#WHAT IF I JUST ONLY DRAW BRIENNE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

attonitos-gloria · 1 year

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What's your favorite tyrion relationship/dynamic?

aaaaah the latest to answer things ever! sorry for this and thank you for the ask!

hah. every single interaction tyrion has is perfect. but i'll nail it down to three, am i allowed?!

Tyrion/Penny. Tyrion/Penny. Tyrion/Penny. Not romantically. Just. Oh my God. Penny trying to kill him when she first meets him and then befriending him and Tyrion projecting all his internalized ableism on her, and trying to make her into a cynical and not making it because she is too sweet....... cannot cope with this relationship. I love grumpy and dark guy/sunshine girl relationships so much? They fit into a trope that has almost been reinvented here; Tyrion is older, he tries to protect her, they are on the road together... they are great foils to each other, and a nice parallel to Jaime/Brienne, too. I'm just very grateful that George gave us Penny. If someone happens to her I don't know what I'll do. I want to grow a full garden for her. Deep in his heart Tyrion wants it too, I just know it.

Tyrion/Cersei/Jaime. The tragedy! The Gender of it all! If you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will be always an angry man in your house! This is by far and large the best sibling dynamics in ASOIAF. I will not be taking questions at this time.

Tyrion/Sansa. And listen. LISTEN. I need to write a disclaimer here and a long essay. This ship is not my OTP in a romantic sense, necessarily. I have a lot of fun writing fluff for them, but that is not even my favorite version of this pairing. It's not the romance that draws me to them; canonically, they don't have romantic feelings for each other, and I think they won't ever have.

It's the marriage that draws me. I think we live in a world where it comes as granted, given and obvious that marriage is a sort of reward that lovers earn for their passion, for falling in love. Nothing wrong with that; I married a person of my choosing, a person I fell in love with. Nothing against courtly romance in ASOIAF, either. But I think, in Westeros, the relationships that touch me, that rip me off from my core, are about a certain kind of loyalty? About a permanence, about things that linger and remain. A stubbornness, if you will.

It's like Elizabeth and Phillip in The Americans - the marriage is bigger than the romance. Marriage in ASOIAF can mean many things. It means power, it means abuse, it means peace and security, it means love for some. And I think, in Sansa's and Tyrion's case, it means mostly abuse; it means War. The marriage is a plan to seize the North. Period. There's no way around it. Everyone knows, including both of them. But I admire the way they have turned it into protection, into a sort of harbor? Tyrion marries Sansa after they are both utterly humiliated before the court and then he spends the rest of their short marriage leaving her alone, because that's what she needs from him. They are so lonely in this marriage. They are an absence in each other's life. It's so painful to read. I think a lot about how Sansa thinks she will never marry for love:

Tyrell or Lannister, it makes no matter, it's not me they want, only my claim. "You are kind, my lord," she said, defeated. "I am a ward of the throne and my duty is to marry as the king commands."

He studied her with his mismatched eyes.

"I know I am not the sort of husband young girls dream of, Sansa," he said softly, "but neither am I Joffrey."

and Tyrion, one chapter later:

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does.

What is it that they are longing for? Each other? Hardly; they long for a real marriage. Tyrion projects these wishes onto Sansa simply because Sansa is the wife he was given. But they can’t have it with each other. He knows it, and Sansa doesn’t even consider Tyrion might be able to love her. Why would she? She is literally a hostage for Tywin to have a claim on Winterfell. Tyrion himself says that he did not ask to marry her.

Most of Sansa's observations about Tyrion are about how not there he is most of the time. When he is, she is anxious and scared of saying/doing the wrong thing, or afraid because she doesn’t know what is it that he wants from her, since he never consummated the marriage anyway. Most of Tyrion's observation about Sansa are about how much she is not the person he wanted, because Tyrion is, at his core, a wife guy without a wife, and now he has one, and she is 1) a child and 2) a hostage and 3) afraid of him for 193128 reasons. He looks at her searching for Tysha and he doesn’t find her because Sansa is NOT translucent. She is a solid person! Covered in a thick armor of courtesy who refuses to personificate his wishes and fantasies! Tysha was warm and caring, Sansa is coldly lady-like and polite; Tysha wanted him, Sansa jumps out of their marriage bed at the first chance and is disgusted by him; Tysha was in love with him, Sansa is scared of him.

It's all so pathetic, it's so miserable, and so sad, and overall divorce-coded, and still:

"A marriage..." Her throat tightened. She did not want to wed again, not now, perhaps not ever. "I do not... I cannot marry. Father, I..." Alayne looked to the door, to make certain it was closed. "I am married," she whispered. "You know."

and then:

Littlefinger smiled. "Widowhood will become you, Sansa."

The thought made her tummy flutter. She might never need to share a bed with Tyrion again. That was what she'd wanted... wasn't it?

and also:

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell. Sansa felt sorry for her little cousin sometimes, but she could not imagine ever wanting to be his wife. I would sooner be married to Tyrion again.

and then:

"I never meant… I never kissed a boy before, but … I only thought, what if we drown, and I… I…"

"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."

and also this:

"Did Sansa Stark do it, then?" Lord Tyrell demanded.

I would have, if I'd been her. Yet wherever Sansa was and whatever her part in this might have been, she remained his wife. He had wrapped the cloak of his protection about her shoulders, though he'd had to stand on a fool's back to do it. "The gods killed Joffrey. He choked on his pigeon pie."

I am fascinated by this, because, anon: they hate their marriage! They loathe it!!!!! They don't hate each other, they actually care in their own way, but none of them wanted to be there! They just pull the Marriage Card out of their sleeves when there's something worse happening because at least they left each other be, at least there was an implicit accord that this - a sort of island of peace - they could grant each other! It's not good but it's the best they can do and they do it; they are not in love but they are LOYAL to each other. Sansa doesn't want Tyrion to suffer or to die; Tyrion doesn't want Sansa to take the blame for Joff's murder, even though she looks suspicious and even though it might cost him his life. Sansa relies on Tyrion for her protection, she trusts he will not hurt her, she thinks back on him, basically, as the man who tried to protect her, the man who didn’t bed her, didn’t harm her when he could. I think this is the only explanation for the fact she touches him (literally touches him, outside the context of marriage bed: Sansa reaches out to hold his hand, clutches his arm on a whim when she’s upset. Tyrion is a Reliable Person for her, and that is not something that Sansa can say about most people). Tyrion feels sad for her, for her family; he wishes he could soothe it, he can’t feel any joy in the victory of his family because he knows it comes at the expenses of his wife. They do care! They are alone but they are alone together; there’s trust and kindness there. And this kindness serves nothing, absolutely nothing, it doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t change their situation, it doesn’t help them to communicate to each other, it doesn’t make them talk. It’s not a bridge, it’s not a way for Tyrion to try to win her heart or her attention; this kindness is pointless and meaningless and this is why it breaks my heart.

There’s something about being kind with no expectation of reward or results that just makes me go absolutely feral. And there’s something about married people holding onto their wedding vows, miles away, that makes me just *bites fist*

my God. I love them very much. I think they are each other's keepers in a very layered, interesting way and the way George wrote them, honestly? I think they contain multitudes. They could be friends, siblings, family. They could be allies, partners, each other’s advisors. They could be enemies. They could be lovers. They most definitely could be either bitterly divorced or bitterly married. *shrugs* and this is nice because whatever comes in the next books, I’ll be fine. They don’t need to be happy with children! I just need to read them in Situations, you know?

(Sorry this got long <3 this is what happens when people drop Tyrion asks in my inbox!!!!)

#king of my heart #ask me stuff #i'm not even going to put this in the sansa x tyrion tag #but yes. george ruined my life.

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ddagent · 3 years

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WE WERE HAPPY for the promptathon?

WE WERE HAPPY: GOT Fix-It Part of the “30 Promptathon”.

Jaime was watching the last wisps of smoke rise above the city of King’s Landing and disappear into the sky when the door to his cell opened. For some it was a bedchamber – there was a bed and a chamberpot; tapestries upon the wall and a view above the clouds – but Jaime was under no illusions that this was his cell. He had supported Cersei in the last days of her reign; had stood against the Dragon Queen and here he was.

“Are you here to finally kill me?” he asked, his gaze permanently fixed to a spot in Blackwater Bay.

“Why would I do that, when you do such an excellent job of doing it yourself?”

He swallowed harshly; his fingers tightening on the sill. Yet, he did not look back. “Ser Brienne of Tarth. I hadn’t expected—”

“—to see me again?” Her sharp intake of breath was the only noise in the room. “I suppose you still haven’t.”

At that, Jaime did turn around. This time it was he who was momentarily unable to breathe. Her hair was longer than he had ever seen it; the weeks he had spent convalescing after his injuries during the fall changing her so very much. Gone was the blue armour he had commissioned for her – she’d probably had it destroyed. Melted down in a forge; given away to some Northern lout. But her eyes were still the ever-familiar shade of blue. And upon her hip was an ever-familiar blade.

“You’re still carrying Oathkeeper. I–I thought—”

“—this sword is more than the man who gave it to me.” Brienne’s fingers flexed around the hilt; her jaw jutting forward “It’s mine. That’s what you said. If you want it—”

“—I don’t, Brienne. I really don’t.” He sighed and crossed over to the bed, drawing in breath after breath from the simple act of walking back from the window. His lungs had not yet recovered from the damage sustained during his escape from the Red Keep. It was a particularly unique brand of cruelty to spend weeks allowing him to regain his health only to execute him in the end. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel.”

Brienne turned from him and paced a stretch along the wall. Jaime just watched. Her tunic was free of rips and holes; the Tarth sigil embroidered upon her breast. Even her boots were polished well enough that Jaime could see his drawn complexion in them. The wonders of peacetime. Dented armour would be reforged; new garments shipped from across the sea. New banners – the old black and red – would resume above the battlements.

After Brienne had worn a hole in the stone floor of his cell, she turned to him. “How much do you know of what occurred since your return to the city?”

“Cersei’s dead,” he said bluntly. “I saw her when I...when I regained consciousness in the rubble. I know Tyrion and the others thought me dead.”

“And Daenerys Targaryen?

Jaime shrugged. “I assumed she was waiting until I was better before burning me to death.”

“Unlikely, considering Jon Snow killed her soon after she took the city.” Upon his wide-eyed expression, Brienne offered a single nod before ploughing on. “All the great houses were called. Your brother attempted to put Bran Stark on the throne. The others disagreed.”

“Good,” Jaime said adamantly. “He’s no king. Barely a man, and an odd one at that. At this rate, they should just melt the damn thing.” Seeing something in Brienne’s eyes, Jaime began to laugh. “They are melting the damn thing.”

“The North wanted independence. As did Dorne and the Iron Islands. By the end of it, it was decided the Seven Kingdoms would regain their sovereignty. Sansa will rule the North—”

“—and you, her Lord Commander. Is that why you’re here, Brienne? To get advice about throwing your life away standing outside doorways?”

“No,” she spat. “I am here to inform you, Ser Jaime Lannister, that you have been ordered by the King of the Westerlands, Tyrion Lannister, first of his name, that you shall marry the Queen of the Stormlands.”

“The Queen of the–you. I’m to marry you.”

Once, in a soft fire-lit room back in Winterfell, the idea might have given them both joy. But Jaime had no desire to take a wife; he merely desired the Stranger to take him. He had expected to die in Winterfell. He had expected to die here, too – albeit one death more honourable than the other. He had neither the temperament nor ability to be a husband or father. Not really. Not properly.

Swallowing, Jaime began to dissuade her of this notion. “Brienne—”

She merely raised a hand. “Do not waste your breath. There were consequences to what we did in Winterfell. Consequences that did not matter at the time because we both believed that you would...allow yourself to be happy, to be loved. Your brother may have joked about it that night but my virtue is not something to be taken lightly.”

His heart sank. “But I took it.”

“You did. So you’ll wed me. You will be Prince Consort of the Stormlands and the father of the future King.”

“Brienne, you deserve more.”

She nodded. “I know. And yet, I am stuck with a man who would rather die than live with me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Her fingertips rested upon the lion pommel. “Maester Tarly believes you are fit to travel. We will leave for Tarth in three days.” Her lips quirked in a faint hint of a smile. “Once again, Ser Jaime, it appears you are my prisoner. And, once again, if I hadn’t intervened they would have killed you.”

Brienne swept from the room. Jaime sat, dumbfounded at the future that lay ahead of him. If he was to be in a cell, the halls of Evenfall Hall and the plentiful sea air would be finer than most. If he was to have a jailor, Brienne of Tarth had proved herself time and again to be fair and just. If he was to live, then to live by her side would be more than he deserved.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile. To live a full life might be the greatest challenge of them all.

#braime #jaime x brienne #ship: braime #mine: paragraph prompts #Anonymous

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fedonciadale · 3 years

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Jamie killing another regal person is so redundant I wonder why readers don't see it. There's so much potential with this story, and the crimes people commit, it's the whys that matter and the "who's to benefit" from them, and where do the PoV's and the readers draw the line. There's people waiting to see Jamie kill/die with, Cersei, but Tyrion's a white angel who's just had a bad day. Jamie's PoV is so interesting to me, I can't wait to see what Martin does with him.

Hi there!

Yes! Actually I've sort of liked the character since the beginning!

I laughed so hard when Jaime jokes about mislaying his sword in AGOT and I squealed when I saw that he became a POV in ASOS.

The fandom is so devided on Jaime! Is he on a redemption arc or not? Is he free of Cersei or not? What exactly are his feelings for Brienne?

I am going to state something controversial here. I think Jaime is on a redemption arc or at least at the very beginning of one. If it actually develops into one remains to be seen.

Most people argue that he is not on a redemption arc because he does not feel remorse. Not for shoving Bran out of the window, not for sleeping with Cersei. He's still butthurt that nobody praises him for killing Aerys. And that is all correct.

He doesn't even distance himself from his father : like all the Lannister kids he has huge daddy issues and he is in a competition with Tyrion and Cersei who is the most like Tywin. And the Tywin Lannister legacy is a toxic legacy.

But...

I think that Jaime is completely mistaken about what Tywin did. He thinks that Tywin's goal was peace, that his methods were harsh but that his goal was that. And this is what Jaime tries in the Riverlands. He has no qualms about threatening people (I just say trebuchet!) but what he wants is peace in the Riverlands before winter is upon them.

Now, a good goal does not make someone a good person, especially not when they use questionable methods but I think there is at least a tiny chance that Jaime at some point realises what exactly his father's legacy means. And that will be interesting!

People also argue that Jaime is not free of Cersei, that they both are trapped in a relationship that poisons them both and that they are both equally guilty. And I agree. Jaime was not drawn into that by evil Cersei!

What I find is interesting though, that for all his jealousy, for all his anger and hurt narcism that Cersei betrayed him, for all his fantasies of punishing her, he does not do anything about it. We don't see him riding off to KL to kill Cersei. He doesn't kill Lancel either. Instead he stays in the Riverlands to solve the Brackwood and Bracken problem.

Which leads me to Brienne. It is pretty clear that whatever his feelings for Brienne she is the embodiment of chivalry for him. And Jaime's decisions are actually influenced by what he thinks Brienne might do or think.

So, to me Jaime's arc has the potential for redemption, he could go down that lane if he begins to feel remorse, if he understands how horrible Tywin was, if he finds his way to true chivalry.

It could also remain in the realm of a big 'what if' and Jaime might never change. He might return to Cersei and die with her.

I think that Jaime's arc is the one with the most potential to go in different directions.

And that is indeed interesting. Cersei and Tyrion will stay villains. Tyrion is spiralling downwards and Cersei is interestingly the only child of Tywin who sees him for the ruthless 'might makes right' person he was.

Before season 8 aired I was quite sure that Jaime would be the one to survive atoning for his sins for the rest of his life. He would make much more sense than Tyrion. But Tyrion as Hand is my biggest problem with the show ending anyway!

Thanks for the ask!

#anon ask #jaime lannister #Lannisters #Tywin's toxic legacy

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samirant · 4 years

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The Saga of Backpfeifengesicht

It is August 22nd and the Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange anonymity is over! And with this, I can finally tell the tale of how I got repeatedly cockblocked fic-blocked by @ajoblotofjunk - because without that sly little minx, I never, ever, would have gotten to write Backpfeifengesicht. The thanks and blame lies almost entirely at her feet.

The following is rather gif-heavy, thanks to some of my favorite shows. Brace yourselves.

You could assume the story starts with this:

It does not.

It really started with this:

And then...

And from there it took off!

It ended up being @slipsthrufingers, @nire-the-mithridatist and @firesign23 who took the helm on the exchange. You’ll notice that I’m not anywhere in these conversations, mostly because I’d never done a fic exchange in my life, let alone run one. The decision to stay a silent supporter in the background was an easy one to make. Surely that way I could stay outside of the chaos and drama that was sure to come.

Little did I know.

The exchange opened and the numbers ticked up. Best estimates were that fifty writers would sign up and the exchange got TWICE that. It was phenomenal, exciting, wonderful - and thus the work began. What prompts would we get, who would we write for, what would we write?

Then, an email:

I knew @brynnmck, or at least of her. Best buds with sdwolfpup aka @ajoblotofjunk, lives in the States and I knew for a fact that she enjoyed my writing in the past. This is going to be a breeze.

(Oh, I was a sweet, naive summer child.)

There were three different prompt options: rock star fic, vacation fic, and an oh-no-only-one-bed fic. I struck the last one out right away because I’d literally just done a Sansaery story utilizing that plot and didn’t want to repeat myself so blatantly. Like so many others, I went to my friends for help with planning, having one conversation in particular with @forbiddenfantasies1 that promptly fell out of my brain.

(Three weeks later…)

The vacation prompt seemed the most inviting and I started to wonder, huh, what if Jaime and Brienne are modern adrenaline junkies and they do extreme vacations, like BASE jumping?

...I know nothing about BASE jumping.

And, what’s more, in the course of that time period, I read a fic by sdwolfpup where she referenced BASE jumping between the two of them. I chuckled to myself and tossed that idea aside. Back to brainstorming!

Inspiration struck! I decided on the vacation prompt - with a twist! I started writing! I turned to my good friend @forbiddenfantasies1 aka FF and said I HAVE SOMETHING YAAAAY:

And I took a second to wonder… wait. Did she tell me this three weeks ago?

Did I...?

...oh no.

Oh, no no no.

I searched our Discord history and...

I stole my friend’s prompt. I STOLE HER PROMPT.

That’s not me throwing a gauntlet, that’s me throwing away my bit of fic in the garbage, where it belonged. THE GALL. THE FAULTY MEMORY THAT LED TO MY WORST ACTION.

FF tried to be gracious about it, though she was in no way at fault. NO WAY. We had a long talk. And then a longer one. And then another where I said ENOUGH! You write yours and I’ll find something different, it’s the right thing to do.

So I turned to the Rock Star Fic. Music. Guitars. Not my bag, but there’s something there. The brainstorming began again. Then, courtesy of @ajoblotofjunk :

Wait, what?

SDWOLFPUP AKA BRYNN’S BESTIE

WRITING

MUSIC

Not just anyone. Her best friend. A brilliant, brilliant writer.

There was only one thing I could do.

So there went mine.

(Slips: TWO CAAAAKES!

Sami: HER BEST FRIEEEEEEEND! NO!)

Commence brainstorming, part… whateverthefuck, I don’t even know.

And some more brainstorming. (And the beginning of some A+ dramatics.)

It... was not pretty.

My friends reminded me that it only had to be a thousand words - I could do that, it was highly attainable, I just had to find something. Anything. FF knows Brynn and said that she’s so chill! She’ll enjoy anything, just give it a shot!

I gave it a shot.

The struggle continued. My brain was stuck on the fact that I had been a bad, prompt-thieving friend and then that whatever sdwolfpup already had cooking was surely miles ahead of what I hadn’t been able to piece together. My friends told me to stop being so dramatic. I said:

Finally. An idea came to mind. Something simple, maybe even a single scene. The vacation prompt. Perhaps… Brienne goes on vacation. No one knows her, she doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone, maybe she decides to take a chance on that handsome man at the bar.

Yes, I told my dear @Luthienebonyx. I think that’s what I’m going to do. Brienne meets Jaime in a bar.

ONE HOUR LATER:

ONE.

HOUR.

LATER.

And if you aren’t convinced that karma wasn’t out to get me, may I draw your attention to the acknowledgement in the notes:

J’accuse! FF! @forbiddenfantasies1 !!!!!!

Et tu, FF?

INDEED, CAPTAIN RAYMOND HOLT. INDEED.

I was languishing. Suffering. Bemoaning the very idea that I should even be in the exchange at all!!!

Meanwhile, SDW:

And I am:

I turned to FF, all HOW COULD YOU!

She was understandably confused.

I was back to the drawing board.

There was a serious discussion of handing off my prompts to another writer, trading with someone so that I could get over my writer’s block - or at least stop getting fic-blocked by a certain talented author who was surely in cahoots with my friend-enemy FF.

FF tried to talk some sense into me. And she handed me, as it has come to be known: Brynnformation.

I decided to give it one. last. go.

And I remembered.

Nine months later, the time had come for Backpfeifengesicht.

I held it close to my chest. Very close. So close that I stopped checking tumblr for fear of discovering that sdwolfpup had caught the scent of my story in the air and eclipsed me yet again. When my friends asked how it was going, I was perfectly reasonable, totally chill, very:

I was informed that sdwolfpup had gone on vacation, THANK GOD, I WAS SAFE FOR A WEEK.

After I got past the murderous paranoia, I started to put a story together. Vacations. Road trips. Baseball. And, as it said in the prompts, Brynn enjoys herself some J/B lovin’. FF pointed out that Brynn had a fondness for lovin’ that involves tables.

And with that Friend-Enemy FF became Friend FF once more, as she should always be considered.

All hail Brynnformation!

Yes. It was Backpfeifengesicht’s moment to shine.

(I… stopped checking sdw’s tumblr. For my own sense of self and stability. If she came up with a random german name, I was sure to throw in the towel.)

I wrote and wrote and wrote some more. I refused to let my friends see it for fear of jinxing the whole damn thing. I was nearly halfway through when I had a truly horrible day at work and the only thing that cheered me was to break my silence and share a bit of it with @forbiddenfantasies and @elizadunc - they were new to my whining in ways that Slips, Nire, Luthien and Firesign had grown immune to.

Their response?

Though I was still in a mindset more like:

FF: Sami, stop freaking out.

Sami: I CAN’T.

I looped in the rest of my friends, so they could beta and also convince me not to bin the entire thing all over again. It was the work of SIX PEOPLE to keep me from giving up this whole damn thing.

SIX PEOPLE.

At last, the story was done and I landed somewhere between:

and

Don’t believe me?

I kept my eye out for sdwolfpup. If she was watching, she was being clever about it.

I edited.

My friends and wonderful betas tried to talk me down off the ledge. Repeatedly.

I made myself wait to post anyway, and not without one last freak out.

AND

SHE

DID

But hey, she also said:

Gee... I wonder how that happened?

@forbiddenfantasies1 - you are a filthy liar and the goddamn best <3 This story would not exist without you or sdwolfpup’s fic-blocking ways. My love and my echoing screams of despair to you both.

#jaime x brienne #jaime x brienne fic exchange 2020 #backpfeifengesicht #my fic #my dRaMA #it is a TALE #of woe and triumph and table sex

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

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Who you should fight: Game of Thrones Edition

Your wish is my command, Anon.

JON: Damn, you really do aim high. If you want to fight Jon Snow, there's nothing really stopping you. He wouldn't want to fight you, but he would accept your challenge honorably. Perhaps you would win, perhaps you wouldn't. Jon doesn't really like violence. He was victorious in the battle of the bastards, but only with the Knights of the Vale showing up at the eleventh hour. And he would have given his life to the Army of the Dead if Benjen hadn't shown up to save him. So you might win, it's possible. Just be prepared for the Starks to send their regards if you do. With Bran's visions, there would be nowhere you could hide. With Arya's faces, you'd never know she was coming.

SANSA: Look, it's not exactly wise to fight a Queen. Something to keep in mind going forward. You would almost certainly defeat Sansa, since she has almost no experience in actual fighting, but that doesn't mean your troubles would be over. Expect the Starks, the Northerners, the Knights of the Vale, and Brienne to rise up and hunt you down. So if you want to fight her, be prepared to run for the rest of your life. But really, why would you ever want to fight her in the first place? Between Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, and Littlefinger, hasn't the poor woman been through enough? If you go through with this, you'll be fighting a sexual assault survivor. Think about that for a second. And then don't fight Sansa.

BRAN: Okay, okay, how about you just don't? This isn't about whether or not you should fight Bran, because to be honest - you can't. Bran is gone. Everybody forgets this but Bran is effectively dead by Season 7. So no, you couldn't fight Bran if you tried. All you could do is fight the Three Eyed Raven, and seven hells, why would you ever want to do that? Could you kill him? Maybe. He can always see you coming, but he doesn't carry weapons and he's paralyzed from the waist down. But who are you, the Night King? If you kill Bran, the world ends and the long night begins. Don't be The Night King. Don't fight Bran.

ARYA: Ahahaha...sure, go ahead. If you've got some sort of death wish, feel free to try and fight Arya Stark. I'd give some line about how the Starks would come after you but frankly, it wouldn't come to that. Arya wouldn't be in any danger and they'd be well aware. You do know this is the girl who slayed the Night King, right? The one who single-handedly wiped out House Frey? Realistically, the fight isn't even going to happen unless she's in the mood. If she is, expect her to toy with you for about ten minutes before running you through with Needle. If she isn't, then you won't ever even see her. You'll just get a knife in the back from whatever face she's wearing.

DAVOS: Seriously? You're going to fight an innocent old man who doesn't even have all his fingers? What are you hoping to gain from doing so? Does beating up old men give you satisfaction? Well, it shouldn't - unless we're talking about Pycelle. But we're not, so put those weapons away! Look, if you choose to fight Davos, you're very likely to win the fight. And in doing so, I suppose you could reunite him with his son and his surrogate daughter in the afterlife. But just do not fight Davos under any circumstances. For goodness' sake, what did he ever do to you?

THEON: In terms of physical combat, you could probably win this fight. Theon isn't shown to be nearly as strong as his sister, and he's also suffering from PTSD. So there's a very good chance that you could defeat him. But Yara is going to literally cut you into pieces if you do. With everything Theon has been through, don't you think he's suffered enough for his actions? Ramsay tortured him so much that he forgot who he was for a while. He castrated and flayed Theon. Kept him as a slave for three years. And even now, Theon is still recovering from what he went through. He still hates himself for betraying Robb. Just let the poor man heal in peace, won't you?

YARA: Go ahead, fight Yara. She's not exactly the nicest person, so she could use a good wake-up call or two. Her only real redeeming quality is that she loves her brother. On the other hand, she's Ironborn so she might just enjoy the fight. There's also the question of whether or not you would win, or even escape with your life. To which I say - don't expect anything. Yara is ruthless, and she doesn't play fair. She commands the Iron Fleet and they're loyal to her. This woman was her Uncle's prisoner. I think it goes without saying that she's tough. I doubt you could win the fight, but feel free to try.

SANDOR: This is the only character that would probably enjoy the fight, so go ahead and spar a little with Sandor Clegane. Don't actually hurt him, because he's obviously been through enough. But enjoy a nice, friendly bout with the guy and let him get off some steam. Of course, I say that under the assumption that you COULD harm Sandor. The guy came close to beating Brienne, and his final Clegane Bowl with Gregor ended in a draw. Plus he's like...huge. So not a good chance at winning. Even if you use his weakness, fire...well, he's won a trial by combat where fire was involved. Don't be a jerk, don't kill Sandor. You'll wind up on Arya's list for sure.

BRIENNE: To be honest, you aren't going to defeat Brienne unless you have exceptional skill and training in combat, and even then. The odds aren't in your favor. She's packing Valyrian Steel, and some heavy armor as well. Has Brienne ever lost a fight onscreen? I don't believe she has. Her weaknesses are emotional, not physical. In a fight, you don't stand much of a chance. Especially if she's trying to protect someone she cares about or honor a vow. That's her berserk button, so don't mention oaths. Or Jaime. Or Sansa. Really, Brienne is one of the most wonderful people in this entire series so why would you want to? Hang out with her instead.

GENDRY: This one is just a bad idea overall. The dude has all the skills of Sandor, without any of the discipline that Brienne has. Remember how the Rebellion was what Robert referred to as his glory days? How he ousted an entire dynasty because they had offended him? The Baratheons are known for their uncontrollable tempers, and we haven't seen much of this in Gendry, but it's there. Put a war-hammer in his hands, and you will never be safe. Just look at the guy. Have you seen how buff he is? Besides, Arya would definitely kill you, even if Gendry doesn't. He's such a sweet, upstanding guy to begin with. I don't understand why you would even want to. Don't fight Gendry.

JAIME: I suppose you could. The guy only has one hand now, so in terms of combat prowess, you would probably win the fight itself. Assuming Brienne doesn't get to you first. Either way, expect to deal with Brienne, and that's not someone you want coming after you with a vengeance. Even if you defeat Brienne, you still aren't in the clear. Tyrion may not be one for physical fights, but rest assured the man will make you pay for harming his brother. Someday, when you least expect it, you will pay. To be fair, Jaime does have some crimes he needs to answer for, but he also saved King's Landing. Really, just don't fight him. He already feels badly enough about his past.

CERSEI: Always fight Cersei. Always fight Cersei. This shouldn't need to be explained. Think about everything that she's done. All the people whose lives she ruined. Whatever terrible fate you can inflict is one that she deserves. Yes, she's pregnant, but don't forget - the witch in Season 5 warned her that she would only ever have three children. That baby isn't going to live no matter what happens. I suppose you'd have to get rid of Gregor Clegane first, so bring Sandor with you for a double knock-out. Other than that, I don't see anyone coming to Cersei's defense. That's just how awful she is. Jaime might try, but I think Brienne and Tyrion would be able to restrain him. Yeah, just. Just fight Cersei.

TYRION: Damn, why would you want to fight Tyrion? So he made a few judgment calls that turned out poorly. He was always trying to do the right thing, and all of his decisions were well-reasoned. His entire life has been constant suffering. Do you really want to add onto that? Well, if you insist, you'll almost certainly win the fight. Being half the size of the average man and consuming alcohol on a daily basis would render Tyrion one of the physically weakest characters on the show. You could probably get away with it as well. I mean, Jaime would come after you, and hell hath no fury like a Lannister scorned. But like I said, he's not the strongest either. Just watch out for that golden hand.

DAENERYS: Should you fight Dany? I suppose it depends on your point of view. She's definitely committed monumental crimes, but she's also saved countless people. You have to ask yourself if such a divisive person deserves to live or not. Really, we could argue that point until the cows come home. The real question is - could you fight her? Ultimately, the answer is yes...if you get close enough. You'd have to get past her armies first, but once you do, she has no experience in direct combat whatsoever. An easy kill. That you could celebrate for ten seconds before Grey Worm or Drogon rip you apart. You can only ever tie with Daenerys, there's no winning.

MISSANDEI: Stop, stop right there. What are you thinking? You know this is how we got S8E5, right? This is what pushed Dany over the edge, so, just consider that for a moment. What would possess you to ever wish pain on such an innocent soul? Missandei deserves the world. She deserves to be free and happy. And you want to fight her? Go ahead. If you could actually land a blow or two, you might win rather quickly. But Grey Worm will rip you limb from limb before that happens, if Dany doesn't issue an angry "Dracarys" first. Actually, if they don't get there, then I will personally climb through the screen myself and fight you for threatening her. She is the purest of cinnamon rolls.

EURON: I will literally pay you to fight him. The man is begging for a punch in the face.

#Game of Thrones #Jon Snow #Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Tyrion Lannister #Daenerys Targaryen #Jaime Lannister #Cersei Lannister #Brandon Stark #Ser Davos Seaworth #Yara Greyjoy #Theon Greyjoy #Brienne of Tarth #Sandor Clegane #Gendry Baratheon #Missandei of Naath

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7deadlycinderellas · 3 years

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If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch 38 (Final)

Holy shit I made it

AO3 link

Oldtown

The air outside Oldtown is humid and warm. There are so many flowers that the whole town smells perfumed. Shireen almost squeals in delight, and Jojen’s never seen anything like it. Gilly and little Sam are delighted too, even the tiny handful of Baratheon men her mother had assigned to accompany and protect them seem enamored of the sunshine. It’s lovely enough that Shireen almost wishes that Brienne hadn’t left them to return briefly to Storm’s End, then perhaps to Tarth, or to Casterly Rock. She deserved it though, Shireen thought, she had more than upheld her vows and done her duty, both to Uncle Renly and herself.

“I never knew the sun could be this warm,” Sam whispers, turning his face to the glowing orb in the sky.

Jojen stares over the horizon, his face rendered almost blank by wonder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far from home, even when we went north.”

Gilly had smiled and nodded. When they reach the edge of the city, they park their horses outside an inn who says they have space for a small group of travelers. Shireen retrieves the pack with her writing, it’s bulging at it’s seams, and suddenly Gilly takes the lead.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Shireen asks, barely able to keep up.

“I just do,” Gilly insists. Shireen shrugs at Jojen, then takes his hand and tries to catch up.

They had stopped in Dragonstone, for just a few moons, to see her mother. Shireen couldn’t quite put to words where their relationship truly sat now, but she was grateful that her mother no longer looked at her as though she was a monster for existing. Maybe they would never be close, but now she would not be the one who told her how to follow her dream, to live the life she wanted.

And with the impending responsibility of Storm’s End in her future, Shireen is perfectly at ease with taking this time for herself.

The city sprouts up on both sides of the honeywine, winding cobblestone streets under their feet. And then, it appears in front of them. The collection of domes and towers that made up the Citadel.

Gilly’s steps stay fast, stay certain, and Shireen suspects that she knows exactly where they are going. Past the green sphinxes was easy enough, but Gilly seemed to know each and every turn to find the library.

The library does it’s best to take Shireen’s breath away. She gazes up at the tall stacks and the high ceiling. She feels Jojen go still beside her, and realizes he must be as enraptured at her. She overhears some of the acolytes in their robes talking, something about the seasons, and tires to listen.

One of the acolytes looks up and opens his mouth as if to tell them that they can’t be in here. Gilly doesn’t give him the chance, but walks briskly past, pulling little Sam by the hand, to the acolyte at the fourth table in line, a portly young man who hasn’t even raised his head at the noise yet.

“Spring lasted only a little more than a year, and the stars say everything’s still in motion and if this keeps changing….”

He looks up. Gilly smiles. The young man knocks over his ink well.

Shireen feels a smile on her face too, though she’s not quite sure why.

Winterfell

Ned tries to wipe the sweat from his face when his daughter enters his room. It’s too hard for him to move very much anymore, but he tries not to let her see. Wolkan, the new young maester sent from the Citadel, tells him it won’t be long. And while the days he has are getting harder and harder, he keeps finding himself wishing for just a few more.

Arya’s spending her evening sitting with him, on his left side. All of his children have spent the time they can by his side, but even though he would never admit it, Catelyn had always been right; Arya was always the child he was closest to.

“Tell me of Winterfell, daughter, “ Ned asks, and Arya puts down her book.

She smiles.

“Meera taught Arra to hold her bow this morning. Her hands are too chubby the draw the string yet though. Last I saw, Gendry was giving her a piggyback ride around the courtyard while the others were training.”

She smiles wider, briefly, at the thought of Gendry swinging the little girl around, making her laugh and squeal. She teased him horribly about how he was so grouchy around everyone, except, it seemed, for mouthy girls.

“The guards are training again, now that we have enough of them and enough laborers. They even let me join without complaint now.”

Ned coughs.

“I do wish I got to admire you in action with that blade again.”

Arya pats her thigh, where Dark Sister still has it’s place in her holster.

“Sansa’s working on her cloak, she’s embroidering it with a red wolf. Ygritte’s still working with Val to finalize their plans. “

Ned smiles at her stories.

“And what of Winterfell itself? Is it still healing well?”

Arya’s face is wistful.

“It’s going on. The crew sent from King’s Landing have been doing their labor as ordered, though the chains make it difficult. We’re not sure how to make it safe without it though. Summer’s come in like a cart racing downhill. It’s been warm and sunny nearly every day, not even any summer snows yet. All of the flowers and the strawberries too are in bloom, even that peach tree that Maester Wolkan rooted in the glass garden has fruited.”

Ned’s face is starting to look wane and tired, so Arya slows. He coughs once, and tells her,

“Keep going. I’ll listen as long as I can.”

“The word from the Citadel,” Arya continues. “Is that these seasons are pasing unusually fast. Word might be if the speed keeps up, a future season might not even last a year…”

Arya keeps talking and Ned falls asleep. She stays with him in the quiet, before standing to leave.

That night, with the images of a fruitful summer drifting in and out of his mind, Ned passes away into the night.

The memorial is held, Winterfell grieves, and another Lord Stark joins the hall of his ancestors in the crypt.

And in the summer afterwards, is when the departures begin.

Meera and Bran are the first. Arra can sit upright in a saddle by herself now, but Bran still rides behind her to save the use of a pony.

“It’s going to be so strange being here without you three,” Arya says, helping Arra put her hands on the front of the saddle and hold on correctly while her father takes the reins.

“It was going to happen sometime,” Meera admits, mounting her own horse. “It almost feels like I’ve been putting off my own responsibilities. I shouldn’t do it anymore.”

“And you’ll always be able to find us,” Bran tells his sister, tilting his head towards the summer sky, where his ravens fly free above Winterfell, ready to depart. “May be a bit of a trial keeping them from getting shot at first, but I think I can handle it.”

Summer is waiting patiently beside the road for the others. When Meera’s horse steps close, he raises himself up on his hind legs with enough gentleness that her horse doesn’t spook. She rubs his snout and his tail wags, eager to be back in the wild. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to live as close as he did in Winterfell, but perhaps a single wolf could find a home in a swamp. And even if he ended up fleeing for the forests near Moat Caillin, he would still be close enough. Bran would always be close enough.

“Wait,” Arya says, stepping forward to Meera. She removes a wrapped item from her pack.

Meera’s eyes go wide.

“You’re giving us the catspaw’s dagger?”

Arya nods. She gestures at herself, Dark Sister on her hip, and back to Jon, who’s standing back a bit and explaining to younger man in an overlarge guard’s uniform about Longclaw.

“There’s no reason for us to hog all the Valyrian steel left in the north, and we know you’ll keep it safe. Besides,” she twists and looks where Bran and Arra have pulled up on their horse beside them, “Your House played a role in the war, even if it’s not one most people will remember from history. You deserve an heirloom to commemorate.”

And also, she thinks, this dagger nearly killed Bran once. It makes sense for him to help keep watch over it.

Arra reaches out for her aunt’s hand, calling out “aya,” the closest approximation her baby voice can manage. Arya squeezes her chubby hand and kisses it, before standing back up beside her husband and the other Winterfell men to watch them go.

Catelyn had bid farewell to her second youngest son earlier that day, for it was time too to prepare to leave Winterfell with her daughter, and for them to depart for Casterly Rock.

“I almost feel like I’m superfluous to you,” Catelyn admits as Sansa finishes the stitching on her gown, “You’ve got everything so well handled.”

“Nonsense, Mother,” Sansa admonishes, “I had to get married twice without you. I may not be able to do it with my whole family- but I’d like at least you to be there. Besides, if you’re planning to return to Riverrun, this will cut your travel time in half. “

That had been a surprise to all of them, that after Ned’s passing and Robb being officially recognized as Lord Stark, that Catelyn had expressed desire to return to her childhood home.

“My brother is lord now, my father gone. My uncle has earned some rest in his older years, and I would like to ensure that my home will prosper. I think I’ve gone a good job here, and I’ve loved raising every last one of you, but I am not truly a Stark, and without Ned, I do not feel like I truly belong here.”

And to all of the Starks, it’s actually Jon who she admits this to first, a consequence of the strange sort of ceasefire their relationship has become. He did his best to be understanding, though he does tell her that he spent much of his life feeling the same way.

“Even if you continue feeling that way, I feel like the Starks will always welcome you.”

The day Sansa and Catelyn leave Winterfell is the sunniest of any of the summer days so far.

“Hail one of Bran’s ravens if you need us. Especially me, if I need to filet your husband. I didn’t get to the last one, so I want first dibs.”

Sansa snorts wildly while embracing Arya. She’s dressed in a practical traveling gown, her bow once again strapped to her back. At her feet, Lady sits, waiting.

Arya pats her shoulder, and adjusts her quiver.

“Remember to keep your string well waxed. Meera always told us that was the most important part of maintaining your bow. And don’t get rusty. Just because you’re going to be a Lady of a great house now is no reason to let your skill degrade.”

Arya’s taking her chance to lecture Sansa on propriety. Sansa already feels like crying so she lets her.

When the party departs, Catelyn doesn’t look back, but Sansa does. Lady yips beside the party, running along the green grass in great bounds. She leaves her childhood home with one eye in the past, but her whole mind turned to the future.

In the coming moons, Val and Ygritte work out the numbers.

“The farmers have begun to work upon the New Gift,” Ygritte tells Jon that night in his chambers, “But the sheep and goat herders prefer the land north of where the wall stood. The animals have adapted to the land there, the cold and wind, it’s necessary for their coats and appetites. And the hunting clans, they’re always going to prefer living in the wild land where the beasts they hunt aren’t in as much competition with men.”

And Jon knows that Ygritte too, would always prefer the wild land.

“We’ll help them then,” he tells her, “We’ll lead them and help them resettle. With Rowan and the trees, we won’t have to be as divided as we once were. All of this land can truly be the north.”

Ygritte nods, and cuddles into his chest, and that night, they both dream of snow and caves.

The plan has been set for a while, and some of the Free Folk have already left to stake out their futures. Robb had wanted to stop them, to do the resettling in a more orderly manner, but Val had shaken her head. While most of the Free Folk were willing to obey laws, they were not willing to wait for lords to tell them how and when to live.

Rickon had been among the first to forge his path north, along with Roland, the young warrior who had stolen him away.

The night before the next departure, Jon finds Arya with Gendry during supper.

“You two can still back out if you want,” he tells them, “I wouldn’t put the both of to hardship again, especially if you’re thinking of starting a family.”

Arya shakes her head, but it’s Gendry who answers.

“Come on Jon, you know the two of us aren’t meant to live our lives in a castle giving orders or being ordered around.”

“And if you’re so concerned about this mission being dangerous when it comes to our futures and starting a family, have you talked to Ygritte about it?” Arya interjects. “Wildlings have been having families in the wilds over the wall for centuries, and I’m sure she’ll have opinions.”

Jon looks abashed, and tells the both of them that they will be ready to leave at sunup.

It does become a topic conversation in Arya’s quarters that night.

“We haven’t really talked about it, since the battle,” Gendry admits, slipping into bed and curling behind her. “Is children something you want? And if you do, are you alright with raising them on the road or in a northern village instead of in a comfortable castle?”

Arya grins, and pushes back against him, nestling further into his arms.

“Considering the number of times we ended up like this after the battle, without my access to my tea...I’m surprised it’s not a question that we’ve been forced to deal with already. I...I always thought the instant we slipped up, I’d have one on me.”

Part of her wonders how Ygritte had avoided it too. Perhaps she knew the herbs, but Jon’s stories didn’t suggest a lifestyle conducive to regular brewing of tea.

“That is always what I thought too,” Gendry admits, playing with her hair “You get it pushed into your mind that it can happen any single time...and then you start to think you want it, and it doesn’t.”

Arya smiles, thinking of seeing Gendry with Arra, thinks of how happy she was with her as well. She feels her eyes falling closed at her husband’s touch, but forces herself to answer.

“I’d be perfectly happy to have a whole pack with you in the wilds of the north, live in a little village, teach them to hunt and make weapons and tend sheep...but we’d play it by ear. If they needed to grow up in a castle, we could always come back, find a place here willing to harbor an upjumped bastard and a wild, improper lady.”

They both laugh, because they know that neither of them are those people anymore.

“We could come back to Winterfell, or visit Shireen when she ends up in Storm’s End, or go finally meet Davos’s wife and sons…” Gendry mumbles as they drift off to sleep. Arya watches his face briefly, childlike in the ease of sleep, and wonders again how she got so lucky to find him again.

In the light of the sunrise, Jon gathers the party to leave Winterfell. Ygritte gathers the people they are guiding, and is preparing them while Jon bids Robb and Val farewell. Val moves to speak to the Free Folk with Ygritte when Robb tells Jon.

“You may think you have no place here Jon, but you will always be welcome.”

Robb embraces him as well as she can with his one arm, before pulling back.

“And-” he tilts his head towards where Arya and Gendry wait, “If there are any new Stark cubs… from either of you, you better bring them to Winterfell, at least to show them where they came from.”

Jon sniffs a bit when they separate. Robb had always treated him as a brother, and Jon feels like he might as well be sixteen again, leaving for the Night’s Watch.

“Rule as Father would have wanted you to,” Jon tells him, before turning to join the others.

There’s one more person who’s supposed to join them, but Jon’s not sure how she will. He enters the Godswood, looking about. It’s easy enough, Rowan has made herself a nest underneath one of the old oak trees, and right now is sitting, face serene in the summer sun.

“Are you still joining us Rowan?” he asks her. She nods without words at first.

“In time, I want to feel the sun a bit longer.”

When they cross through the gates, Ygritte admits to Jon,

“It was fine to get to see a castle...but I’m glad to be returning north.”

Arya upon her horse, turns at one point to her left. Her ear still bothers her, but out in the wild, it’s different. It’s both quieter, the buzzing especially isn’t as bad out here, and so much of the world here is alive. She remembers Bran talking about reaching out with his ravens in the Neck for the first time, how everything seemed to breathe and to speak. The unbalance feels different in the wild, with creeks babbling and birds chirping instead of people chattering. But she turns towards the buzzing, and one bit of her silent spot becomes a flash of gray.

Nymeria, guarding her human’s vulnerable side. Arya smiles, and in the distance, spots the flash of white fur showing Ghost also running alongside. They both stop in their tracks and turn to howl. And far behind them, Arya can just make out a howl in response. Their brother, calling out farewell from behind the castle walls.

The road is gentle at first. When they reach the land of the Gift, they pass a few small settlements that have begun to farm, and there is little conflict. With everything in bloom for summer, foraging and hunting is easy enough for the group, and at night, the sky is clear enough that all the stars can be seen with ease.

Some nights, Rowan comes through the camp and whispers with Ygritte all the secrets of the stars that the children of the forest held. For even while she had had her fill of the south, Ygritte was still prone to gazing at where man had never gone.

Jon tries not to ask too much of the weirwoods, as abundant as they are here in the north, because they’ve done so much for man already. But sometimes the whispers still speak to him, warn of danger, though they often don’t see it as much. When he tries again to thank them, they almost seem to laugh.

The wall still stands, though it is clearly weeping. Jon has no idea if it will ever truly fall, has no idea what would even happen if it did. Would it slowly shrink and disappear, or would it be diminished, piece by piece, until the whole structure collapsed under itself?

Castle Black is empty, a relic of only a few years. Arya leads scouts through the remains, Dark Sister at her side, to clear it out and find any survivors, or squatters as it may be. They find none, but they do find fallen. Thankfully, the residents of the north are well used to building funeral pyres now, and saying words for people they don't know.

Soon the structure become a quality shelter before it becomes time to move past the Wall. The old barracks are opened up, but in summer, most choose to sleep in the outbuildings and battlements, in the open air.

“This would be a good location for a trading post,” Ygritte comments, “Even an inn, if there’s an enterprising sort among us.”

“Eastwatch used to trade with wildlings, even though it was forbidden,” Jon tells her. Ygritte’s idea is a good one, he thinks. There’s structures already in place, it’s central and easy to find from both sides, and already built to be defended.

The crowd is in one of the training yards, and both Arya and Gendry are in the middle being dogged by children. There’s a pack among them, young children who were hidden away on Bear Island and who’s mothers want to raise them in the land they came from. Children who only saw a bit of the action, and are desperate for stories.

They both look oddly comfortable, Jon thinks, being surrounded by young ones. He’ll have to mention Ygritte’s suggestion to them if their adventuring ever needs to take a slower pace.

That night, the sky is initially clear, but eventually takes a dark turn and a summer snow dusts the structures of Castle Black while the traveler’s sleep. In the morning, they might regret not taking the black brother’s barracks, with their large hearths, but before the snow, they had wanted the freedom of sleeping in the summer night.

Jon is jostled awake in his bedroll once the sky changes by Ygritte returning from her night-time stargazing with Rowan. Snowflakes dust her fiery hair.

“It’s snowing,” she comments. Jon chuckles, turning on one side to face the open window, “I could tell,” he responds.

She’s curls up behind him, and Jon can practically feel her eyes on him, even though he can already feel the pull of sleep beckoning back to him.

“Rowan said something to me,” she admits, “about humans and our names.”

“What was that?” Jon asks, one eye open.

“How the have a way of coming to suit us-”

Jon lets out a long snore and Ygritte realizes she’s lost him. She rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling, blocking where the stars would be. The snow is so light, it will probably be gone by morning. Though she is alone, she continues her last thought.

“Jon, of the snow,” she whispers.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #breera #jongritte #time travel fix it #fic

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it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined · 4 years

Note

JB, Lap sitting, in the bathroom, because of boredom. I feel like I’m playing clue now 😂😂

ahhhhhh okay this is the first time I have ever managed to write a prompt fill, so thank you!! And bear with me... it kind of vastly misinterprets the ‘boredom’ part but hey, that just allows for more of my signature vague angst idk? Pls don’t hate me :)

***

"So what do we do now?"

Brienne checks her watch. It's only about twenty seconds since she last checked it, except now Jaime has squeezed into the tiny bathroom with her, and her hands are starting to shake. "We just wait... like, three minutes or something."

"Well now I know you're freaking out, sweetling.

She keeps staring at the little plastic stick, nestled in a bed of toilet paper on the floor, carefully not touching anything. "What do you mean?"

From the corner of her eye, she sees him perch on the side of the small bath. "I mean, normally you'd be all, 'three minutes and seventeen seconds, precisely', and then I'd be asking you again every thirty seconds, just to take your mind off waiting."

"Oh," she says distractedly, and glances at the numbers ticking away on her watch. She couldn't for the life of her have said what they meant. "I think I lost track. I meant to put a timer on."

"Brienne," he says, and when she looks over at him, "Come here." He holds out a hand, and tugs her closer. There's really not room for two people their size to perch on the bath; there's barely space for them both to fit in the bloody bathroom together.

She thinks for a moment about how they've just left everyone else watching the game back in the lounge, and disappeared. Or, at least, she had disappeared and Jaime had followed her? She still hadn't asked him how he had known, but she's not even sure she has to.

He pulls her closer still, and she puts a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Neither of them are particularly slight, and she has visions of the white plastic cracking under their combined weight. "I really don't think Sansa will be thrilled if we break her bath."

"It won't break," Jaime tells her, and she's exhausted, and more than a little bit scared shitless, truth be told, so she lets him draw her down sideways across his lap, half-waiting for the sound of the plastic splintering beneath them - mostly because she really, really needs to bury her face in the crook of his neck right now, and not look at the small, ticking time bomb on the bathroom floor.

"D'you know how much longer?" He says against her ear after a moment. She has a feeling he's trying not looking at the stick either.

Brienne turns her head to burrow even more against his shoulder, mumbles into the neck of his jumper. "Oh, fuck knows. Why don't these things come with timers built in? They bloody cost enough, they should just... beep or something."

She feels him huff something that feels like a laugh against her shoulder, although she's really not sure what there is to laugh about right now.

The rational part of her brain - the part that acknowledges she cannot, in fact, keep hiding by burying her face against Jaime's collar, in Sansa's bathroom, of all places - starts to kick in. She takes a deep breath, lifts her head so she can look at him. "What do we do if it—"

"If it—" She feels his arms tighten around her. "Well, we go home, so we're not hiding out in Sansa's wretched, minuscule bathroom, and we... take the rest of the tests in the box. In our own, much more reasonably sized, bathroom—"

"Jaime," she says, bringing her hand up to frame his face, and he stops talking; swallows hard. "If it is— Do you—?"

There are worse things, she thinks. She doesn't remember thinking that before, but now it's all she can think about. Worse things than recklessly upending their entire lives over something they've never even really talked about. She spent so long trying to outrun what was expected of her, before she met him, she honestly never thought—

He's looking at her, a little wide-eyed, she thinks; almost like he's trying not to smile. "If we— I mean, if you—?" He takes a shaky breath, and she bites her lip at the look on his face. "You know, we are getting so far ahead of ourselves."

"I know," she says. "But—?"

"Absolutely."

They look at each other for a long moment, and they don't look anywhere near the small plastic stick on the floor.

#anon #i have no clue what i'm doing but this is progress???#prompt fill #i haven't actually posted anything I've written since june so this is majorly freaking me out lol

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scoundrels-in-love · 4 years

Note

for the ask meme: 9, 32 & 49 please!

It’s only been 10 days... It’s only a guess which ask game you sent this for...! ^^; (I am basing it on the fact I read the questions and mused about them for this whole time so I am probably right about the game.) @nossbean

9. What are your favorite fanfics?

Oh no. Oh no. I could and should write POSTS upon POSTS about this.

But I haven’t, because I don’t have the energy to. So you get a cheat version of some of my random favorites from my last pages of my AO3 history. And few special shout outs.

@angel-deux-writes Worth is a wholeass gem and I haven’t commented yet, but I binged it basically today (with exception of first chapter) and I can’t stop yelling about it internally, because the way she says things!! She always has some of my favorite Brienne characterization I get so envious over. There is strength and pride in it, and vulnerability and fear and the acknowledgment that her self-loathing is unfounded yet how hard it is to defend yourself, even knowing all that. I could write essays about it and Angel’s stories in general. Anything by her is a treasure trove, truly.

@samirant Rush Me All Night Long is a fascinating concept, so very well executed and absolutely captivating. Makes me go slack-jawed with awe with how seamless it is. And beyond the craftsmanship of the story form itself, the contents are absolutely epic, too. Intrigue, growth of relationship, dash of humor that is right up my alley, lot of good other characters with their wonderful insights... Nothing to add or take away. Just great. And you KNOW you should check rest of her writing out, too. You won’t regret it.

@ajoblotofjunk is back with another subtly, but powerfully in-depth world story with Baby I Will. How many professions has she gotten degree in already? Because the way she weaves art of playing in bars is so organic. And oh, the connection between Jaime and Brienne... Electrifying, a storm that starts as static sparks as they brush past each other. And I can’t wait to watch it grow. (Also shout out to her absolutely beyond epic gift to me, Petrichor. Which is mindblowingly great and written at haste I cannot comprehend. It couldn’t be more tailored to me and I tear up just thinking about it.)

LadyRhiyana’s Stray Sparks II is the perfect example why I tell someone at least once a week “I wish I could LadyRhiyana this”. Her absolutely amazing skill to capture a whole setting, a whole world of emotions in sometimes as few as 5 to 10 sentences (and not the 30 word sort!) is just... Mesmerizing. I admire it so much and am typically absolutely enamored by her stories. Crossover is also in my history and I am absolutely head-over-heels for it.

@kurikaesu-haru Thirsty is the most endearing, captivating way to combine the two meanings of the word and I adore it to pieces. It’s fun and emotional and hot, and everything it could possibly need to be and then some, in best way possible. And her works contain more and more of gold mines, truly.

@firesign23 is a treasure, to this fandom and to me in particular, for many reasons. But her skill to devastate me with short stories is truly something else. Odd Socks (link to one of my favorite of the lot, but do give them all a read if you haven’t!) is what I have in my history, but I rec her as a writer 1000%. Her prompt fills are always poignant and not shy of ache and I can only marvel at them all. But also how could I miss out on mentioning her two breathtaking recent stories for fic exchange? Hold Steady is a Journey without ever leaving Winterfell, but the miles traveled by weary, worried, longing hearts in it... Oof. And, of course, I have to mention by hearts and hands made fast because it’s for me and it made me cry real tears more than once (!) and actually yell in real life, like no other story. Real and complicated as the characters deserve to be told, painful and comforting, absolutely breathtaking in the prose... I could rant for days, truly. And truly, wherever you look at her work, you’ll find more of it.

@aviss Skin Deep is just gem, gem, gem. Am I biased because she wrote for me, in a sense? Maybe. But she ACED it in ways I can barely comprehend. Everything I could wish for in the concept is there and more. Sweet pining, absolute besottery and realistic realizations and then hot, earnest resolutions... What a gem. As is rest of her works, really!

32. Past or present tense?

I used to be such a past tense snob. Nothing else for me, no sir. But now I write almost exclusively in present tense. I can’t tell when the shift happened, I think when I was 20 or few years older than that, and I don’t know why, I think I read a good fic, like really good one, and also was trying to bypass my writer’s block by switching it up. And I found a certain freedom in it. A sense that it makes sense for me to go deeper, to be in present turmoil and wax poetics about it for few paragraphs. Because it’s currently happening, instead of retelling if something that has been. It freed me more in past tense, too, though.

It’s odd I don’t remember how and why the shift happened, almost makes me feel sad.

Nowadays I mostly write in past tense because I get too caught up in flashback sort of sequences and can’t make it grammatically correct anymore so I switch everything to past tense. Tomorrow (with you) is prime example.

49. Where do you draw inspiration from?

Anything. The other day, I was bitterly laughing with a friend I could write a piece about stain on floor, create whole 1-3k word story about someone thinking about the stain, etc. Doesn’t matter if it has funny shape or not, known origin or not.

Most often, though, it’s prompts, it’s song lyrics, it’s some kind of thought/belief I have for character that I want to express/see them through some kind of event in way I think they would. Sometimes, it’s specific setting or watching something. Like, there was one (1) almost head-kiss in a kdrama with secret identities and I created a whole 10k word worth story idea off of it... Sometimes, it’s honestly even just a dumb, dumb post. But yes, music/feelings/prompts, I’d say are the main thing.

And as for inspiration drawn for writing itself... That’s a difficult question for me, right now. In kindest, non-rambly way I’d probably say what other people have lived and written.

Send me fanfic question?<3

#braime #braime ff rec #ask games answered #trying to remember what my rec tag was and failing...#nossbean #sent on a cloud

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sailorshadzter · 4 years

Text

across the sea and back again, chapter 2.

WHEWWW. this chapter is a doozy. well over 6k words.

i swore when i wrote chapter one that it wasn’t going to be more than that, MAYBE a part 2 someday (which meant never, lets be real haha). i cant say what happened but it did and now i’m planning 5 chapters out because... well, because i love drowning myself in wips & fics. ANYWAYS. thanks for the support and excitement over this au, it really keeps me going!!

read on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

thanks again & i hope you guys enjoy this really really long chapter.

The night before they leave Lys, a storm rages.

It keeps Robb awake most of the night, his pitiful wails cracking like thunder between the flashes of lightning. For most of the night, she holds her restless infant son close to her chest, whispering soft soothing words against his downy dark head of hair. When he does sleep, she sits in the rocking chair Jon had built for her during her pregnancy, one of the only things she's sad to leave behind when they leave in the morning.

"Sansa?"

She turns from where she stands at the window, the rain lashing out against the glass making it hard to see; but over the wind and the rain, she can hear the rage of the sea. "Afraid, is he?" Jon speaks softly, approaching her where she stands with their son, dressed in only a pair of old, wrinkled breeches. "Let me take him, you need sleep." She opens her mouth to protest, but Jon shakes his head, reaching for Robb without hesitation. "I have slept enough, let me care for him now." Robb fits perfectly into the crook of his arm, his weight warm and comforting. "It's going to be a long few days." Their days of travel would take them back across the Narrow Sea, back to the North, back to a place neither of them had thought they would ever see again. "Get some rest, sweetheart." His other hand reaches out to finds its place at the back of her head, drawing her forehead close enough for a kiss.

Only after she's placed a kiss to her son's feather soft hair, she nods, stepping back from where they stand. "This... Is the right thing to do, isn't it?" She asks softly, raising her gaze to meet his just one last time. He can see the fear that reflects in her eyes- not for herself, but for their child. Despite how beloved the Stark's might be, despite how beloved she was to the Northern people, a child born from the coupling of two half siblings would not be welcome. Not anywhere. But... She thinks of Rickon, she thinks of Arya, of Bran... of all the North... She knows the right answer long before Jon gives his solemn nod.

"I'll protect him." Jon says softly, his tone one she's only heard once before; i'll protect you, I promise. "I'll protect you both, Sansa." She smiles, inclining her head as she gazes at the man she loves, the man she knows would give his life in an instant if it meant protecting her. If it meant protecting their son. Without saying it, he understands her true fears, the only thing that could ever keep her from returning North to save her brother and their home. "Go. Rest." Softer still and she nods, leaning in so he might kiss her mouth, soft and slow.

As she drifts off to a dreamless sleep, the storm outside calms, a sign perhaps that their journey might still yet end in peace.

[ x x x ]

"Did you get it?"

Brienne nods, extending out her hand to drop into Sansa's palm a small vial. Something else that Lys was known for were their potent potions and poisons. Sansa had heard Cersei speak of them, had heard the rumors of those poisoned by the queen. "Thank you," she goes on, making her way across the room to where the single trunk of their belongings sits. Kneeling down, she slips the vial into a pocket on the side, a place where it will be safe on their long journey home.

"What will you use it for?"

Sansa rises up from the floor, turning back to face her new loyal knight; once, she had wished with all of her might to have gone with Brienne, to be saved before she could be sold to Ramsay Bolton. But now... She casts her gaze out the doorway, where Jon stands outside with Robb, giving him one last view of the only home he's only known. Now, she can't imagine her life any differently, despite the pain of the past. "To protect my family." She turns back to Brienne with a slight smile. "I hope I won't have any use of it." Brienne nods again, understanding. "It's time to go, I think." Sansa offers her sworn shield a smile and inclines her head, reaching out to gently touch Brienne's hand. She watches as her face softens, the smile transforming her features, filling them with warmth. "Take me home, Brienne."

Together, they step out into the sunshine.

[ x x x ]

When she steps out onto the deck, the air is cold.

She makes her way to the railing and wraps her hands around it, the sea stinging cold as it splashes her face, her hands, her skirts. But she does not try to pull herself from the spray, but rather closes her eyes and shivers- she's not felt this feeling in so very long. She opens her eyes and there in the distance, she can see the docks of White Harbor. It has been a long few days but she knows soon they will step foot upon Northern soil and from that moment on, everything would change.

"Sansa?"

Turning at the sound of his voice, she smiles; they'd been here before, over a year before, but sailing away from the North and the danger. Now they're sailing right back in. She wonders if he's thinking of the same thing. He's found his old furs and hers as well, for she sees it there in his hands. "We'll land soon," he says as he steps up beside her, draping her old cloak over her shoulders. "Are you afraid?" She holds fast to his gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "I didn't tell you, but... I wrote to someone of our arrival." Her gaze, which had turned back towards the sea, snaps back, a brow arching in silent surprise. "We can't land without anywhere to go, Sansa." He says softly, reaching out to tenderly touch her hand that still yet grips the railing. Her skin is icy cold. "It's Samwell Tarly." She relaxes, but only a little. That is a name she can trust, only because Jon trusts him. "I can only hope that my raven reached him in time." There had been no time at all for Jon to wait for a response from his old friend and so they would land in White Harbor and head to the spot that he had established in his letter and hope that Sam would be there waiting. From there, he could only hope that the rest of his plan would fall into place.

Though she doesn't speak, she nods, knowing just as well as him that this was their only option, their only plan.

It had to work.

[ x x x ]

"Put your hood up."

It's Brienne's soft command to her lady and when Sansa turns her blue eyes to her knight, she's smiling gratefully as she does as she's been bid. Her red hair would be known anywhere, even now, and she knows how quickly the rumor of a Stark looking man and redhead woman arriving in White Harbor would spread if her locks were seen by anyone.

With Jon leading the way, they make their way down the center dock and towards the spot known as the Seal Gate. From there they head along a path that is not without traffic- White Harbor is a port city and there are always ships arriving and departing, thus making it a lively enough place despite the cold, snowy climate. It is where the trade for the entire North happens, it is how the rest of the kingdom survives. They step off the main path after so long and they're heading down an alley- Sansa almost opens her mouth to ask Jon if he's lost his mind, but to her surprise he merely gestures ahead to where sure enough, she sees a building come into focus.

"Talk to absolutely no one." Jon says softly as they approach the door, knowing it was quite against his better judgment to bring Sansa to a place such as this. But with Longclaw strapped to his hip once again, he feels powerful, he feels confident. As if this was where he was always meant to be. The North was his home, it gave him strength, it gave him courage. "And stay close to me." He can see she looks worried but she nods before she clutches Robb closer to her chest, hidden beneath her cloak so well it is as if she only carries a bundle. Brienne behind her, they slip single file into the door and out of the cold, Northern air.

Sansa has never seen a place such as this.

It's as if every glance she gives the room, she's met with women in various stages of undress. There's a man fondling one woman's bare breasts for all to see in a corner and there's a rowdy table cheering in another as one man drunkenly kisses the girl trying to pour him another drink. It's a brothel, she realizes, a place she's certainly heard of, but certainly never experienced before. She can't help but to wonder how Jon knows of this place.

Pausing, Jon scans the room; for a single moment, he thinks all is lost, that Sam did not receive his letter in time. But then, as if by some miracle, he spots the round faced man across the room in the darkest, furthest corner. Sam sees him as well and is on his feet as they approach. "Jon!" He greets, clapping his old friend on the back; once, he had thought he would never see Jon Snow again, but there he was, alive and well. He gestures towards Sansa to take a seat and Jon guides her into a chair, leaning in close to whisper something into her ear; she nods and makes no movement to remove her cloak's hood, despite being inside and out of the elements. Jon and Sam sit as well, leaving Brienne to stand just off to the side, her gaze daring any one of those within the room to cross her. "I was surprised to hear from you. Everyone thinks you to be dead."

"Aye, I'm glad to know that. They won't be expecting us." Jon replies, sparing a quick glance to Sansa beside him, who's closed her eyes; she looks as tired as he feels. But their night is not yet over. "Tell me what you know of the North. What is happening?"

Sam opens his mouth as if he means to speak, but then promptly closes it, as if he's uncertain as to what to say. "There is something..." He begins, glancing towards the hooded girl beside Jon, as well, jumping when he finds himself peering into her intense blue stare. "Something I found while at the Citadel." He clarifies, turning back to face Jon, knowing these next few words he had to say would change everything for him. "About you."

"About me?" Jon asks, blinking, clearly surprised.

"It was a diary entry for the High Septon Maynard, he wrote about the annulment of Prince Rhaegar's first marriage and his secret wedding with a girl of Northern blood." Sam speaks slowly, carefully, watching as Jon's face begins to change. He doesn't know, and yet, something tells Sam that somehow he does. "Her name was Lyanna Stark." The cloaked woman beside Jon gives a soft little gasp and Sam casts another glance her way and see she looks as shocked as Jon, though she too holds a strange look of understanding. "According to Maynard, Lyanna gave birth to Rhaegar's son and heir in Dorne and died from childbirth. The child was never found, but they assumed him to be dead. Perhaps buried by a kind soul who witnessed the birth."

Jon can barely hear Sam over the sound of his beating heart. Beneath the table, he feels Sansa touch his leg- a warm touch, a comforting touch. He slips a hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Somehow, before Sam finishes, Jon already knows what he's going to say.

"You're that son, Jon." Sam speaks clearly, but quietly, so they are not overheard. They are lucky for the loud, rowdy crew in the room; no one pays much mind to their table in the darkest corner. "Rhaegar was your father, Jon, your real father." Jon blinks and for a moment, gives no other reaction, making Sam wonder if he's heard him at all. "Jon... You know what that means, don't you?" He asks and Jon blinks again, not yet speaking, though he does meet Sam's gaze.

"It means he's the true heir to the Iron Throne."

The woman beside Jon speaks for the first time, the sound of her voice causing Sam to nearly leap from his skin. He turns back to her and though she's not lowered her hood, she's sitting up straighter, a new confidence to her body language. He opens his mouth to speak but he's cut off by the sudden wailing of an infant. And it's coming from the woman. Sam watches in absolute shock as she fumbles with the cloak she wears, revealing for the first time that she carries a swaddled baby in her arms, a babe nearly as small as little Sam had been when he first met Gilly. She hushes the baby softly and he quiets after several moments, content enough to suckle his mother's finger in place of her breast. At least for now.

A quick glance around tells Sam that lucky for them, the baby's cries were not heard. Now that he looks closer at the babe she holds, he can see that the child looks quite like Jon- from the dark curls to the shape of his features; it was a Stark child, that much was certain. Now it's Sam's turn to understand what's right there in front of him. This was Jon's son and most certainly the woman beside him, whoever she was, was the infant's mother. "My father was... was Ned Stark." It's Jon speaking for the first time and he's shaking his head as if he doesn't believe the words that have been spoken to him.

Before Sam can speak, it's Sansa that's turning to him, her hand warm upon his shoulder now. Her touch guides his gaze to her face, swiveled in his chair entirely, just so he might face her. "Don't you see...?" She speaks softly, her words so quiet in the loud room that Sam cannot make out everything that she says to him. "This will change everything, Jon, for the better." They were not half siblings, they were cousins. Together, he the heir to the Iron Throne and she the heir to the North, they were a powerful alliance that would gain them more support than simply being Sansa Stark and the bastard of Winterfell. Her words must be the ones he needs to hear for after several long moments, he nods, swallowing down whatever fear and anxiety surely is rising up within him. Then he turns back to face Sam across the table and gives one more, stronger than before, nod.

"Tell me everything you know, Sam."

And he does.

[ x x x ]

The snow falls swiftly, blanketing the world around her in a fresh cover of white.

She shivers; not from cold, but from fear.

Ahead of her, Rickon stands with his back to her, his Tully touched curls gleaming in the pale moonlight. He's grown tall as a man, but she still recalls the day he was born. She opens her mouth to call his name, tears in her eyes, but her voice does not come. Running and running and running, but she cannot seem to reach him, she cannot seem to touch him. And then suddenly, she's there, just an arm's length from where Rickon stands. His name is a whisper on her trembling lips and slowly, painfully slow, he revolves on the spot.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream.

It is not Rickon, but rather a rotting corpse that most certainly is Robb; he holds Greywind's severed head in his hands, blood splattered all down his front. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, the face is her father and it's Lady's head that tumbles from his hands to land at her feet, golden eyes blinking up at her. Somewhere, in the distance, comes the howl of a lonely wolf.

Closer the howl comes, closer, closer...

She wakes with a gasp, breathing hard, fear still yet clinging to her skin.

"Sansa?"

It's Jon; he stands across the room, Robb cradled in his arms, though the baby sleeps peacefully. "A nightmare, sweetheart?" He whispers as he comes closer, sinking down onto her side of the bed, one hand reaching out to take hers. She trembles, her skin frightfully pale; it's been a long time since she's hard a nightmare that's left her in a state such as this. "Tell me." To his surprise, she shakes her head; it was truly a fearful dream, if she doesn't even wish to speak on it. That was how it always used to be, back in the beginning, back when she first came to him from Ramsay Bolton. He still recalls the nights where she would pace the floor til dawn, too frightened to sleep. He still recalls the nights where she would cry herself back to sleep with her head in his lap, her body simply too tired to fight the need to sleep.

"Why are you awake?" She asks instead, reaching out to tenderly stroke their son's forehead, the only thing that could bring a smile to her face right then was him. "I didn't hear him cry."

"He didn't," Jon admits softly, turning away from her then as if shamed by something. "I couldn't sleep." He goes on, softer still, closing his Stark colored eyes against the emotion welling within him.

Now she understands.

"Oh, Jon..." She murmurs, reaching out for him as he had done for her only moments ago. Her touch brings him back to her and she brushes her fingertips along his jawline, his stubble rough against her skin. Sansa cannot imagine the feelings he must be feeling right then- they had not spoken of it since they found themselves the small room to rent, thanks to Sam's help. All his life, Jon had wanted nothing more than to be a true born Stark, the son of Ned Stark. But he had accepted the hand dealt to him in the form of his bastard status for at least in that he still had a family, brothers and sisters and a father that never once made him feel less than any of the other children. And now... Now...

It's not until he feels her brushing away his tears that Jon knows he's begun to cry. Sansa gently removes Robb from his grasp, tucking the baby carefully against Jon's pillow before she turns back to him and takes him into her arms. She holds him for what might be a moment or a lifetime, he loses track of the time that passes as she whispers soft, comforting words against the shell of his ear, her delicate fingers stroking his dark curls.

"Ned Stark will always be your father," she says when Jon's tears have all been spent. " He knew the truth all along Jon and yet, to keep you safe, he pretended you were his. That is what a real father would do for his child." Sansa smiles, gesturing towards their son that sleeps so soundly in the bed beside them. "It's what you would do for him, isn't it?" Jon takes in the sight of Robb and slowly his lips curve with a small smile.

"Aye," he agrees, turning back to her. "I'd do anything to keep him safe."

"I know," she puts her hand against his once again, giving it a tight squeeze. "And that's how father felt about me, about you, about all of us. It is because of him that you're here with me right now, Jon. You owe it to him to be as good of a father as he was, if not better." He nods; he knows, he knows. He just needed to hear it from someone else. His hand still in hers, he draws her down to the bed and they slide into place on either side, warm beneath the thick furs.

And with their baby tucked safely between them, they drifted back to sleep.

[ x x x ]

When Jon wakes, he knows what he must do.

Sliding out from beneath the covers, he dresses in the dark and slips from the room, leaving Sansa asleep in the bed with the baby. He heads down the hall three rooms and stops at a single door, raises his hand and knocks.

He knocks until finally, the door swings open.

Though Sam grumbles a curse when he sees Jon standing there, he steps back so he may step into the hazy darkness of his room. "There's something I need you to do for me." Jon says the moment the door has closed behind him. Perhaps it's the tone of voice in which he speaks, but almost at once, Sam is alert. "The mother of my son... The woman I'm with... I need you to marry us." Before, marriage was not an option if they came back North, it never would have been accepted. They knew what they were returning to, they knew what would happen, but they came anyways. They came because their baby brother was in shackles in a cell and the monster who held him held their home hostage, too. But now... The best thing that could ever come from the truth of his parentage... They could love each other openly. They could proclaim their child the heir to Winterfell as well as the Iron Throne. Though a crown of his own was not something Jon wanted, he knows what will happen if he does not seek out his birthright. He swore he would do anything to protect the family he had made with Sansa and so he would. "Marry us. Today. And then we will claim what's ours."

Sam nods.

[ x x x ]

"But where are we going?"

Jon glances over his shoulder to where she follows behind him, her red hair threatening to free itself from the confines of her cloak's hood with every icy gust of wind. "You will see, we're almost there. Watch your step," he guides her over a fresh heaping of snow and she sees this new path leads downward, towards a gathering of trees that she almost at once recognizes. "Ah, you've spotted them." He chuckles, gesturing towards the vibrant red leaves that guide them along the rest of the way. "It turns out every town in the North has a godswood of its own." They're beneath the canopy of trees now and Sansa pauses for only a moment, taking in the sight of the frozen godswood. Once, she had thought she would never return North, let alone stand in a quiet godswood. "I know it isn't Winterfell's godswood... But..." He trails off for now she's noticed Sam just ahead, standing beneath the heart tree, a knowing sort of smile on his lips.

"Jon... What... What is this?" She's gazing back and forth, from Jon to Sam and then back again, as if she expects one of the men to vanish entirely.

"I told you I would do anything to protect you, so let me." Jon says softly, his hand coming up to catch her cheek, gently, lovingly. "Marry me, Sansa. Right here, right now." He watches as her face changes, her surprise melting into pure joy, the smile on her face lighting her up in a way he's not seen since the day Robb was born. "And then we will go and take back Rickon and Winterfell. We will find Arya and Bran and we'll be a family again." She nods, a strong solemn nod, her chest swelling with pride and love for the man that is offering himself to her entirely, in a way she had once thought never to be possible. "When the North is ours again, we will head south and I will take the Iron Throne from the Lannister's." He vows and her surprise returns. "In a world where Cersei Lannister rules as queen, you will never be safe. And she will never let the North go. If we wish it to be ours and only ours, we must take her down, too." He would fight any man, any army, and any monster if it meant he would keep her safe.

Tears flood her eyes despite the smile on her lips and she nods again, allowing Jon to take her by the hand and lead her towards the heart tree where Sam stands, still waiting for them. And then...

Then they get married.

[ x x x ]

The first place that they go is just east of Castle Black.

And just as Jon said that they would, they find the camp of wildlings that Jon had once allied himself with. Tormund at their command, he holds the power of two thousand fighting men and Jon knows that if there's no one else in all of the North that he can count on, he will always have Tormund.

"I wonder who will be more excited to see you?" Sansa's voice breaks into his thoughts as they approach the camp, voices already carrying along the winter wind. Jon grins, tossing a glance over his shoulder at her where she walks, Brienne close behind, the baby bundled and carried in a sling she's fastened around her torso, happily snoozing despite the chill of the wind. "Tormund or Ghost." Jon chuckles and nods, having been thinking about his wolf since the moment they set forth on this journey to find Tormund and the wildlings.

They don't have long to think for suddenly comes the howl of a wolf.

All three of them come to a stop at the end of the camp, where tents and huts have been erected as shelters from the icy cold, fires built in various places to offer as much warmth as possible to the elderly and children that sit around in groups. That is when Jon spots the wolf- he's running from the center of the camp, faster than Jon thinks he's ever seen him run before. Someone screams as Ghost leaps through the air, landing on Jon and knocking him back into the snow. More yelling, more voices. Chaos follows as the wildlings gather, thinking the white wolf was attacking a stranger, not greeting a beloved friend, until finally a loud voice booms above it all: "Little crow!"

"Good boy, Ghost," Jon is laughing, trying to push Ghost's paws from his shoulders so he might at least sit up. It isn't until Sansa sinks down and puts her warm hand to the wolf's back that he turns away, instead far more interested in her and the baby. A shadow crosses over him and he tilts his head back, looking up into the grinning face of his old friend. "Tormund." He greets as the orange haired man reaches down, offering a hand, which Jon takes and allows the wildling to pull him up onto his feet again. The two men embrace but even when they pull back, Tormund can't help but to clasp the younger man on his shoulder. "Edd," he says, seeing the dark haired man now approaching as well, a stunned look on his face.

"You brought the big woman!" Tormund breaks in with a wolfish grin, his eyes seeking out Brienne that stands just behind Sansa, a hand on the hilt of her sword. "And a... Baby?" The only thing able to drive his attention away from the lady knight was the sight of the sleeping baby in Sansa's arms- a baby that he sees looks unmistakably like the man standing in front of him. "You must have a lot to say, if you've come all this way." Tormund says, offering Sansa a smile before he turns back to Jon. "Come, let's get the lady and littler crow out of the cold." He gestures for them to follow him and so they do, falling into step as if they'd never even left.

[ x x x ]

"Are you ready?"

Jon's voice in her ear makes her shiver, but she nods, a wane smile on her lips. "I am." She says, perhaps with more confidence than she truly feels. But she is a Stark, she is the blood of Winterfell, she is strong. She is brave.

The door they stand outside of suddenly opens and a steward appears in the door way, gesturing for the pair to step into the room. They have left Robb behind with Brienne and Sansa feels lost without her son near. But there is something else she must focus on; the present, so they might have a future. And now was not the time to tell anyone the truth about Jon and his birth. Once they had full Northern support, they would tell all of the Houses at once, before they take back Winterfell from the Bolton's.

Together, she and Jon walk along the length of the room, towards the single table that sits in the hall. House Reed is a modest house, but they are loyal and fiercely so, it only made sense for this to be the first noble house they seek support from. Howland Reed sits behind the table with just a single man, perhaps his maester, standing behind him. "When they told me Jon Snow was at my gate, requesting an audience with me, I thought it to be lie." The man says as they approach, a smile tugging at his lips. "But here you are, Jon Snow, alive and well it looks like." He rises up from his chair, stepping around the table so he can come and stand before them. "You are your father's son, bastard born or not, you have the Stark look." In truth, Howland is somewhat taken aback by the resemblance, it is as if he's peering into his old friend's face again, not his son. "Welcome to Greywater Watch." For the first time, he spares a look at the cloaked woman beside Jon; she is tall and thin, but with her hood pulled up there is little he can see besides her ivory features and the blue eyes that peer back at him. "To you too, my lady." Intense blue eyes, he notes. He feels as if he's seen eyes like these before, but he cannot place it.

"I thank you for your warm welcome, Lord Reed," Jon greets, clasping hands with the man for a moment, offering him a grin. "I imagine you understand I've come for a reason." To this Howland chuckles, though he shrugs as he makes his way back around to the chair he had vacated just a few minutes before.

"Aye, there must be. The whole North thinks you to be dead, it's been well over a year since you were last even rumored to be seen." He replies as a door behind him opens and two servants step in, bringing ale and chairs, all of which are offered to the guests on the other side of the table. "Many say all of House Stark is dead, you know." Jon's face darkens but he gives a solemn nod, taking the seat offered to him only after he's ensured the young woman beside him is seated, too. "None of your younger half siblings have been seen in years." Again, Jon nods, his hand clenching into a fist beneath the table. "And the poor oldest girl. Married to that bastard Bolton." Reed scowls, shaking his head. "I imagine he had her killed, he got what he wanted out of her when Winterfell became his."

"Sansa Stark isn't dead."

Both men turn to the woman seated beside Jon. Hands reaching up, she pulls back the hood of her cloak, revealing for the first time since she stepped foot in the North the rich red hair that every Northern man would know. "By the gods... Sansa Stark!" Howland Reed jumps to his feet in shock, shaking the goblets of ale atop the table in his haste. Those blue eyes, that red hair... He knows her because he knew her mother, because he once knew Sansa when she was but a little girl. "You're alive," he whispers, tears filling his eyes without shame, hands trembling as they settle upon the top of the table.

"I'm alive because Jon saved me," Sansa says with a smile for Jon, though she returns her gaze to Howland, head tilting as the man looks torn between falling to his knees or jumping for joy. "The North was not safe for me, not with Ramsay Bolton in Winterfell and Cersei Lannister in the South." Reed is nodding, listening despite the whirlwind of emotions rushing through him. "We need your help." She goes on, softer, never breaking eye contact with the man in front of her. "Winterfell belongs to me, to Jon. To House Stark. Please... Please, lend us your support. Help us take back the North." Her pleading is unnecessary, Howland Reed knew he'd have done anything she asked of him.

Silently, Howland Reed drops to his knees and unsheathes the sword at his hip, offering it up in the North's gesture of fealty. "I once pledged my life and sword to your brother, Robb Stark, I will pledge it to you now. To House Stark." Sansa swallows, her heart racing as the man speaks words she never once thought to hear again.

Beside her, Jon puts a warm hand on her shoulder and she knows that they're one step closer to saving Rickon and taking back the North. It was only a matter of time.

Soon, they would truly go home.

[ x x x ]

Somehow, against all odds, they have done it.

It is not all the houses- some are loyal to the Bolton's now- but it is enough to muster an army together. The heads of all those houses, along with Tormund and Edd, sit in the war tent with Jon and Sansa, the first night all of them have come together. For hours now they've been inside, so long now that the candles Sansa had lit when darkness fell were now dripping pudles of wax on the tabletops.

"My lords, we thank you again for the support you give us." Jon speaks, glancing around the room at all of the faces. "Before we depart for the night, there is something else we must speak of." Some of the lords exchange glances, but more nod, encouraging Jon to continue speaking. Despite the little time they've spent together, these Northern lords have begun to develop a respect for Ned Stark's bastard son. In truth, some had already made the decision to follow him wherever he went, as they had followed Robb Stark and Ned Stark before him. "Sam," Jon gestures for his old friend to step up beside him, looking somewhat uncomfortable as all the eyes fall upon him instead. "Sam found out something while in the Citadel, from a journal entry of the High Septon at the time of Robert's Rebellion." Many of the men in the room know who Jon speaks of, they remember those days when Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon fought for the throne and Robert won.

"What does this journal entry speak of?" One lord cuts in, perhaps uncertain as to what this has to do with anything at all.

Jon sighs, his heart racing; he isn't certain at all how the Northern lords will take the truth of his birth. But this was it, this was the moment. He could only hope that when the truth came out, these men would remain loyal to at least Sansa, to at least the son and heir she's given them. "It spoke of his anullment to Elia Martell and his secret marriage to Lyanna Stark." A collective gasp goes up among the tent, more looks exchanged by the lords as the information sinks into their brains. "Rhaegar and Lyanna had a single child, born in Dorne after Robert Baratheon ascended the throne."

"Marriage? He kidnapped her." Another lord speaks out.

"A child?" Another cries out, the realization of such a thing already dawning on him.

"Aye." Jon lets out the breath he's been holding, yet again glancing around the room, taking in the various degrees of emotion upon all of their faces. Beside him, Sansa is still, but she holds her head high as she listens to the conversations breaking out all around them. "I know it is a lot to take in, but as Sam as pointed out to me when I too expressed disbelief- why would the High Septon have reason to lie?"

These words sink in and the lords circle back to Jon, their side conversations and remarks tapering off. "If there was a child born, where is it now? Dead?" They all know what Robert Baratheon would have done if a child of Rhaegar's was left alive.

Jon shakes his head. "I am that child." He says the words simply and they fall from his tongue much easier than he had thought they might. For several moments, there is nothing but stunned silence and it only deepens his fears that these men will not remain loyal to him.

"Then you are heir to the Iron Throne." It's little Lyanna Mormont, named in honor of his mother, the youngest of all of them in the room. "I had thought in you we might find our new King in the North, but we've found more than that." Her dark eyes hold steady to Jon's gaze and he's surprised to see the quickest flash of a smile on her stoic features. "Are you asking us to help you reclaim the Iron Throne, once you have Winterfell?"

Jon shakes his head, rising up to his feet now, staring out at the lords. "I'm asking you to do whatever it takes to keep the North safe, to keep her safe." He gestures towards Sansa, who's blue eyes widen slightly in surprise; this was not the way she had thought him to take things. "Sansa Stark is the heir to the North and I am bound to keep her and the North safe. Just as you all are." He puts a hand onto her shoulder and his touch is warm, encouraging. Before all of the eyes in the room, she slides her hand into place over his. "None of us will ever be safe if Cersei Lannister sits upon the throne, even if we take back Winterfell." Jon goes on, stepping around the table then so he can stand closer to all of them in the tent. "I am not asking you to sacrifice your men for me or for what might be my birthright. I don't care if the Iron Throne is mine or yours or yours," he sighs, another shake of his head. "The only thing I care about is keeping the North safe."

"You have House Mormon'ts support, Jon Snow. In this and whatever comes next." Lyanna says after a few beats of silence. Murmurs of assent follow, much to Jon's relief.

"The North still needs someone to lead," Jon says, speaking more words that surprise Sansa. Words that he had never once mentioned to her until this very moment. "You wish to have a King in the North, but what you need is a queen." He turns back to face her across the table that separates them. "Queen in the North," he says, before he sinks to a knee, Longclaw presented to her in his gesture of loyalty. She is his queen, no matter what his Targaryen blood might say.

"Queen in the North," Brienne echoes from where she stands at the far side of the room, dropping to her knees without hesitation. One by one, every man in the room rises and then falls, the only sound that of the steel against sheath as the Northern lords offer their fealty to the young woman that's now risen to her feet.

Queen in the North, Queen in the North.

The words are an echo, a chant; she sucks in a breath as her eyes find Jon's, his lips curving with a smile as he gives her a nod. Her fears begin to fade and she holds her head a bit higher and looks out into the sea of faces, knowing it was them that she could count on. Once, she had nothing but fear to live on. Once she had been alone. But out there she sees faces of men who were loyal to her name and her house, men who would swing their swords in her name, men that would die to protect her. In these loyal men, she has protection, she has what she needs to bring her family back together again.

And so she nods, accepting the crown they offer.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #got au #jonsa au #essos au #my writing #i wrote this

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xxcorndogxx · 4 years

Text

Sandor Clegane x Reader||Chapter Twenty Four

(Danny Trejo is your dad) I watch as Sandor kicks over the box. The white walker rushing out. It runs for the first person it sees. Queen Cersi. Sadly Sandor grabs the chain yanking the walker back. Away from Cersi. When he does the walker turns to face him. As it runs to him he draws his sword. Chopping it in half as it attacks. The white's upper half keeps crawling to him. It reaches out for him and he hacks its handoff. I walk back to stand by Lord Varys. Qyburn picks up the hand. It still moves. Jon takes the hand from him. Ser Davos approaches and lights a torch.

"We can destroy them by burning them," Jon announces as he lights the hand. After a moment he drops it. "And we can destroy them with dragon glass." He holds out his blade. "If we don't win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world." Jon stabs the walker. "There is only one war." He approaches the queen. "That matters, the Great War and it is here."

"I didn't believe them until I saw them. I saw them all"

"How many?" Jamie asks.

Sandor stands behind Brienne and I stand next to him. His arm around my waist.

"Hundred thousand at least." Daenerys answers.

Euron Greyjoy walks over and examines the walker.

"Can they swim?" He asks.

"No." Jon answers.

"Good, I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands."

"What are you talking about?" Cresi asks.

"I've been around the world, I've seen everything you couldn't imagine and this, this is the only thing I've ever seen that terrifies me." He proclaims. He walks to Daenerys. "I'm going back to my island, you should go back to yours. When winters over we'll be the only ones left alive."

He's got a point.

"He's right to be afraid, and a coward to run. If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered it would have been for nothing. Everything we lost will have been for nothing. The crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated they are the true enemy." Cersi proclaims. "In return, the King in the North would extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs. He will not take up arms against the Lannisters. He will not choose sides."

"Just the King in the North? Not me?" Daenerys asks.

"I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it. And if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now. I only ask it of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word."

We all look at Jon.

"I am true to my word." He starts. "Or I try to be. This is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."

"Then there is nothing left to discuss." She stands. "The dead will come north first. Enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever's left of you."

We watch as she leaves. After talking Tyrion goes to speak with his sister.

"How are you feeling, little dove?" Sandor asks turning to me.

"Alright."

"You aren't dizzy, you don't need to pee?" I shake my head.

"I just went. I am tired though."

I move to sit in a chair and he stops me. He sits and pulls me on his lap. I rest against him. After a bit, Tyrion returns and the Queen does as well. We stand as they approach.

"My army's will not stand down. I will not pull them back to the capital. I will march them north to fight alongside you in the Great War. The darkness is coming for us all. We will face it together and when the Great War is over, perhaps you'll remember I chose to help. With no promises or assurances from any of you. I expect not. Call our banners. All of them."

I walk through the garden once more. I haven't been here in ages. I see a bunch of those flowers that Sandor would get for me. I pick one and place it behind my ear. I move to leave the garden and Cersi is there.

"My dear, Y/n."

She doesn't smile.

"Your grace."

I bow slightly.

"Look at you." She examines me. "All grow up. Married, pregnant. I wonder how your father will take the news."

She smiles.

"He doesn't know? You didn't tell him?"

"No. I wanted to wait until you were here so you could talk. I'm sure he won't be too delighted to know that his daughter married The Hound and is with his child."

I shift uncomfortably.

"Your grace, if you may. I have to piss." I confess.

"I know how that is. Can't hold it in for long with that bundle of life in you."

She nods me to leave. I rush up the stairs with a hand on my stomach. I turn a corner and almost fall. I ran right into Sandor, luckily he was quick to grab me before I could fall.

"Little dove?"

He looks concerned.

"I have to piss," I explain.

I hold onto his arm as we walk. He keeps me steady. My father turns the corner. His eyes meet mine and he smiles. It wavers as his eyes scroll down to the hand Sandor has resting on my somewhat large stomach. I have to be at least 6 months at this point. For a moment no one move.

"Father," I speak in a calm voice.

I feel Sandor stiffen. He knows my father hates him.

"You." My Father glares at Sandor. "You-." He points his finger at Sandor. He occasionally moves closer. "-took my daughter away. Kidnapped her from her room and you had the nerve to put a child in her." He shouts.

I really have to pee.

"I didn't kidnap the girl. She came with me of her own free will."

"Bullshit. My daughter knows how much I hate you-."

"Exactly. How much you hate me. Not her."

"Well, she doesn't love you."

"I do love him!" I shout. "Father, he's my husband. I love him with all my heart. With all my soul I am his and he is mine."

"You didn't. You did not marry this man."

His face red with anger.

"She did," Sandor grumbles.

"Why?"

I really have to pee. I hold my legs as tightly together as I can. While they scream and argue I cling tighter to Sandor's arm.

"Sandor," I mumble.

The tingling downstairs is very strong almost painful. I don't know how much longer I can hold it.

"Sandor!" I call louder tugging on him.

"What!?" He shouts turning to me.

I am taken aback. He's never yelled at me. He is quick to place his hand on my face.

"I'm sorry, little dove. You caught me in the heat of the moment."

"I have to pee. I can't hold it." I pout.

We start to leave but father stops us.

"You're not going anywhere with her." He's firm. "She will stay here with me. I'll have you killed or sent away and when that child comes from her I'll kill it myself."

"She will go with me. I married her. She's not yours anymore." He defends.

"She's my daughter!"

"Sandor," I mumble.

"She's my wife!"

I feel a little leak out.

"She won't be your wife after I kill you." He threatens.

"I'd like to see you try old man."

And just like that, there it goes. Everyone's silent as the piss hits the floor. Drops rolling down my legs. Tears slipping from my eyes out of embarrassment. Sandor looks down at me.

"Little dove." He coos. "I'm so sorry, I forgot." He apologizes.

"I told you I couldn't hold it long." My father's eyes meeting mine.

"Your daughter has now pissed herself because you wanted to argue. I was helping her to the bathroom." He explains.

"Y/n." My father reaches to me.

"Enough. You've done enough. I'm a grown woman. I can make my own choices. You need to live with that." I shout. "Now if you'll excuse, I've soiled myself."

I walk off. Sandor follows. Back in our room, Sandor helps me wash myself. He brings me a new dress from my wardrobe.

"Thank you."

I smile. He kisses my forehead. He helps me pull the fabric over my body. He lifts me up and carries me to bed.

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abbystanaccount · 4 years

Text

GoT/TLOU Abby-sentric fic outline

A synopsis for a fic idea I had that’s too long for me to write all out, so instead here’s the long outline.

I had this idea come to me while drawing my knight Abby drawing, it was inspired by Brienne of Tarth and also I’ve been in the ASOIAF fandom for years. If I were a better writer with more time here’s how my Abby-sentric somewhat GoT AU would go. This fic won’t be super dark, like I could have gone way more sad and have it align with the GoT/TLOU universe more but this is a self indulgent fic lol. Here’s some Ellie / Dina medieval art that could fit in with this too

In this AU the world is basically a GoT/generic fantasy/generic medieval/but less strict

- There are various lords across the country, some great lords some lesser ones

- Jerry is a great lord, as is Isaac, Maria is a great lady, Neil Druckmann is king (lol)

- There is a plague going around like the Cordyceps but it’s not as bad as the zombie stuff, more like an illness

- Joel is Tommy’s disgraced older brother who was cut off from the family line after going too far for revenge when Sarah was killed

- Ellie is a peasant girl who is immune to the plague, Dina is the younger daughter of a Lord. Jesse is a knight.

- Joel ends up fostering Ellie and takes her with him on his travels, they find out about her immunity to the plague

- Marlene is like a spymaster for Jerry and finds out about Ellie’s immunity, Jerry believes he and his healers can make a cure from her so he has Marlene get Ellie for him, Joel is tricked into bringing her there.

- Joel finds out they plan to run experiments and tests on Ellie to find a cure, and he isn’t about to let them hurt her

- Going back to more about Jerry and Abby, Abby is his only daughter and as a teen becomes betrothed to Owen, who was a knight that got promoted to a lord. Jerry was worried she didn’t want to be a lady and that she wouldn’t end up liking any of her suitors, but when she started to show affection to Owen, Jerry promoted Owen and betrothed them.

- Abby likes to fight though too, and Jerry was fine with her learning to be a warrior as well though it was hard to balance both duties

- Anyway, Joel finds out where they’re keeping Ellie and kills many of Jerry’s men with fire and sword, and also kills Jerry and Marlene when they try to stop him. He burns down part of the castle, rescues Ellie and they go on the run. They eventually settle in the town where Dina and Jesse are.

- Abby is heartbroken over the loss of her father, and also filled with anger. Her father’s most trusted ally Isaac comes in and offers to take charge of the area, Abby agrees to it because most of the council and was killed in the fire and she doesn’t want to lead the town anyway.

- Isaac offers to have Abby trained full time by his best swordsmans so she can be a strong fighter, but he wants her to just be a knight and not a lady anymore. He wants her to break her betrothal to Owen and then have Owen marry one of Isaac’s ally’s daughters, Mel, instead.

- The couple is kinda distraught and conflicted about this, they love each other and have been together for two years. But, Abby knows she wants to go after Joel and can’t just sit back and be a lady. Owen is devastated but has to accept her decision. (They still do the dirty though lol.)

- Owen agrees to the break up and the betrothal to Mel, tough he doesn’t see Mel for a year, and then it’s another year until they’re finally married.

- In this 2 year period Abby is training, Joel and Ellie are laying low, and she’s also learning to fight and getting to know Lady Dina secretly

- More months pass and then the new spymaster gets word of where Joel and Ellie are hanging out. Abby is informed and she gathers her closest group of friends- Manny, Jordan, Nick, Nora, to come with her.

- Abby has still come into contact with Owen throughout the years, they live in nearby towns. They’re friendly and don’t cross the line, it’s obvious Owen still loves Abby, and she loves him, but they chose theirs paths. Abby gets Owen to come with her on the mission and Mel is aware of it and agrees, Mel spent time with Jerry when she was a teen and looked up to him.

- They travel to the town where Joel and Ellie are in disguise. In a lucky ambush they capture Joel. It plays out a lot like the game, and Abby beats Joel with a mace. Owen is a bit disturbed by her brutality. Ellie comes in too late and is subdued, Abby finishes the job with Joel. They let Ellie go like in the game.

- They all basically go back to normal life, but before they part and say goodbye Owen lets Abby know that Mel is pregnant with their child, and Abby is upset with this. Owen is also emotionally unrested from the pregnancy and from how violent he saw Abby be and is so conflicted that when he comes back, he socially retreats from everyone. Abby tries to just continue being a knight a doing jobs for Isaac but she isn’t sure of her purpose anymore and feels lost

- Ellie is devastated from losing Joel, and vows revenge. Tommy is also upset by the news that his brother was killed, but people don’t want him to send out soldiers to find the person responsible, so he meets and supports Ellie in her tracking them down. It doesn’t take long for his spies to figure the perpetrators were likely connected to Jerry and his house, so Ellie gets Jesse to come with her on a mission to find out what happened. Dina wants to come too but can’t as her parents won’t allow it, though, she sends her blessing.

- Abby goes on a job for Isaac where she’s supposed to kill Seraphites but runs into Lev and Yara and befriends them. She starts to find her purpose again through helping the displaced kids. Yara injures her arm due to the Seraphites hunting them, so Abby decides to head to Owen’s nearby town where there are healers, but they need a discreet one as Seraphites are seen as hostiles.

- Ellie and Jesse infiltrate Owen’s town in search of answers, meanwhile Abby sneaks in Lev and Yara to Owen’s castle and he’s surprised to see her. She tells him she needs a discreet healer and he tells her of one on the outskirts of town. He’s worried about Abby but she brushes him off. She thanks him and goes there with Lev and Yara.

- Ellie and Jesse ask around about Abby and some townspeople mention how Owen knows her and they connect the dots that Owen was there when Joel was killed too. They decide to get to him to try and track down Abby. Ellie and Jesse kill some guards along the way trying to get into the castle.

- Owen and Mel have moved to a tower in the castle that is more secluded, and that’s where Ellie and Jesse find Owen and Mel in a heated discussion, Owen is immediately alerted because he recognizes Ellie. Mel panics and throws a vase at them, and the four get into a scrap, Ellie and Jesse use daggers while Owen and Mel are unarmed, Ellie stabs Mel in the neck as she tries to escape, and Jesse stabs Owen in the shoulder and side and then pins him down. They tie him up to question him and he’s distraught by Mel, who has bled out.

- Ellie learns that Mel was pregnant and starts freaking out. Jesse is also having a hard time keeping cool with this and Owen’s curses.

- Abby, Lev, and Yara get to the healer and get her arm fixed, but they are discovered by an angry gang of villagers who saw her and the Seraphites sneak in there. Abby and Lev have fight them to get away. Abby considers just running away with the two, but she looks up at Owen’s castle and gets to sinking feeling that something is horribly wrong.

- Yara and the healer hide out in a safe area while Abby and Lev head to castle.

- Ellie has collected herself a bit with the help of Jesse, and tries to get Owen to talk about where Abby is, but he is furious and completely unwilling to tell them anything. Jesse thinks that Abby will come to Owen and due to various info that Abby was there recently, and he persuades Ellie to not kill Owen, though she kicks him around a bit as revenge for Joel and still trying to get info.

- Abby comes upon the path Ellie took a few hours earlier and seeing the blood and dead guards and is alarmed, she rushes to the secluded tower she is familiar with from a higher window, and sneaks down in with Lev. She first sees Mel’s blood pool and then Jesse, then Ellie facing the other way, then Owen, tied up and bleeding.

- Abby gets the jump on Jesse and disarms him, she has her sword to his neck and Lev puts his bow on Ellie. But Ellie has scrambled over to Owen and put her dagger to his throat. They’re at a standoff and Ellie tries to barter for by saying that she was the one that caused Joel to kill Abby’s father and that the fight should just be between them. Abby says if that’s the case then they should duel each other with honor and have no one else get hurt.

- After some tense moments, Ellie says yes to the duel and they all tentatively put down their weapons. Abby says that they’ll duel alone in the field behind the walls of the town. Jesse is released and rejoins Ellie. Ellie warns if people come after her then she’ll kill Owen and the rest of Abby’s friends and they leave the tower.

- Abby rushes to Owen as soon as those two leave and her emotions flood out seeing him hurt and realizing the shock of what just happened. She cuts him out of his bonds and he begs her to not do the duel because he doesn’t trust Ellie and is afraid she’ll try something in the duel and kill Abby. She says that she has to go, and takes Lev and subtly alerts the guards to get Owen medical help before slipping out.

- Abby goes to the field where Ellie and Jesse are waiting, they tell Jesse and Lev to hang back and walk a distance away so they can’t hear or interfere with the two women. They tell them to stay out of it. Abby is in a heavier plate mail while Ellie is in lighter chain and mail. They both have longswords.

- Before they fight, Abby says something to the effect that Joel killed her father, and Ellie says she doesn’t care, Joel was her father. They then start to fight, any hit Abby gets on Ellie hits hard, but Ellie is faster and gets hits on Abby as well. At one point, Abby disarms Ellie but Ellie doesn’t stop, she starts brawling Abby instead. Abby tosses away her sword and begins hitting her unarmed too.

- Abby eventually asserts the upper hand and has Ellie pinned down in a slow choke. However, her disdain for Ellie being the cause of her father’s death and causing the death and injury of some of her friends begins to fade as she looks up and she sees Lev looking at her sad and scared. She lets go.

- Abby looks at Ellie who is gasping for breath on the ground and asks her “What good is it going to do? I hurt you for hurting me? Then someone else will come after me for the pain that will caused them. You only wanted to hurt me because I hurt someone who you loved. It will never end. Unless we end it right now. We decide enough is enough.” Abby cries and it hurts her to say that as she thinks of her father.

- Ellie silently cries as she thinks of Joel dead, but then of him alive, and then looking at Jesse, she remembers Dina and how she’d like to see her again. Ellie stares at Abby, which is hard at first, but eventually she sees less of a person she hates, and more of someone who is in pain; someone who is a lot like her.

- “Okay.” Ellie agrees, and she means it. The two slowly get up and walk back to Jesse and Lev. Ellie tells Jesse they’re going and he’s confused but follows her. When Abby reaches Lev she thanks him silently and then pulls him into a hug. The two head back to town.

- Time skip of around 6 months, Ellie has found more peace through meditation and being around her friends. Ellie, Dina, and Jesse are all really close and they decide that since Dina’s parents want her to get married that she’ll marry Jesse, but Ellie will be her secret lover and they’ll share Dina in a poly relationship. Ellie is also Dina’s sworn shield and the two often go on adventures together through the country. Later, Dina has JJ by Jesse and they settle down for a more homey lifestyle in a new village they create that is closer to Tommy’s.

- Tommy was angry for a few months at Ellie that she didn’t kill Abby or more of the people responsible, but his wife Maria becomes pregnant after years of them being unsuccessful at having kids, and once the baby is born he starts to let go of his anger and find happiness again.

- Abby and Owen reconcile, he mourns Mel and his baby and slowly heals. Abby, Lev, and Yara build a domicile near the sea they stay at most of the time. Isaac and his many troops attack the Seraphites and largely wipe them out, but he dies in battle. Some others scramble to take over his position but Owen stays out of it and has his men mind their own business. Owen also makes it known that Lev and Yara are his allies and not to be attacked.

- A few months from that, things calm down more and Abby visits Owen and her friends living in his town often. They begin a relationship again, and eventually Owen proposes marriage to her. But, he clarifies that she’d be able to adventure with Lev and Yara and travel to their seaside house when she pleased. He also doesn’t want to be in charge so much as a lord and decides to delegate more power to his council so he could come and go more often as well.

- Abby tells him she has to think about it, but after telling Lev and Yara they encourage her so she comes back and tells Owen yes. The two are finally married and they all lead a happy, more free life with their adopted kids Lev and Yara, and eventually a baby together.

Happily ever after, lol.

#fanfic #my fanfic #abby x owen

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ddagent · 4 years

Note

I know we just got it, but is there a chance of a follow-up to Brienne being able to read people's minds? It's sooooo good.

I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the response to telepathic!Brienne, and I truly hope you enjoy this follow-up! Thank you to @resthefuture for this AMAZING moodboard!

Part One, “Noise” can be read here.

Brienne’s elbow jerked, and a nearby coffee cup tipped to the side; brown liquid spilling across the conference room table. Her colleagues scrambled to clear away the papers littering the surface; a flurry of thoughts bombarding Brienne as she suddenly became the focal point of the meeting.

What a klutz.

You’d think someone with arms that long would have better control over them.

What is Tarth even doing here? She hasn’t worked on a proper case in months.

Fuck; thanks a lot, Tarth! Why don’t you go back to the bridge you crawled out from?

She shouldn’t be here. She probably has a concussion.

Brienne looked up at that last thought; Jaime Lannister’s voice cutting clear across the din. Despite the concern in every syllable, the senior partner sat in his chair, scrolling through his phone with disinterest. He seemed utterly oblivious to her mishap at the other end of the table. And, yet, Brienne was sure it was him. Sure it was his voice, filled with longing, that had called out for her to look at him for once. And, yet—

“Are you finished, Ms Tarth?” Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Lannister didn’t allow her the opportunity. “Good. Stone: update on the Greyjoy case.”

As one of her fellow associates launched into the latest legal battle between the brothers warring over their father’s will, Brienne dropped to her seat; cheeks flushed. On a normal day, knocking over a coffee cup and drawing the ire of a senior partner would rank amongst one of her worst. But her newfound...ability pushed it to the very top. Her colleagues barely tolerated her. Renly Baratheon used her. And Jaime Lannister— Well, Brienne wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him just yet.

The meeting finally drew to a close, and her colleagues filed out one-by-one. Renly was the first to leave; he had an appointment with an intern at the advertising agency on five for some illicit fun in the men’s bathroom. Her colleagues had casework, calls to make, games to play. Brienne was the last to rise, and almost the last to leave. Jaime Lannister remained sitting; his manicured fingertips tracing the grain in the wood.

“We don’t do injury claims here, Ms Tarth.”

Her forehead furrowed. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

He pointed at her face. “The bump on your head. This is a serious firm, taking on serious cases. You won’t find anyone here to take your case if you decide to sue.” A lawsuit is too good for whatever animal did that to you, anyway. A broken jaw would be better.

“I—” Brienne was tired of half-finishing her sentences; so overwhelmed was she that words were far beyond her grasp. So she swallowed, straightened, and said: “I don’t intend to sue, Mister Lannister, but I do intend to press charges when the gold cloaks catch whoever was responsible.”

If she hadn’t heard his soft, aching thoughts, Brienne would have missed the taut line of his shoulders; the tightening of his grasp around the table. “You were attacked?” A broken jaw is far too good. I’ll call Tyrion; he knows people. We’ll have him buried by day’s end.

“No!” Brienne blurted; Lannister’s eyes widening at her sudden outburst. Fuck. “I mean, I was attacked, but only because I was trying to save someone else from being mugged.”

“Well, aren’t you the gallant knight.” Like Ser Blue. Tall, strong; I bet you could pin me–no, Jaime, not in the workplace. “We have an excellent healthcare policy, Ms Tarth; we here at Lannister, Baratheon, and Targaryen pride ourselves on it, in fact. I suggest you use it.” Please go home, Brienne. Get some rest.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But this was me covering my own arse; if you decide to sue us later for breach of care or...whatever, your case won’t hold water. I’d get some ice for your head, though. That bruise makes you look even uglier than usual.”

Lannister rose from his seat and made his departure from the conference room. He looked like the Warrior as he departed: expensive suit, well-cut mane, golden grin. But Brienne could hear his thoughts, and they betrayed a different kind of man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did you say that, you idiot? Now she’s going to think you think she’s ugly, and judging from last night’s— Brienne was grateful when Lannister disappeared from her eye-line, and she could no longer hear him. If she had any doubts that his thoughts were about her, they had evaporated some ago. Jaime Lannister, the most eligible bachelor in King’s Landing and a disgrace to the legal profession, liked her.

Too many thoughts. Too many questions. Too loud. Too much noise.

Brienne retreated to her office, adjusted the blinds and shut the door. She logged onto her company laptop and pulled up a search engine, deciding to start at the beginning. Hearing people’s thoughts brought up more than a few results about mental illness. Telepathy was a more prosperous search, although Brienne was led to more than one site promising to teach people how to read thoughts for a monthly fee. Her search came up with nothing as to how to control or stop it; the most useful advice she saw was not telling a maester she could hear other people’s thoughts.

After a while, Brienne opened a new window and typed in Jaime Lannister.

As expected, there was the firm’s website; a series of tabloid articles detailing his well-publicised affair with his step-sister. The images tab revealed numerous photoshoots for various magazines, including a charity calendar of various attorneys in the city. Renly’s month had been in Brienne’s kitchen all year round. The news tab made mention of cases he’d won – and the Aerys Targaryen debacle. He’d wrecked Targaryen’s defence on purpose; had almost been disbarred had his father not come to his aid. Jaime Lannister was deplorable. And he liked her.

Before Brienne could fall down a rabbit hole about what that said about her, there were two knocks at the door. Renly didn’t even wait to be invited in before he came inside, throwing her that winning smile. “Hey, you.”

She quickly pulled down the lid of her laptop before he could see the pictures of Jaime and jump to the wrong conclusion. “Hello yourself.”

“So, earlier, I mentioned that very special job for you?”

“Right.”

“Shall we head to my office? We can talk about the case, one-on-one.” Come on, you never miss the opportunity for some alone time with me, Brienne. Take my special job, so I can get some jobs of my own down at the Club. “I’ll get the tea – no coffee.”

“I–I can’t.” Are you serious? Brienne was serious. She was better than this; a better lawyer than this. Now she knew the truth, she would not let herself be used in such fashion. “I’m afraid I’m working on another case already.”

Renly chuckled. “Well, as a senior partner, I’m sure we can move a few people around.” Are you really trying to play hard to get, Brienne?

“The case I’m working on is for a senior partner. Mister Lannister asked for my help.”

Oh, fuck off he did. He can’t stand you. “He did?” At that exact moment, as if the Gods wished to test Brienne further, Lannister walked by her office. “Jaime, can I bother you for a minute?”

“Why stop at a minute?” Why couldn’t you have run the Storm’s End office? Your brother is a bore, but at least you know where you stand with him. “What’s wrong, Renly?”

“Brienne here says you’ve asked for her help on a case? I was rather hoping she could help with mine.”

Lannister’s head swivelled towards her; one eyebrow raised, intrigued. “She did, hmm?” Don’t tell me you’ve finally wised up to this arse, Tarth. She had. And if it came down to it, she’d rather listen to his thoughts than Renly’s. What a sorry state her life had become. “Well, she is. Working with me on a case.”

Renly spluttered. “But–but Brienne and I have a special working relationship.”

Oh, I know all about your relationship. She does all the work while you galavant around town. “Well, this case requires Ms Tarth’s special skillset. Sorry, Renly. Guess she’s mine now.”

Brienne was about to voice an objection over being treated like property when she heard Jaime’s inaudible sigh. If only.

#braime #jaime x brienne #brienne x jaime #anonymous #mine: paragraph prompts #ship: braime #fic: telepathic brienne

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aviss · 4 years

Note

Ooooh, JB and #5, please???

Thanks for the prompt! I have the feeling I am doing the romance thing wrong, it ended being more angst than I imagined. This is set in the same universe as this one, though they can be read separately.

5 - A Nap

The ground was hard and cold, the thin bedroll and furs barely enough to keep them from freezing to death in this wasteland that was the North, but none of that mattered when it was finally time for them to sleep, it could have been a bed of rocks out in the open and they would have still been grateful for it every night.

Technically it wasn't night, though Brienne couldn't remember the last time she had seen the sun. Around them there was only darkness so profound there were no stars or moon, just the fires that felt barely sufficient to keep them from freezing to death and crashing blindly into each other.

The Long Night had been aptly named.

She didn't know whether it was morning or evening, just that they had a two hour rest period before they had to go back to the fray for however long they could stand, or survive. Jaime and Brienne slept together, pressed as close as two people still wearing armour and leather could be, drawing what little warmth or comfort from each other they could. They had a small tent just for the two of them, a luxury only commanders were afforded and an impropriety nobody cared about, not anymore.

In another time, in another life, she had been named Kingslayer's whore just for calling his name in the middle of her delirium. Now they shared everything, bedroll, what little clothes they had to change, food and tent, yet people called her Ser Brienne and him Ser Jaime.

They had kept their vows and finally delivered Sansa Stark to a Winterfell no longer under Bolton control, Jon Snow had hugged her tight enough they might have heard her bones creaking if they had been close, but Sansa had been clutching him with the same desperation, her face betraying no discomfort under the slow fall of her tears.

Just for that, it all had been worth it.

Brienne had expected Jaime to leave then. They hadn't had any news from the capital for moons, not since they had learned of the Golden Company's advance from Tarth, and he had to be eager to return to his King.

"Where and I supposed to go, wench?" Jaime had asked, they were sitting in the long tables in Winterfell's Hall, a bowl of hot stew and a cup of watered-down ale in front of them. It was the best food they'd had in moons, and they had fallen on it like starved beasts, not the highborn lord and lady they were supposed to be.

They didn't look the part, either. Their long trek through Westeros had left them looking gaunt and unkempt, their clothing little more than tatters, the only golden thing about Jaime the pommel of his sword and his hand.

"Your family--"

"Either believes me dead or wishes I was. I have nothing waiting for me there," he had said with a shrug that did nothing to dispel the ghosts in his gaze. He had looked at her seriously then and grabbed her hand with his left, his voice quieter than she had heard before. "If you want me to leave, now that we got Sansa back to her brother, tell me and I will."

"Stay," she had said, putting in the word all those feelings she kept bottled inside but was sure he knew.

Jaime had smiled at her. "I will wench, if they have me. I'm not leaving your side."

They did have him. Jon Snow had explained the situation at the Wall and the enemy that was coming, and had asked whether they would fight with them.

"You are too much of a Stark to be scared of old tales so it must be true," had been Jaime's answer. "Any emerging King or Queen in the war in the South is going to have my head, I'd rather die with a sword in my hand defending the living."

It looked more and more like they would, but Brienne didn't have it in her to regret it either.

A gust of biting wind shook the flaps of the tent and made her shiver, and Brienne burrowed even closer to Jaime. He didn't twitch, only the steady sound of his breathing proof that he was still alive. Brienne knew she should close her eyes and sleep as well, the Gods knew when she would have another chance and she was exhausted. She was beyond exhausted, actually, she couldn't remember the last time she had slept on a bed or enjoyed a hot bath, and that stew and ale in Winterfell felt like a memory from another life.

She couldn't sleep, though. There had been a moment in this last fight cycle when she had lost sight of Jaime, had seen him go down under the onslaught of enemies. For the seconds it had taken him to slash his way back to his feet, Brienne had felt the world collapsing around her. She had kept fighting, of course, or she would have been dead the next instant, but the pain she had felt had overshadowed any she had felt in her life.

Now Jaime slept in her arms, and she knew they were going to die. Soon. Unless a miracle happened, they were only delaying the enemy, they didn't have much time. She looked at him; he also looked beyond exhausted, with dark bruises under his eyes and sunken cheeks covered in a tangled beard that was more silver than gold. His hair was long and matted like she remembered from Riverrun and under his armour, she could count his ribs if she pressed her hand to his torso. He was still beautiful and she was grateful to have him with her.

"You should be sleeping," he said, his breath caressing her face, and Brienne startled.

Jaime just tightened his arms around her, as if afraid she might bolt, and opened his eyes. They were still the same vibrant green that reminded Brienne of her home, of the forests over the mountains of Tarth.

"I can't," she said, her voice barely a rasp.

"You have to, wench." Jaime matched her tone and even in the dim light, she could see the concern in his eyes. "We're back there soon, you need to sleep or you'll die. And you can't die on me."

"You almost did." She still shuddered thinking of those painful seconds when she thought him dead.

"I didn't, and if the Old Gods are looking out for us, we might yet survive. I will need you with me, Brienne. I can't do this on my own anymore." She stared at him with wide eyes, her heart tripping all over itself. He was looking at her with a soft and fond expression she had never seen a man who wasn't her father directing at her. She was afraid to even breathe in case he stopped talking. "I have nothing to offer, no gold no house and no honour, but I am a selfish man and I still want you by my side. We can be hedge knights together, I did knight you after all, and if the world still turns after this, it's going to need you as much as I do."

"I'll stay with you," she breathed and he smiled, leaning forward.

Brienne thought for a wild moment he was going to kiss her, but he just pressed their foreheads together, the contact more intimate than any she's ever had. "Sleep then, wench, for however long we can. We have the end of the world to survive."

Brienne closed her eyes, tightening her arms around him, and when his lips finally pressed against hers, whisper-soft and barely there, she followed the kiss into a dream where there was sunlight, and warmth, and they kissed in front of a Weirdwood tree.

#romance prompts #jaime x brienne #got fic #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #book canon #the long night #my fic #albatrossisland

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dreadwulf · 4 years

Text

#4 With this Kiss I Pledge My Love

(previous chapters)

Jaime Lannister should have ridden back to King’s Landing weeks ago.

He had fully intended to, after putting the Riverlands to order – to return to his son the boy king, and offer his protection. Get him a proper Small Council who will advise him wisely, and a real Kingsguard to protect him, and get Cersei somewhere well away. Garrison the Lannister armies wisely to maintain order, clean up the mess his lord father has made of the kingdom.

Instead Jaime has been wandering about in a fruitless search for an unimportant girl. Spending weeks riding through snow and freezing cold in a gods-forsaken corner of the Vale with a motley party of leftovers who don’t want him there. He has told not a soul where he has been nor where he is going. He has been gone from his post for so long that the Crown has declared him dead and replaced him on the Kingsguard, and the army he had commanded has been rerouted by unknown orders away from the Riverlands, which will surely swiftly descend into renewed chaos.

He should go back. He should abandon this pointless quest and return to his duties. Jaime has no reason not to, except that he swore a vow and meant it. Under duress and foolishly perhaps, an oath sworn to a dying woman who didn’t die after all, but an oath still. I am yours and you are mine. He is keeping his oaths now, even if no one expects or even wants him to.

There had been no cloaks, no kiss, and no pledging of love, only their hands bound together and him speaking the vow. But even if she had not spoken the same vow back, and the marriage bond will soon evaporate into the air as though it had never been, it will not be him that breaks it. He can be stubborn too.

So he wakes on the cold ground each day and she says barely a word to him and he speaks hardly a word to her as they ride to the Gates of the Moon, and the sands trickle down in the hourglass that is their marriage until only days remain.

Jaime has ridden with her every day through deepening snow and treacherous ice until finally they reached their destination and made camp here, her and Podrick and Hyle Hunt and the Hound, alongside all of the other travelers who have come to rest at the Gates of the Moon.

The Gates are no more promising than anywhere else they have arrived. There is an extensive encampment here of hopeful hedge knights and nobles from the highlands, but none have time for an odd woman in armor and her questions about red-haired girls of four-and-ten. There are no further rumors of Sansa Stark here, or of her sister, although there are a great many more interesting rumors about the rest of the kingdom in the progressing winter.

Jaime collects these rumors and opinions with some interest, mingling himself with the men at camp over food and drink for several days running. Turns out there are a great many things that a person will tell a traveler in the Vale that they would not tell to Lord Commander Lannister. Some of those things are pure nonsense, but others are rather illuminating.

It is not so bad, being dead. He gets many more smiles and greetings as a dead man, and not so many sneers and whispers. He keeps his stump shoved under his travel cloak, has muddied his hair and beard so that they are not quite so golden, and it makes him nearly invisible. He is another middle-aged hedge knight trying to relive his glory days at tourney, so far as anyone knows.

Not so far off. He could not hope to compete there now. Left-handed these green boys could take him, and without his fearsome reputation to dissuade them his life would be in real danger.

He sits at supper and looks at the farm boys and young lords, in the spring of their youth and the peak of their skills. He imagines Brienne defeating them all, beating them down into the mud until they beg for mercy. It’s a shame she won’t enter the tourney; he’d like to see that. Would any one of them be a match for her, at her full power? They are nearer her age, their reputations as spotless as their unbloodied swords. If she had awakened from her long sleep married to one of them, would she be so aggrieved?

The competitors like to talk, and the spectators even more so. They spin tales about the fighters who have come hoping to be Winged Knights, their family connections, their sweethearts and patrons. They tell him all about Lord Baelish and his natural daughter Alayne Stone, who have organized the tourney.

These tales in particular catch his ear. If Littlefinger has a natural daughter I’ll eat my boot. The man is too careful for that. Only the Spider is less likely to produce a bastard offspring, and only out of physical impossibility.

He asks questions about the fabled daughter, and her upcoming marriage to Harold Hardyng. An awfully advantageous match for a Stone, marrying the next in line to the Vale. Conveniently Petyr Baelish seems to have gotten charge of little lord Robert, and rules the Eeyrie as Regent. Jaime wonders if there might be an accident in store, once that wedding is complete. Maybe several accidents. Sweetrobin and Harry the Heir cleared away, and the Vale belongs to Lord Baelish.

He would very much like to meet this Alayne Stone.

That’s more difficult than he would like. She will attend the tourney when it begins, but thus far has remained out of sight. He will have to wait for the tourney and possibly for the very final rounds to lay eyes on her, and that is likely to happen after his deadline is passed. Not that it makes any difference – the one has nothing to do with the other, no matter how persistently his mind makes the connection. Finding Sansa will not stop the marriage from ending.

It will be a relief to have it over and still he is increasingly agitated at the thought. He lies in his tent each night and he thinks on the Hounds Tooth inn when he had shared a room with Brienne as his bride. He had passed that evening most pleasantly, and even though nothing of import occurred he finds himself thinking on it fondly. Brienne asleep and unguarded in his bed while he sat by the fire. Friendly strangers wishing them well, simply for having one another. Your lady wife. It was a night stolen from someone else’s life, a life he is never going to have.

For his own good the marriage must dissolve. It is inane to cling to an illusion and he has done that quite long enough with Cersei. He is never going to be somebody’s husband; he is a knight and he is the kingslayer and that is that.

He is chewing on just this thought as he rides back to his bed at sunset. He knows when he comes back to camp Brienne will be surprised to see him again, as she has been every day that he has not left their party. She knows very well he has other places to be, and is waiting for him to remember it and ride away. Yet he is lingering here and unwilling to leave, though what he is waiting for he cannot imagine. Brienne cannot imagine it either, clearly.

It’s making him cross, and distracted. He does not notice the riders gathering to his flanks until it is too late to evade them.

Jaime is pulled from his horse before he can draw a blade, and thrown to the ground.

Sellswords, plainly. Not expensive ones. Five of them, looking like they’ve slept rough half their lives and just barely know how to hold a blade. He’s a little insulted that anyone would think him no match for these.

He leans back on his elbows and contemplates them in a relaxed pose. “I haven’t any money, and if you want a fine horse, you’d be better off feeding mine to the one you’ve got. This one’s slow as molasses.”

“No money eh?” A skinny, toothless alley cat of a mercenary points a rusty longsword at him. “No Lannister gold?”

Jaime frowns. Clearly his disguise has not been so effective as he’d hoped.

Some of his mates are skeptical. “Can this be the golden lion? He looks more like a weasel.”

“No, it’s ‘im.” The tallest one spits a dark stream through his teeth and stands over Jaime. “Lord Baelish pointed him out to me personally.”

Well that’s irritating. Apparently Littlefinger was in the same room with him and Jaime never laid eyes on the man. Clearly he can cross “spy” off his list of potential careers after “swordfighter”.

“If you’re seeking out a ransom, you may have to wait some time to get it. Only ravens travel well now, and they don’t carry quite so much gold.”

“We got the gold already,” Toothless tells him. He jingles the money bag that hangs beside the knife on his belt. “Lord Baelish pays us well, and he only needs your head.”

Of course. He has asked entirely too many questions. And whatever his plans, Littlefinger has no intention of anyone outside the Vale hearing of them until it’s too late.

“The Crown will have all your heads for it,” he says confidently.

“You’ll be buried right here, Kingslayer, and they will never know. The Crown believes you dead already and no one will miss you.”

Belatedly, Jaime realizes he is right. Not one of his compatriots in the Kingsguard or the Lannister Army knows where he is, and his own house has already forsaken him for the grave. Next to no one will notice if he dies now rather than two months ago. And even fewer than that will mourn him. Possibly none.

He lunges.

The knife comes easily out of Toothless’s belt and into his side, spraying Jaime with blood. But the remaining four sellswords are on him in a moment, and it takes only a few kicks in the stomach before he lies still in the snow again. He knows this routine.

The tall man has his sword out now. “If you’ll tell us where to find the giant bitch, I can make it painless.”

“Nonsense.” Jaime brushes the snow out of his hair as carelessly as possible. “Let’s make it hurt. I can only die once, after all.”

“Happy to oblige.” The tall one shoves his face back into the snow and stands on him. Jaime doesn’t even know who he is. Some no-name cutthroat sent by Petyr Baelish. What a stupid way to die.

“What in the living fuck is that?” one of them shouts.

Horses approach. Abruptly the boot on his neck lifts, and Jaime spits out mud. Is there someone else here trailing him, after the Brotherhood and the Vale Guards? With any luck they will kill each other.

He wipes snow from his eyes and sits back on his heels. Two riders approach very rapidly, and one of them has a sword raised. It crashes into the sellsword who had just been standing over him, with such force it knocks him off his feet.

Brienne dismounts in a strikingly graceful motion, her sword drawn, and she stares them down.

“Unhand my husband,” Brienne growls at them.

Jaime grins. A more wonderful combination of words he cannot imagine.

“Already done,” he points out, waving his stump. “The bloody mummers beat them to it.”

She doesn’t hear him, swings directly into action.

The fight is brief. She holds Oathkeeper with both hands and leads with her left, with her right arm still healing. It should discomfit him how easily she switches her lead hand, how one left-handed blow knocks the blade from her opponent, but instead it makes him smile. She makes short work of their weapons, knocking them from their hands, and their owners from their feet, while Jaime kneels untouched among them.

He hadn’t known how pleasant it could be to be rescued. It’s really quite wonderful. Someone fighting for him, bleeding for him, spilling blood. When the immediate threats are downed she stands in front of him protectively, Oathkeeper in hand, and she looks like a song. A song only for him, for his sake.

“Kingslayer’s Whore!” one of the downed men moans from the ground.

“That’s Kingslayer’s Wife, I’ll have you know,” Jaime says irritably. “She’s made an honest man of me.”

“Hush.” Brienne advances on him. In the time it takes Jaime to stand, Brienne has the man under her boot with a sword pointed to his neck. “What do you want with him? Robbery?”

“Execution,” the wretched man spits. “For crimes against everything good and decent. Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, great golden cripple.”

“That’s right, you do not deserve to say his name,” Brienne tells him. “None of you do. Call him what you will, but you will not be half the man he is.”

Gods be good.

Jaime is pierced by those words, a clean wound right through his chest. It hurts like every time he heard the name and no one spoke up for him, all together, all at once. Paired with the balm of her defense it is almost unbearable.

At a moment’s notice Jaime knows what he wants after all. He wants to keep her. He wants to stay her husband, and her to stay his wife. Never to part again.

He wants her.

“Kingslayer’s Whore,” the sellsword repeats, spitting at her. “Got his cock out of your mouth long enough to ride? After murdering your liege lady Stark for him?”

His blade is drawn before he’s even thought to do it, and he’s walking briskly to Brienne’s side.

Jaime aims the end of his sword directly at the man’s mouth, descending until it falls between his teeth and the man is choking and whimpering against it.

“I don’t suppose sword-swallowing is one of your skills?” He pushes it a little further in, and the man gurgles in terror. “I hear in Braavos there are men who can take a sword right down their gullet and all the way to the hilt, and pull it out again right as rain.”

“Ser…” Brienne speaks up, cautiously.

“I wonder how you learn to do a trick like that - a little at a time, or all at once? Let’s find out.”

“There is no need,” she says quietly, putting a hand to his arm.

He meets her eye only briefly. She threatened the man herself only moments ago, but this is too far?

“My lady wife would have me show you mercy. Can you keep a civil tongue in your head?”

The man makes an eager noise, too afraid to nod his head, and Jaime pulls his blade back.

The scene has not gone unnoticed - they are not far from other encampments, and other fires. There are onlookers now, and among them Podrick Payne on his horse, his little sword drawn in their support. He threatens the onlookers with it, having them keep their distance.

“They were tipped off,” Jaime tells Brienne. “Littlefinger is here - Petyr Baelish. I don’t know what he’s up to but he wanted me dead, and you as well.”

“I have no dealings with him,” Brienne says quizzically. “Could it have something to do with Sansa Stark?”

Unwisely, the man on the ground speaks up. “There’s no Starks in the Vale, whore. No Starks anywhere anymore, thanks to you and yours. They –”

He is interrupted by a swift kick in the face.

Jamie hasn’t yet sheathed his sword, still thinks of feeding it to the man. He’s still angry. He has brought even more abuse on Brienne simply by his association and it infuriates him. His voice sharpens to a deadly point. “You will address the lady properly. Or you will keep no tongue in your head at all.”

“Lady Lannister –” the man corrects himself quickly.

Jaime startles at that, and Brienne stiffens beside him. Then he laughs. “Oh, we haven’t settled that bit yet. Lady Brienne will do for now. But there will be no more of this ‘Kingslayer’s Whore’. She is a noble lady, and a sworn blade of your precious Starks, and no one will speak so crudely of her in my presence and keep their tongue. Understand me? Tell that to your noble compatriots.”

The man whimpers agreement and Brienne lifts her boot, allowing him to sit up and rub his throat nervously.

The city guard, Vale soldiers, approaches in a thunderous pack. Brienne is cheered by their appearance, but Jaime knows better. Littlefinger will own them too; he is thorough like that.

Exactly as expected they take him by the arms as soon as they dismount holding Jaime between them. Guards will have to make a show of arresting him, so that they can murder him in private.

“Sers, these men attacked us,” Brienne tries valiantly to explain, appealing to the guards with her sword lowered. She still thinks they will listen.

One of them shoves her aside. “Quiet, you ridiculous bitch.”

So of course Jaime had to headbutt the man in the face, which hurts, but it drops the man like a sack of flour, which is satisfying enough to be worth it. For his trouble he is slung into the back of a wagon, a jailer’s hearse.

“For what crime?” Brienne questions them loudly. “We were defending ourselves from these sellswords.”

“Attacking a city guard,” the guard says.

Brienne considers that, visibly, head cocked to one side.

Then she smashes the man in the face with the hilt of her sword, so that his nose produces a most astonishing spray of blood, and is immediately thrown into the wagon right next to him.

*******************

“You could have stopped them,” he grouses to her later.

They are seated on the cold stone floor of a dungeon, daylight barely peeking into their cell.

“If by that you mean killed them, we would hardly get anywhere finding Sansa Stark if we run about murdering city guards.”

“We’re not going to find her in here!“

She is unbothered. “They will keep us but a night.”

“And wake us with a knife across the throat.”

“Pod rode for help,” Brienne says stubbornly, staring straight ahead. “He will find Ser Hyle and Ser Clegane. They will think of something.”

Time is passing fitfully as the light slowly fades. Their cramped cell is barely big enough for the both of them and it's freezing besides, and they sit just near each other, not touching, their breaths visibly hovering in the air around them. Brienne pulls her knees closer to her chest, for either warmth or protection. Without her armor she is probably short of both.

A dozen things to say flit through his mind, and he says none of them. Instead Brienne speaks up next, some time later.

“You did not have to do that,” she says softly. “To threaten the man on the ground. Or attack that guard.”

He snorts. “Certainly I did. What else would I do, the dishonorable Kingslayer.”

“I mean that you did not have to defend my name.” She shifts, angling her face away from him. “I am accustomed to being insulted.”

So is he. But Jaime is not accustomed to her being insulted, at least not by someone other than him. “Where did that particular insult come from, I wonder? Kingslayer’s Whore. The Brotherhood said it too, well before the Quiet Isle. Did you ride about declaring that I had sent you? Not a great stratagem.”

“The lions on the sword might have had something to do with it.”

“Ah.”

He swallows and thinks about the rope marks around her neck. Perhaps it had not happened because she had any great feeling for him, but it is his fault all the same. He gave her a sword covered with lions and sent her after Sansa Stark, and they broke her arm and tore her face and hung her.

“If you are going to attack anyone who calls me names, you will have to fight the whole of Westeros from one end to another. Do not bother.”

She is so calm. He wants her to be angry and rage about it, and it isn’t in her. She is resigned to this. It makes him want to shake her.

“If people must make arses of themselves it is one thing. But for you to take abuse on my behalf… that I do not like. Your reputation should not suffer for things that you did not do.”

“It’s my reputation too, now,” she says mournfully. “Already the Vale knows I killed my liege lady and disbanded her Brotherhood. I did do that, and I can hardly dispute it. It will be everywhere before long.”

“You cannot possibly be troubling yourself over that.” Jaime grimaces even to think on it, it makes him sick inside, in an entirely familiar way. “You had no choice.”

“I did have a choice, and I made it. I chose to break my oath, and I knew the consequences. I learned them from you.” She looks over at him finally. “You made a choice as well. And you have still carried the guilt all these years, haven’t you?”

His mouth goes bone-dry. Only Brienne has ever seen how he blames himself for breaking that oath, even all these years later. Despite every reason why he could not have done otherwise.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor too. I can only make up for my failure by her mother by keeping my promise, and seeing her safely returned to Winterfell.” She leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. “At least then I can hold up my head and know that I did the best I could. I was no kind of knight, and I failed from one end of it to the other, but I cannot go back to Tarth until I have found her.”

Brienne looks so bone-tired and forlorn at that moment that it aches to look at her.

The protective instinct in him rises up, the most powerful instinct he has, and Jaime is totally unable to resist it. Something is hurting someone dear to him and his most natural reaction is to fling himself at it. He doesn’t have a sword and the enemy is nothing he can protect her from, but Brienne is hurting and he cannot think how to make it stop.

So he grasps her shirt at the collar and pulls her to him, kissing her.

Brienne goes very still and softens all at once, melting against him. Her mouth is warm and sweet and his heart is racing and he is pulled by a current far more powerful than he can swim against. The world rushes by very quickly, a blur.

Her hands struggle up to his chest as if to push him away but they only sit there preparing, always about to.

The thought floats by without his leave. With this kiss I pledge my love. His lips speak it to hers.

But then she does push him back. He stands against her hands catching his breath. Her eyes are so blue and so wide and so full of hurt.

“How could you?” She chokes out the words painfully.

“Like this,” he says, trying to kiss her again.

“Don’t.” She jumps up to her feet, backing away from him as though he had attacked her. “Why would you do something like that?”

Because he wanted to, that’s all he can think of. And he can’t tell her. To simply say, out loud, what he wants? Jaime doesn’t do things like that. A person cannot just admit to the things they want, not out loud. If you reveal what you really want, someone will take it from you, someone will use it to get what they want from you. A person keeps those things inside, and they try not to think on them, so that no one will discern their secrets. With enough practice a person will not even remember the things they want. Or know what they are in the first place.

“I wanted you to stop talking,” he says, too frustrated to think of anything better.

“You…” she sputters angrily, and paces over him. “Did you think you can do as you like because we are still married? Did you think for a moment that I might not want my first kiss in a filthy dungeon…?”

“Your first?” That had not occurred to him.

“Oh, gods.” She covers her face and he can see she’s blushing all down her throat, where it disappears down into her shirt.

That old instinct again. How can he make it better?

“I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you.”

"You wanted…?” Her face tightens painfully. “Why?”

Jaime thinks of Red Ronnet and his rose, and he would very much like to find the man and hit him again.

“I lost my senses, all right?”

“Stop talking,” Brienne snaps at him, and shoves herself down into the farthest corner away from him, still blushing.

Jaime congratulates himself silently on making everything infinitely worse, and then things get worse again, all on their own.

A woman walks into the dungeon. They know immediately it is a woman, well before they see her, from her carefully measured, delicate steps. She is tall, though not so tall as Brienne, and she walks to the bars of their cell and looks down upon them calmly.

She takes down the hood of her winter cape, standing over them, and it reveals rather than a noble lady a young girl, no more than five-and-ten, if that. She is dressed plainly but elegantly, in fine homespun clothes of a lovely warm caramel color that matches her hair, and looks quite out of place in a filthy dungeon.

Jaime searches out her face in the dim light. “Alayne Stone, I presume.”

Alayne nods. “I am. And you are the Kingslayer, and this lady is your wife, Brienne of Tarth. The woman who murdered Catelyn Stark.”

#WHOOPS PLOT #okay this was going to be the last chapter and then it got long #because me #so now there is going to be a Chapter Five #From This Day Until the End of My Days #braime #tumblr fic

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merakiaes · 5 years

Text

Fine, I’ll Do It Myself - Podrick Payne

Pairing: Podrick Payne x reader

Requested: By my dear friend Courtney who is a total slut for Pod

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: Mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of violence

Wordcount: 2045

Description: You’re Bronn’s sister and you come with Jaime to Winterfell and reunite with Podrick who you, much to everyone’s surprise, hold a strange attraction to. (Whatever happened with the prostitutes, it didn’t happen in this imagine. Also shoutout to those of you who understand the meaning behind this title hehehe)

“I don’t trust her.” You said as you, Jaime and Brienne walked down the hill, away from the meeting you had just had with the dragon queen where Brienne had vouched for the two of you.

Jaime glanced at you, amused. “You always see the worst in people.”

“Because people are the worst.” You snorted.

“You said the same exact thing after meeting Cersei for the first time.” Jaime pondered, eyes full of amusement.

“I don’t trust her, either.” You deadpanned, not even bothering to sugarcoat the truth.

“Who do you trust?”

“Brienne.” You responded instantly without batting an eye. As you were looking straight ahead, you completely missed the proud smile that made its way onto Brienne’s face.

“And you.” You glanced at Jaime. “A little, at least.”

He put a hand to his chest. “I’m offended.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And I’m sure your brother would be as well, don’t you trust him?”

You scoffed. “Unlike Bronn, I believe in something called true loyalty. No money, no castles, no whores involved. He wouldn’t hesitate selling me away if it meant that he got what he wanted.”

“It’s a good thing you’re here and not him, then.” Jaime chuckled, causing you to crack a smile.

The tree of you fell quiet after that, continuing your walk down the hill towards the fighting and sparring grounds. It wasn’t until you got close enough that you spotted the familiar face. But you almost couldn’t recognize him.

“Is that-” You cut yourself off, squinting to get a better look at the boy who was currently beating another man by far in a sparring session. “Is that, Podrick?”

Upon hearing his name, Podrick looked up, eyes widening as he met your judging gaze. He hurried to block a hit and shove his opponent to the ground in a rather pathetic attempt to impress you, before stumbling to walk towards the three of you up on the hill.

“He’s gotten good.” Jaime commented, nodding his head as he witnessed Podrick coming out on top of the pretend-fight.

“He’s alright.” Brienne responded.

“Alright?” You asked no one in particular, drawing in a low whistle as Podrick approached you. “The things I would let that man do to me, I-”

“(Y/N), I’m quite sure Brienne does not want to hear about your sexual fantasies with her squire.”

Realizing your mistake, you looked up to see Brienne look at you with a judgmental and disgusted expression.

“Oops.” You snickered, just as Podrick reached you.

“My lady, m’lord.” He greeted Brienne and Jaime, getting nods in return.

“You look good, Podrick.” Jaime offered.

Podrick smiled proudly, letting his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. “Thank you, m’lord.”

You couldn’t help but follow his hand with your eyes. You had always loved his hands. Pity they’d never touched you, seeing as Podrick was too oblivious to notice when a female flirted with him.

This being what had happened your whole time together while him and Brienne had been in King’s Landing.

Something Bronn and Jaime had a very fun time joking around about, much to your annoyance.

“Lady (Y/N), it’s nice to see you again.” Podrick said then, breaking you out of your trance and causing your eyes to snap up to his. You heard Jaime snicker.

“Likewise, Podrick.” You smiled politely at him, but you were obviously still checking him out, something Podrick for once seemed to notice, a faint blush coming to rest at his cheeks.

Jaime looked to the sky, squinting slightly. “It’s getting dark, we should get back to the castle.”

“Yes.” You agreed. “I’ll be damned if I don’t drink myself dead on my last night alive.”

And with that you walked ahead.

Podrick had been watching you from across the room for what seemed to be an eternity. His body was filled with more emotions than ever at the same time as he watched you drink all while getting chatted up by some knight from the Vale.

“Why don’t you go over and talk to her?” Jaime nudged Podrick in the side suddenly, causing him to jump and return his gaze to his company, only to find them all looking at him.

“What?” He asked, looking between him and the others.

“(Y/N).” Tyrion said. “You’ve been staring at her for hours. It’s getting quite irritating to see your sulking face every time I go to fill up my cup.”

“I haven’t-” Podrick began. “I’ve just been looking out for her. He doesn’t seem safe.”

“Then why don’t you go do something about it?” Tormund joined in, leaning forward and giving Podrick a smile that hinted to anything unholy.

Podrick didn’t have the time to respond before they all heard you speak up. “Listen, Wilter.” You said, causing them all to turn to look at you from their seats.

“It’s Walter.” The knight in front of you corrected.

You smiled sweetly at him. “Wilter.” You repeated yourself. “I’m not interested in you in that way.”

“What way?” Walter leaned forward slightly, a filthy smirk painted on his equally as filthy lips.

You gave him a disgusted look. “Pick one.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Walter’s grin only seemed to grow. “You’re playing hard to get.”

“Oh, man.” Jaime snickered. “She’s going to blow up anytime now.”

Ser Davos was the one to nudge Podrick this time. “This is your chance, lad.”

Podrick tore his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him, looking to Brienne with a hard, questioning look.

“Go.” Brienne waved her hand, and that was all he needed to hear before standing up and making a beeline in your direction.

Noticing Podrick approach out of the corner of your eye, you stood up just in time to avoid the knight’s hand groping your breast.

“Looky here.” You said happily. “My lover has finally come to take me to my chambers for the night. It has been a pleasure talking to you, Wilter.”

“It’s Walter.” The man scoffed, now having dropped the sleazy act to glare at the boy who had taken your side.

You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I don’t give two shits.” And then you proceeded to take Podrick by his arm, drag him over to the wine table to grab a flagon, and then past the group of people by the fire and towards the door.

“Hey, Podrick, no wine for yo-” Before Brienne could finish her sentence, Jaime had nudged her side, causing her to fall quiet with a glare. “Fine, but only half a cup.”

As Podrick was too busy keeping up with your rushed pace, you only raised the flagon over your shoulder to show her that you had heard what she said, before successfully dragging the boy in your grasp out the room and down the corridor, leaving the group snickering at the knight storming off in annoyance.

“Thank you for saving my ass.” You told Podrick as you walked, letting go of his arm.

Podrick wanted to tell you to keep touching him, but he figured it would be a much too strange thing to say and instead opted to sulk for himself about the loss of contact and warmth.

“You didn’t seem to be enjoying the attention very much.” He answered quietly.

You chuckled. “A fine observation.”

You reached the door to your room in no time, and you wasted no time in going inside.

You put the flagon of wine down on your bedside table, walking over to the fireplace to start a fire. Putting a few pieces of wood in there as a start, you successfully lit the fire without too much trouble.

Half expecting to see Podrick inside your room, you turned around to see him still standing in the doorway, looking around in a tense manner.

You raised an eyebrow, clearing your throat.

Podrick whipped his head around to look at you, a blush rising to his neck. But luckily the redness of his skin was masked by the glow that was now emitting from the burning fire.

“Are you going to stand there looking at the furniture all night or are you going to come in?” You asked him, walking over to table with wine, pouring a cup and holding it out for him to take.

Hesitating slightly, Podrick finally walked inside, coming over to accept the cup with a small smile, raising it to his lips and sipping it carefully.

You raised another eyebrow and had to suppress a chuckle as you watched him drink for what seemed to be the first time in his life. But then again, you wouldn’t really be surprised if it was.

You poured yourself your own cup of wine before walking over to the door, pushing it closed with a thud.

Podrick jumped slightly at the sound, and once again you had to hold in your laughs. To have grown up to look so fine, he had certainly not changed much personality-wise.

You moved to sit on the end of the bed, patting the spot beside you lightly while taking a drink of wine.

Podrick hesitated, but nonetheless moved to sit beside you.

He could feel your gaze burning into the side of his face as he looked into his cup, twirling the liquid inside.

You looked at him, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your eyes ran over his eyes, taking in his long, black eyelashes, all the way to his lips, taking in the soft, slightly chapped skin that was stained a light shade of red from the wine.

You watched as his lips parted slightly as he brought the cup up to take another sip, the feeling growing in your stomach at the sight causing you to tighten your grip on the silver cup in your hand.

“I really want to kiss you.” You blurted out, successfully shocking Podrick with your words to the point where he choked on the liquid currently running down his throat.

“What?” He coughed, bringing the cup down and slapping his chest.

“I said if you die, I wouldn’t miss you.” You teased. “Are you going deaf on me, Payne?”

“You’re drunk.” Podrick coughed, putting his cup to the side before standing up.

“I’m not drunk, Podrick.” You rolled your eyes following his example of putting away your own cup and standing up to face him. “Why is it so hard for you to believe someone would want you?”

He looked away briefly, uncomfortable under your gaze. “I’m a squire. And you’re, well, you.”

“Yes, I’m me and you’re you, and I want you.” You admitted, moving one of your hands to the buckle of his sheath and the other to rest at his chest.

Podrick’s breath got caught in his throat, causing you to chuckle. “Are you nervous?”

He chuckled uncomfortably. “Am I that transparent?”

“You can’t hide your emotions for shit.” You snorted, unbuckling the sheath and carefully putting the sword on the chest at the end of your bed. “Is it your first time?”

“No.” He gulped. “I’ve been nervous many times.”

You felt yourself mentally facepalm. “You’re such an idiot.” You laughed. “A cute idiot, but still an idiot.”

“I-” Podrick started, but you interrupted him quickly.

“I ment your first time kissing. Or having sex. However far you want to go.” You snickered teasingly.

You watched in amusement as his ears and cheeks tinted red, this time too evident for the fire to hide.

“Yes, I mean, no, I’ve been with women before.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not very good at lying, you know that?”

“Yes, m’lady.” He mumbled, now more sheepish than ever.

“Are you going to kiss me, or am I going to have to wait all night?” You whispered.

Podrick’s breath shook as he felt you push your hand up his chest to grab a hold of his neck, slender fingers going to grip lightly at his hair.

“Fine.” You snickered. “I’ll do it myself.”

And with that, you pulled him down to your height and pressed your lips to his, seconds later feeling him respond and wrap his arms around your waist.

Your stomach and chest erupted with tingles as you were finally able to touch Podrick the way you had always wanted.

#podrick x reader #podrick payne #podrick payne x reader #podrick payne imagine #jaime lannister #jaime x brienne #jaime x reader #jaime lannister x reader #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #brienne x jaime #brienne x podrick #bronn of the blackwater #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones

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