives in her tongue and that’s what’s come to interest the Queen.”

That time, as even Bran grinned at the comment, Sansa took both her gloves and used them to hit both of her siblings over the head.

“Muñnykeā,” rolled from the silver haired child’s tongue, her head rested softly beneath her mother’s breasts, back leaned completely back against Daenerys’ stomach to resist the winds that thundered over Drogon’s scales. “Gaomagon issa lēkia zaldrīzoti mirre mazverdagon ēdrugi?”

Daenerys was curled over her daughter’s back, gripping onto the spines of Drogon’s shoulders as they rode, keeping her precious princess safe through their travels. For as much as Daenerys trusted her first borns with the life of her daughter, there was still a great danger in riding dragons.

Even for a Targaryen. Even for the Daughter of Snow.

“Nathaleya, dragons tire their wings as much as a man tires his arms or legs,” she answered her child, looking down until her chin brushed against the furry hood of her daughter’s coat. “But Drogon and Rhaegal are mostly riding the winds on this journey, so they will travel farther but slower. You will have to know the difference when you are old enough to ride a dragon on your own.”

There was a soft pout from beneath Daenerys and she leaned further back, as if trying to escape back into the mother which she came from. “Tyron iksos verdagon ao ȳzaldrīzes isse quptenka ēngos.”

“I speak in the language I choose to speak, Little One, and you shouldn’t forget it,” Daenerys replied, pressing her lips against the back of the child’s head. “We’re going a slower route so that we will arrive at the same time as the caravan. Missandei is with them and you may speak to her in any language you please. But you will speak to others in the language they know.”

For a moment, her daughter was quiet. Nathaleya bravely — far braver than Daenerys at her age — leaned across her mother’s protective arm and peered past the gliding wings of Drogon to see the snow covered valleys below as they crossed.

“Will they like me if I speak to them?” the little princess asked.

“Your family loves you, as does your kingdom, as does your mother,” Daenerys assured her.

In truth, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the North. It held so many terrible memories for everyone who had fought on her side during the Long Night, who fought for the right of all mankind to live through the very long winter they were still in. And the Starks were the key to that fight, as they were the key to the relative safety the kingdom had known for the last six years of winter.

And of course, Jon Snow, the Prince that was Promised just as Daenerys was, and the father of her child, had been every bit the living embodiment of the North itself that the only end to the Long Night was for him to deliver its end to the Night King himself. The fact that he was lost to them so soon — lost to Daenerys so soon — had made the North more bitter than cold.

But the Starks were Jon’s family, and were indispensable to Daenerys through the years. But even if the Lady of Winterfell had bent the knee years and years ago, Daenerys still doubted whether it was taken for security, taken for loyalty, or taken for Jon.

Still, Daenerys trusted a Stark word above anything else, and found that their house was not one to be concerned with compared to Southerners with their prides and far too much time to find things to complain about to their queen.

Suddenly, Nathaleya grew stiff, her body rigid against Daenerys’ before she suddenly rocked back and forth in place. Despite the number of times Daenerys had told her to not let go of Drogon’s spines, she did just that in order to reach over Daenerys’ arm and point toward the grounds.

“Muñnykeā! Konīr airy iksos! Nye kostagon ūndegon ziry!” the child declared loudly in Valyrian. “Winterfell!”

Sure enough, Daenerys could see for herself that the winter hold was fast upon them, a steady line of Unsullied and Dothraki screamers surrounding drawn carriages entering from the Southern road. Some relief finally came to Daenerys as she could see that everything seemed to be fine, that a trip North had not spelled doom for any of her trusted advisors, soldiers, or allies. Even if in the current timid peace it was difficult to imagine what might have happened to any of them, there was always the unseen threat.

Ruling, after all, was not the job gods assigned to lesser men or women.

Leaning with her body, Daenerys steered Drogon to begin a circling descent toward Winterfell. In the distance, Rhaegal saw and followed his brother’s lead. They dove together in a spectacular display, the blistering winds racing against Daenerys and Nathaleya, prompting the Queen to hold tighter to her children and also be grateful for the foresight of her Hand for putting a scarf up to the Princess’ eyes in order to keep her safe from such cold winds.

When at last they landed, it was to the calls of shock and surprise of the Northerners within the walls of Winterfell. Judging by the reactions, it was the first time many of them had seen the legendary dragons which had helped stay the white walkers six years before, even though most were certainly old enough to have fought the battle for themselves.

At the royal carriage, Tyrion was already standing beside Grey Worm and Missandei, in line from across the line of Starks greeting them likewise. Drogon lowered his neck and shoulders low enough that Daenerys could safely slide her leg over his back’s scales and stand firmly on his haunches before reaching up and taking her daughter, a hand beneath each arm, and lowering her to the ground.

Once Daenerys had stepped off from Drogon she turned and patted his scales. “Jikagon sōvegon,” she told him in High Valyrian.

Dragon wasted no time in looking upward, out of the walls of Winterfell and taking off with the same grace and tenaciousness with which he had landed. Where he went, Rhaegal followed.

Excitedly, Nathaleya pulled away her scarf and stomped through the freshly laid hay on the grounds, looking up after the dragons and waving with both arms. “Germs alas, lēkias! Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

“Nathaleya,” Daenerys said, grabbing her daughter’s shoulders to turn her to their guests and remind her of her manners.

Immediately, Nathaleya straightened up and folded her hands against her thighs before hurriedly stepping over toward the faces she knew. Daenerys simply shook her head, a fond smile on her face.

When Daenerys’ eyes shifted toward Missandei, her oldest friend and confidant smiled and nodded back before looking to the gathered Starks and Northern nobles and Free Folk chieftains.

“Here hails Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Mereen,” Missandei began, pausing so that her smile of pride could only grow larger. “The Queen that was Chosen.”

When Nathaleya had scurried close enough to her tutor, Missandei smoothly held onto her shoulders and lightly pushed her further toward the Northern audience. The little girl’s brown eyes could not have grown wider had they tried.

“And introducing to the Northern Realms,” Missandei called out with the same fervor, “Nathaleya Winterborn of House Targaryen, First of her name, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Daughter of Snow.”

At that, almost immediately, the entire crowd erupted into a cheer, “Daughter of Snow! Daughter of Snow!”

Face flushed, Nathaleya pressed back against Missandei’s firm hands. “Nyke jaelagon naejot jikagon lenton sir,” she said loud enough that the Northerners knew she was speaking a tongue foreign to them, a fact that made those closer slowly stop their praises in discomfort.

Tyron’s face twisted and he looked toward Daenerys before seeing Nathaleya’s scarf. He walked over best he could with his thick winter clothes, reaching down and taking the scarf — snatching it up in one swoop before walking toward Daenerys again, leaning slightly. “If I have told you once I have told you a thousand times, most of this kingdom doesn’t have an interest in being ruled by people who are not one of them, let alone are native in another tongue.”

“High Valyrian is a Targaryen’s mother tongue,” Daenerys reminded her Hand. “Nathaleya is nervous.”

“Of course she’s nervous, she’s six and just got dropped into a den of dire wolves,” Tyrion said before glancing around the area cautiously. “Possibly literally. I’ve heard stories from Varys that there is an entire pack of dire wolves that are free roaming the Northern countryside now.”

“Varys isn’t here to be blamed for spreading rumors,” Daenerys reminded Tyrion playfully.

“And just why do you think that is?” he muttered.

Daenerys walked with Tyrion back toward their party and in return, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, stepped up to meet them.

“Lady Stark,” Daenerys greeted with a curt bow.

“My Queen,” Sansa replied, bowing lower. “Thank you so much for honoring the North with your visit during this long winter. The people feel remembered and appreciated by their ruler as a result and have brought supplies for a great feast.”

“The only gratitude here, Lady Sansa, is mine,” Daenerys assured her. “I will always remember the debt the living world owes the North and its people.”

Another rumble of supportive noises broke out from among the Northerners.

“Well alright then,” Arya Stark said, leaning out from around Sansa’s back. “Let’s get on about this feast then.”

“Arya,” Sansa hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“The suggestion is a splendid one,” Daenerys agreed. “Lady Sansa, after you.”

Sansa smiled politely and bowed more stiffly before leading their procession toward the castle. And in that time it didn’t take long for Tyrion to find Daenerys’ side once again.

“Are you certain about this trip?” Tyrion muttered. “If Yara Greyjoy gets wind—“

“Tyrion, the wheel is broken,” Daenerys reminded him. “It’s time for a better example in the world. Starting with us.”

The dwarf huffed and shook his head at her. “I truly have spent too much time as your hand. I do believe I’m rubbing off on you. Once not so long ago you were never this excited to have a verbal put down.”

“It’s true, it’s a world opened up to me by you, Hand of the Queen,” Daenerys joked in return as they entered Winterfell’s inner castle.

Arya’s ability to tell stories, mostly ones with no basis in reality, to convince every solitary person in a room who knew better was one of the more astounding joys of the evening. No matter how many times Sansa herself was witness to it, she still was captivated by the story all the way until Arya stopped her telling, straightened herself, standing on the middle of the table in the great hall and looked around with her arms folded behind her back.

Then she asked the titular question which was always asked at the end of her game.

“Was it truth?” she asked, glancing around the room, listening for how many of the audience screamed truth back at her. “Or was it lie?” Again she took pause and listened for all the ones who screamed lie back at her. A coy smile never left her face.

Sansa had long ago made an oath to herself to never participate out loud and was just watching with raised eyebrows, wondering how much longer Arya would keep up her favorite game in front of so many people she barely even knew.

And in that moment, she almost forgot that she was sitting to the right of her sworn queen. And indeed did forget until the silver haired Targaryen leaned closer to Sansa.

In reaction, Sansa leaned back as well, eyes wide as she looked to see if perhaps the queen had too much wine. But the lean in seemed purposeful as she turned and looked at Sansa with a smile. “You know your sister’s heart better than anyone here, is this one true or is it a lie?” she asked in good fun.

For a moment, Sansa was too stunned to reply, but she shook the shock out of herself soon enough and smiled pleasantly back at the queen. “Just because I know her heart best, doesn’t mean that I know much at all. Only more than most,” Sansa confessed. “In truth, Bran is far better at this game than I am. It would be best if you were to ask him. He is something of our maester here at Winterfell. Not to the delight of our actual maester of course.”

The queen hummed, a hand against her cheek. “Would how well he does have anything to do with his rumored visions?” Daenerys asked casually, as if the secret of Bran was something discussed as commonly as anything else in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Beg your pardon,” Sansa replied quickly, protectively.

“I have a man who works with me, claims himself a spymaster. He says he has little birds in every part of the kingdoms, both Westeros and in Essos,” Daenerys explained. “His information is usually very reliable.”

Sansa thought quietly to herself for a moment before looking back to Daenerys. “You mean Varys. The spymaster who worked for King Robert.”

“Also for my father,” Daenerys answered. “His loyalty is to the lands, not the crown. Which is why his word is trusted in my confidence. Even if sometimes there are rumors of things like wild dire wolves running across the Northern countryside.”

Instinctively, Sansa glanced Arya’s way, remembering how her sister had the occasional run in with Nymeria. But she quickly looked back to the queen. “Sometimes rumors hold grains of truth. Sometimes they have none.”

Arya had finally worked the crowd up enough and she looked around, arms out. “It was truth!” she called out, the jeers and cheers of the entire room. The people called upon her for another round while some of the lower houses and soldiers exchanged betted coins and entrees according to their betting from the previous round.

“So you’re telling your queen that Brandon Stark of Winterfell does not claim himself to be a legendary Three Eyed Raven and capable of seeing the future and past and all between?” Daenerys asked, eyebrow raised. “Furthermore, would you not share such information with the mother of your brother’s daughter?”

Looking back at Daenerys, Sansa played a little game where she tried to imagine the intent behind Daenerys’ questions.

She did not like the least nice option, in truth.

“It’s simply that it’s not something to be told by others but asked of Bran himself,” Sansa answered. “I could not tell you what is in Bran’s heart no more than I could Arya’s. And that’s even with being the one left in the world who would know him most.”

Daenerys smiled at that, almost looking impressed. Her eyes then looked to the embroidered wolf across Sansa’s chest.

“Winter suits a Stark,” Daenerys complimented. “You have grown into a woman to be envied, Lady Sansa.”

“You may call me Sansa, my Queen,” Sansa replied.

Daenerys smiled more, her purple eyes shining in the flickering candles’ light. “In confidence, Sansa, you may call me Daenerys.”

Sansa smiled back, something warm within her at receiving such an honest compliment from their beautiful queen. “Thank you, m’lady,” she replied aptly.

“I could be persuaded to drop more of my titles in public if you could arrange for me to meet Bran in private after this feast,” Daenerys continued. “I would like to ask him myself about my question. And then depending on the answer I have many other questions for him.”

Inside her own mind, Sansa played a little game, watching the pieces move across the board throughout their conversation. She was a long time player, something Jon never learned nor her father, and even if she felt satisfaction in the North, she knew the Game was still being played in the South.

The union of the North and the South was always the most frayed, and it was also only when they were united that the Realm was truly changed. Queen Daenerys was known for inciting worldwide change in ways that no normal person, no non-magical person would have ever managed in the same circumstances. She was a mother to dragons, the literal defender of the realm.

And the daughter who she held so close to her, with her silver Targaryen hair and lovely dark, brown Stark eyes, was the future of that very necessary union between North and South. The North clamored to take pride in a ruler, even a future ruler, being tied to the North. It was why they were there.

But Nathaleya Targaryen was not queen yet, her mother was. And Daenerys had spent most of her life not in Westeros but in Essos. She had moved the capital to Dragonstone instead of King’s Landing, but it still was not North. And haven Northern blood but not experience in the North herself was not going to be enough for some Northerners and Free Folk to follow Nathaleya even in the future, let alone Daenerys now.

Which meant, politically, Daenerys’ best political move was to strengthen her alliance with the North by marriage.

And Bran was the only male Stark, legitimate or bastard, left of their once great house.

“I see,” Sansa replied stiffly at last. She swallowed, an unusual feeling catching her throat. “It will be done immediately after the feast, my Queen. I will see to it myself.”

The Targaryen queen’s own brows furrowed as well. “I meant my word when I said you could call me Daenerys, Sansa. I would hope that you could come to see myself and Nathaleya as family. We both have so little of it left.”

“I understand,” Sansa replied, confused by her own internal burning, like frostbite in her lungs. “I truly do, my Queen, but reminding myself of your title out loud is most comfortable for me right now.”

Daenerys slowly nodded, unconvinced.

From the middle of the chamber, Arya laughed out and held up her hands over the calls of the crowd. “Lie!” she declared to the ruckus of her audience once again.

The burning continued within Sansa’s breast, making her sit uneasily in her own seat, so she slowly scooted her seat back, drawing Daenerys’ attention to her again. “My sincerest apologies, Queen Daenerys,” Sansa uttered as she began to stand, mindful to keep her head bowed. “I must take leave for a moment, it seems like my body has grown confused on me.”

“Are you alright?” Daenerys asked in concern.

“I always am,” Sansa lied as easily as Arya for once as she slipped out behind the crowd and moved to the halls.

Her heart was pounding, the heat of hundreds of burning candles and the stink of a hundred or more people crowded within the great hall was enough to make most ill. But Sansa was not most, and the burning was not candles or heat, but something inside her confused and twisted.

She needed the comfort of the snow and ice. Of the weirwood tree and old gods who she didn’t talk to even when she remembered how.

It was the only thing she could think of with her eyes weeping without cause and her tightly held control over her small world of the North breaking apart before her hands.

And even still, those things did little to help her understand why she felt so much pain with her queen’s plans.

Daenerys stepped outside of the room after Brandon Stark’s counsel and was not surprised in the least to see Tyrion waiting in the hall, standing by Nathaleya as she sat on the floor. She stood, brows high, hands held together over her stomach as she looked down at the two of them.

“And the words of House Stark…” Tyrion led her.

Nathaleya groaned, cheeks smothered by her hands as they rested in her palms, she was looking down to the floor in a pout. “Airy iksos door kirimves,” she muttered.

Tyrion held a finger to her face. “You do that because you think no one else knows Valyrian but your mother and Missandei. But I am a fast learner, my little princess, and I disagree with you entirely. It is fun to learn because it is fun to keep your wits over others. It’s how you get to where you are in life. And knowing the words and sigils of the most important houses in your kingdoms is all that and more.” When he could see that Nathaleya’s interests were far from his reach, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before leaning closer. “House Stark is simple. What’s the one bloody animal we’ve seen on every tapestry, shirt, breast plate, and banner since we got here?”

“Dire wolf,” she answered finally.

“And the words of the house of your father?” Tyrion pressed.

“Fire and blood,” Nathaleya answered with a smile that said far too much about how she knew exactly how wrong she was being.

“That is Targaryen and you are driving me to drink,” Tyrion answered with a sigh as he reached toward the nearest table where wine and glass were waiting for him.

Daenerys looked to her daughter. “Nathaleya Winterborn,” she said sternly, causing Nathaleya to immediately look up with wide eyes. “The Hand is asking you a question. If you wish to be a good queen someday, to be the queen your people will choose for themselves, then you must have a wise Hand by your side. To teach you and steer you.”

Tyrion held his glass to his lips but he did not drink yet, looking almost moved by Daenerys’ words. He then glanced toward Nathaleya again.

Getting to her feet, Nathaleya took a deep breath and looked at Tyrion. “The house words of House Stark are… Winter is coming,” she answered at last. Then she spun around on her heels to look at Daenerys with a pout. “But that doesn’t make any sense because winter has always been here.”

“Certainly feels like it,” Tyrion said, lowering his glass. “Now, I said to Missandei I would keep with you waiting in the hall until your mother was done speaking to the Stark boy. She’s done speaking with the Stark boy so you should be running back to your room and jump in bed before a dire wolf finds you.”

Nathaleya stiffened at the threat and then ran to Daenerys to hug her waist.

Daenerys looked exhaustedly at Tyrion as she petted her daughter’s head. “A dire wolf, Tyrion?”

“You can only do so much with a six year old who is not afraid of being eaten by dragons and speaks three languages around you to make your head spin,” Tyrion replied.

Smiling down at her daughter, Daenerys said softly, “Jikagon naejot ēdrugon, issa sōna zaldrīzes. Nyke jorrāelagon ao.”

Smiling, Nathaleya buried her head against Daenerys’ dress. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao.” She then took off down the hall to the guest chambers she shared with her mother and Missandei.

Tyrion joined Daenerys in watching after the little girl before concentrating on Daenerys. “Well then, that was quite a long discussion. I think spring broke while you were in there,” Tyrion said in jest. “Tell me, how far does a Three Eyed Raven see? And was there an ounce of it that was not cryptic beyond the understanding of mere mortal men?”

“It was very insightful,” Daenerys replied. “I got the answers I came for. And was advised where I should go to break the news to Lady Sansa.”

Tyrion stared at Daenerys in disbelief. “So you are actually to go through with this plan,” he said as if he had just realized it himself.

“Of course I am,” Daenerys replied. “The wheel is broken. Changes have been made. I want a content kingdom.”

“And you think this will—“ Tyrion cut himself off and took a deep drink of his glass of wine. “This is what you do to me, Daenerys.”

Daenerys looked at her Hand intently. “Tyrion,” she said softly. “I… You know your counsel is held in my utmost regards.”

“When you want it, yes,” Tyrion replied, lowering his wine.

“And you know you have earned my faith this day and one thousand days over by now,” she continued.

“I should hope as Hand of the Queen I have,” he agreed.

“Then you know that if I should fail at anything I decide to do, that should I make a mess of things that I personally cannot escape, you and Missandei are the only ones within my circle who have my faith to keep Nathaleya safe. To keep her good. To make her the queen I failed to be.”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “You know I love Nathaleya as if she were my own daughter. But you also know that you are unlike any ruler in any history of any land, and most of that was earned without my counsel.” He looked at her almost proudly. “Sometimes it becomes the job of the Hand to put faith in the decisions of his queen.”

“Thank you, Tyrion,” Daenerys replied. She then adjusted her cloak. “Now, I will be meeting Lady Sansa at this grandiose weirwood tree over on the north part of the wall.”

Tyrion looked at her before shaking his head. “Well, is she at least expecting you?” he asked.

“No,” Daenerys replied. “I expect this to be another long talk. Are you going to wait on me for this one, too?”

“If I have not passed out on this Northern spit they call wine,” Tyrion replied. “Having shipments from Essos truly has spoiled me, you know.”

Daenerys smiled at him and shook her head before pulling up the hood of her cloak and heading out of the Stark’s castle and down to the main floor.

With her signature features shrouded by her cloak, Daenerys walked past the various guests of Winterfell with nary a second look from the majority. She walked straight out the doors to the courtyard and walked toward the northern exit where a large, sturdy woman soldier stood in wait, hand on he sword. She was unmistakable. Especially when she stepped between Daenerys and the path toward the weirwood tree.

“I am sorry, m’lady, but Lady Stark is in prayer and asks not to be disturbed,” Brienne of Tarth said sternly.

“As much as I wish to respect such a wish, I am afraid I am in need of her time,” Daenerys replied, lifting up enough of her hood that the noble knight could see who she was.

Brienne took a deep breath, and lowered herself to one knee. “My apologies, Queen Daenerys. I was not aware it was you.”

“As would be the point of subterfuge,” Daenerys replied, putting her hood back on. “Would it be alright for me to speak with the Warden of the North?”

“I can only assume if it is what you want then it is what will happen,” the knight replied.

“Let us both hope,” Daenerys replied.

Walking past the knight, the path was hard to trace, so covered in snow. Most of it was freshly fallen, but the faintest outline of previous steps made it clear to Daenerys where she should go.

Soon, through the darkness of night and bright against the soft whites and blues of snow, the blood red, five pointed leaves of the weirwood tree was visible. An ancient face grown into its bark weeped with red sap, and it looked upon a small bench where the Warden of the North sat, staring over a frozen pond. Her bright red hair shown as brightly as the leaves themselves.

Once she was close enough, Daenerys lowered her own hood. “My apologies for interrupting any prayers or meditations,” Daenerys said as she neared Sansa, drawing the Lady’s attention. “I’m unfamiliar with the customs of the Old Gods and don’t know what they look like.”

“They look like any other religion’s prayers,” Sansa answered. “Bent knee, bowed head, speaking to air with a glimmer of hope that it’s being heard.”

Daenerys stopped approaching, raising a brow at the response.

Sansa seemed to gather her senses at seeing Daenerys’ reaction and then flushed, lowering to her knees from the bench. “My apologies, my Queen. I did not mean to offend by speaking out of turn. I know what a comfort religions are to a great many of the Realms.”

“But not to you,” Daenerys inferred.

“I’m…” Sansa thought on it before looking up. “No. I’m afraid not.”

“Starks, so truthful,” Daenerys said, a smile coming to her lips.

“Clearly you weren’t paying attention to Arya’s game,” Sansa laughed.

“Fair enough,” Daenerys replied, looking to the unique tree again. “Now it’s my turn to apologize for speaking out of turn but… if you are not out here for prayer… do you mind telling me why you are here?” she asked. “It is rather cold. And rather lonely.”

Sansa nodded to the comments. “That’s fair. It is both of those things but… my father would come here and reflect. He was very loved as Lord of Winterfell, and trusted by the kingdom until the Lannister’s deceit to be an honest and true man,” she said, swallowing. “When I wish to have a tenth of his strength or a tenth of his honor, I come out here and try to think of all the trials he must have felt as Warden of the North when he came out here.” She smiled a bit, shaking her head. “I feel like I relate to him as a completely different person now. I know so much more about him and what he did even before he was Hand of the King.”

Daenerys listened carefully and took a breath. “And do you reflect upon your father for wisdom as well?” she asked.

A laugh came from Sansa that she quickly choked off. “Sorry. No. My father was very wise in his ways. But they were not the ways that wisdom came to me or how I got to where I am now,” she explained. “I feel, as unfortunate as it may be, some of our greatest wisdom comes from our most formidable enemies.”

Nodding, Daenerys found an entirely new respect for the Lady Stark. “You truly are wise.” She walked forward more, coming closer to Sansa. “I expect you know that with as much land and as many people as there are in my domains, I am looking to strengthen my alliances where needed, and to make moves which will incite change across all the kingdoms,” Daenerys explained. “And change, like so many other accomplishments, is best demonstrated by example.”

“Of course,” Sansa answered. “Which is why you spoke to Bran.”

“I sought his counsel on many matters for our Realm. It…” she hesitated, searching for a correct description. “It was fascinating.”

Again, Sansa gave a small laugh, though she didn’t try hard to hide it. “Arya and I long ago settled on calling it bloody weird.”

“It is,” Daenerys laughed in return. “But he made me more confident in what I want to do next.”

Sansa lowered her head. She seemed to have an expectant but still worried look on her face, refusing to meet Daenerys’ eyes. “And what would that be, my Queen?”

Daenerys looked at Sansa for a long while. “I wish to propose a union between our houses. Strengthening the connection between our people and ensuring that my daughter learns the values of the North which made her father such a grand leader that he was capable of uniting all people of all creeds.”

“It is a well thought out move,” Sansa replied. “Truly. And you need my permission to go forward with it all.”

A little confused, Daenerys tilted her head slightly. “I … would hope so, yes. I would not do anything that would force you… without permission or anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa turned and looked at Daeneys, eyes hardened and smile all but fallen from her pale lips. “Very well, Queen Daenerys. As head of the House Stark, I give you permission to ask for my brother’s hand in marriage.”

Completely taken aback, Daenerys looked at Sansa like she was grown an extra set of eyes. Which, in turn, made Sansa’s stony expression disappear in turn for a confused and alarmed one.

“Your brother?” Daenerys repeated, laughing at the shock of it. “I… With all due respect, Sansa, I did just spend a lot of time with your brother and…” Unable to find a better term she laughed and continued with, “It was bloody weird.”

Sansa let out a sigh of relief and laughed with the queen. “Yes. It would… Yes definitely. But… If that isn’t your request… What is?”

Daenerys suddenly realized that her request was, for Sansa at least, coming completely out of nowhere. Completely without precedent. And, in truth, she shouldn’t have expected otherwise.

“I…” Daenerys breathed deep into the cold air. “Tyrion and I have this phrase we have used since we met. Politics, the way the world works, how ruling has been done for generations since Aegon the Conquerer landed on Westerosi shores. We call it the wheel. And my desire, my only true desire, has been to fight so that I rule and do so in a way which breaks the wheel entirely.” She leveled her gaze into Sansa’s eyes. “I believe a magic runs in the veins of certain men and women, that makes their dreams a reality should they fight for them. And I have fought, and fought, and fought. The reason that Missandei introduces me with all of my titles is because I take pride in the battle represented by each and every one of those names. And none more so than my last earned title — the Queen that was Chosen. It is important to me that people choose to follow me. It is important to me that my example changes expectations for rulers, for women, for foreigners, for magic brought back into our world.”

“Then what is the change you propose now?” Sansa asked curiously.

Daenerys felt herself uncharacteristically hesitant to answer that exact question. She put a finger to her lip in thought and then looked back at Sansa. “We are both getting older, Lady Sansa,” she started.

“Well, if I must be truthful for a Stark’s word to still have meaning, I suppose I can admit to that,” Sansa joked.

“And neither of us have taken up husbands, despite what the world has demanded of us as women,” Daenerys explained.

Sansa took a breath and glanced off. “My luck in marriage is tumultuous at best, Daenerys. With no offense to your Hand.”

“I’m aware,” Daenerys replied. “You could say much the same of me… but I think it’s important to note that we both are referring to marriages to men.”

Looking at Daenerys immediately, Sansa tilted her head. “What? Of course we are.”

“I wish to break the wheel, Sansa,” Daenerys continued. “I wish to strengthen the faith of the people of the North, and I want to change what they believe is possible. Not through magic and dragons this time, but through people. I want to marry so that others may marry, so that history will see an example of a union that was not merely political but reformatory.”

Truly taken aback, Sansa held a hand to the Stark emblem on her chest. “Some women like pretty girls,” she said to herself.

“What is that?” Daenerys asked, slightly confused.

Sansa looked back at her, eyes still wide from shock. “It’s… it’s something someone dear to me once told me. She tried to explain to me that most women don’t get to know what they like until they’ve tried.”

Daenerys understood. “And some women like pretty girls,” she agreed. “And I want that to be something that truly is okay, that is looked up to rather than down on for all of my people.”

They stood together in the cold, silent and hesitant.

But Daenerys steeled herself and held out a hand. “Lady Sansa, Warden of the North, Lady of Wintefell, will you help me break the wheel? Will you raise my daughter with me as your own so that she will know the values your your house as well as mine, so that she sees kinship with wolves as much as dragons. Will you be my queen, and show all the lands that some women like pretty girls, and our love for them is not lessened for it? That, perhaps, it can be even greater?”

Sansa was silent for what felt like ages, but Daenerys did not drop her hand, leaving it extended toward the Lady Sark.

Then, finally, Sansa delicately laid her hand in Daenerys’.

“Queen Daenerys,” Sansa answered, a true smile growing on her face for the first time that Daenerys had seen. “I want to break the wheel.”

They stood, breathless beside each other, hands gripping each other, then intwining fingers. They didn’t know what to do next, but like everything else in her life, Daenerys trusted her instincts and went in for a kiss against Sansa’s lips.

Fortunately for Dany, by some innate magic, her instincts were so often right.

#SaphSep2017 #writing #got fic #Sansa Stark #Daenerys Targaryen #Daenerys x Sansa #Arya Stark #Bran Stark #Missandei #Tyrion Lannister