#cat not understanding arya and putting her expectations on her

[catofoldstones]

Reading agot chapters of the stark sisters and coming to the conclusion that they hate each other in isolation from their parents’ understanding of them and society’s rigid expectations on them is idiotic as fuck. They are both classic products of their environments, both familial and social, and their feelings of each are heavily informed by these two things. Please take your Sansa and Arya hate each other because they’re antagonists, and are going to come head to head thematically in the later books, and dump it in the trash where it belongs.

#ned not understanding sansa thereby unconsciously favouring arya over her #cat not understanding arya and putting her expectations on her #psa: neither of the parents hate either girl #it just happens in a stratified and regressive society like that #sorry #sansa stark #arya stark #a game of thrones #agot #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #stark sisters #san & ar #can you tell I am rereading the books?

[danytherelentless]

A Heartfelt Goodbye

Eddard Stark x fem!reader

summary: after his wife's recent passing, Lord Stark is looking for a governess to raise his children

warnings! smut, cunniligus, p in v, pre-marital sex (big deal in Westeros), asoiaf typical sexism (if you squint)

word count: 3k

note: please forgive me if there are any mistakes or it appears a little disjointed, the editing was shaky at best

It was more than a year after the loss of his wife that he decided to take on a governess for his children.

He had refused marriage so soon after, and did not think he would ever take a wife again, and had not wanted to have a governess raise his children for it felt an insult to Cat, yet Maester Luwin had been advising him that his children would need such guidance in their lives, especially with them all being so young, and Eddard had finally relented.

He mulled over the options of Northern ladies for some time before deciding upon you. He'd never met you before, but he had known your father, brothers and some of your cousins. Your father had been one of his greatest and truest advisors during Robert's Rebellion, your elder brother one of his friends as well, and he remembers hearing much of you then, though you'd been younger at the time. Patient, caring and wise as a child. Surely you remained so as an adult? You were also unmarried which meant you had no other obligations nor children of your own to tend to. So he sent the letter to your Lord father asking if you would be suited and able to fill such a position in his household.

He received response soon enough and it was settled upon that you would be arriving to Winterfell within the next few weeks.

Your smile was the first thing he noticed upon meeting you, a kind and gentle thing which warmed him to you almost immediately.

"My Lord," you greeted with a curtsy after you had dismounted to stand next to your father and brother who had led you here.

"My Lady. I am thankful you have taken upon this position."

"It is a great honour, my lord. One I hope I shall be able to fulfil."

Robb was the most reluctant of his children to you, though that was expected and understandable as the eldest. His youngest three, however, were instantly enamoured with you, even baby Bran. But it was Jon which made him realise you were perfect for the role whom you treated well as any of his other children.

It took some time of course for the new dynamic to settle, for you to become comfortable with his children and vise-versa, but eventually, even Robb warmed to you. Even Ned himself found that he enjoyed your company. You had to ability to always make him feel at ease or give him the perfect advice for whatever situation he was put in.

He began to fall for you, which felt inevitable given how lovely you were. But he could not help the vicious guilt which he felt. It felt wrong, no matter how much time passed since Cat's passing, it still felt like a great insult to her memory, and to your own honour, though he never acted on his own feelings.

At least not until Robert called upon him when Balon Greyjoy rebelled against the crown.

He sat in the Godswood, the night before he would leave in contemplation. Many of his bannerman had gathered already at Winterfell with more on their way straight to White Harbour. He did not want to die so soon, though that was something he expected just as he had during Robert's Rebellion when he rode away from Riverrun, yet this time it felt so much closer to him. He couldn't bare the thought of Robb being made Lord so young, of his grief. Of the struggle and strife which he would face and the deceit he would no doubt face in spite of his youth. The idea of his little lady Sansa, or his wild little she-wolf Arya not remembering his face as they grew. Of baby Bram not having so much as a memory of him to place to his name.

He thought of you, of never seeing you again, of never confessing the feelings held within his heart. Though his guilt remained to an extent not as it once had, the idea of never getting to tell you made his heart ache something fierce. It overwhelmed any guilt he was feeling.

"My lord," your voice snapped him from his glum pondering.

"My lady. The hour is quite late, the air cold," he could barely see you in the darkness, the only light emitting from the lantern in your hand and the one sitting near his feet.

"I was worried for you," you confessed.

It was a normal thing to worry about. He was beneath no assumption that you felt the same as he, but he knew that you viewed him as a friend for you often spent hours drinking, exchanging stories and laughing well into late evenings together. So much so that he’d had to quietly had to expel rumours amongst the staff to the best of his ability, hoping you had not heard of them. He knew that it was a sign of the impropriety of your relationship, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop.

"I'll be back soon enough," he found himself reassuring you.

He watches as you walk closer to him, "may I sit?"

"Of course," he spoke embarrassingly quickly.

You took your seat on the tangled roots at his side, shivering slightly as you burrowed closer into your cloak.

"You really shouldn't be out here, my lady. You may catch a chill," he voiced his concern.

"And neither should you. What sort of a friend would I be if I allowed you to wallow out here all alone?" there was teasing in your voice. He found a smile growing across his face.

He looked to you then. You looked truly beautiful in the low light of the flickering lanterns, shadows cast across your face. You seemed quite sad, though he could see a longing in your eyes has he stared at you.

He felt something get trapped in his throat, unable to say anything as he looked upon you. There was a vulnerability which always clung to you, in the way you smiled so freely, the way you spoke so kindly and could be so forgiving. He saw that in you now. Something raw. He craved it, craved you, craved you near him, in his arms. He felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach.

He craved you, completely and utterly. Entirely vulnerable, bare flesh beneath him, moaning for him. His name, not his title, he loved it when you said his name. Not Eddard, just Ned. He wanted to hear it. Now.

He kissed you instead, a hand on your cheek pulling you close to him. Regret flooded him immediately.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised, pulling away, yanking his hand from your flesh, suddenly feeling quite sick. Barely a moment of your lips on his, so sweet and true. The taste turned to ash on his tongue, however.

"That was dishonourable of me, my lady. Forgive me please. I lost myself."

"No," you grabbed at his forearm and moved closer, you leg leaning into his own, "I... I don't mind."

He looks to you then, a goddess at his side. Meant to be worshipped. It was fitting you were both sat beneath a Weirwood tree.

He feels your delicate hand upon his bearded jaw and he allows you to pull him to you, eyes closing as your lips are joined with his.

He can tell you're inexperienced, but he relishes in it. It has been so long since he'd had any company, and he wanted this. With the thought of possible death so close, he could hardly deny himself you, especially if you wanted him too.

He part from you, breathless, "I want you."

He hadn't quite meant to just blurt it out so bluntly, but can't bring himself to want to take it back. It is his truth, after all. And in this moment, it would be wrong for him to not tell you.

You seem shocked for a moment.

"I want you too," you admitted.

His heart stops for a split second before he crashes his mouth back on yours, your tongues tangling together in some dance.

He kisses you for what feels like hours before he remembers you are out in the cold, and then he guides you back to the keep and to your chambers. The walk is silent and you bump into no one, though guards trail you both outside the keep and through some of the hallways.

He is about to part ways with you and leave for his own when you grab his wrist.

"Wait. Why don't you join me?"

Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, and he can hardly refuse such a welcome invitation, though his honour is screaming at him to stop. His desires simply win over, he is a weak man for you.

He undresses you slowly, pulling away your cloak, helping you unlace your dress as you exchange kisses. You help him with his own layers, and soon you are both bare as the day you were born. He looks upon your beauty, across your smooth skin, your breasts, the mound of hair between your legs. He feels his mouth water. He would turn you around and simply sit gazing upon your naked flesh for hours, studying you like a tome of history.

He lays you down upon furs and kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise some too dark into the flesh which he may regret some the next day should he notice, yet he cannot help himself as he listens to your sweet sighs and feels were hands caressing his arms then his chest.

His lips continue down your body, sucking and licking at your breasts and listening to the melodic sounds you bless him with, hands pawing at your thighs as he further parts them. He kisses down you stomach, beneath your bellybutton and then your naval, before finding his place between your legs, eyes upon your cunt, so close to him and oh so delectable.

"What are you..." your sentence is broken by a surprised and quiet moan as his tongue parts your folds and tastes your sweetness. He licks and sucks at you observing each reaction from his place which he could. Every twitch which you body made and every sound which left your lips. Ned took one of your thighs in his hold and brought it up over his shoulder. His nose is buried in the mount of hair above your cunt as he sucks on that bundle he knows will have you see stars.

You moan and gasp, legs tensing around his head and fingers tugging at his dark hair. He cannot help but groan into you, grinding down into your sheets to attempt to relieve the ache in his cock. He resists the urge to fist his cock in hand by instead pushing a finger inside of you, curling it upwards to feel that spongy spot. You are tight and warm and so so wet. He savors every moment of it.

He curls a second finger inside of you, listening to you high keening whimpers and stretches you wider, and then a third.

"Ned!" your fingers tighten and tug harshly at his hair, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your body tensing as you climax on his fingers. He licks some of it up before he finds himself too impatient to see your face again. He hopes he will be able to do this again so that he may taste you for longer.

You are worn, face etched with sweet ecstasy. He kisses you with your own taste on his tongue, an action which should disgust you, yet you answer with fervour, a laziness to your motions. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into you, deepening the kiss even further till your tongue is again in his mouth.

One of your arms caresses down his body as your lips part, your eyes hooded, breathing erratic. Your hand trails over his hip before it wraps around his hard cock.

He thrusts forwards as your fist closes around his tip, jerking downwards experimentally. He wraps his own hand over you guiding it up and down as he would his own in the privacy of his own chambers on lonely nights.

He guides himself within your hand to your cunt, nudging it over your nub, toward your sopping hole.

The thought suddenly hit him hard and fast. So suddenly he jerked back slightly from your touch.

"What... what is it?" you looked concerned, eyes wide, braided hair mussed.

"I shouldn't be doing this, it's wrong." It was dishonourable and an insult to such a fine lady as yourself for him to be debasing you so. You weren't married, after all. Not yet, he thought. He could see you at his side as his wife. But you were not his wife now, and you may never be his wife.

"No, no, no! Please, take me," eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with each breath you take as you tug him down so gently, "if you'll have me?" His chest clenched at such tender words.

With you begging him so sweetly, he could not resist, though there was a part of him still demanding he stop now, for this was wrong. Yet it was drowned by his raging desire which he had harboured for for so long.

He takes his position once more over you, between your thighs, and pushes himself inside of you slowly and carefully. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull at feeling such pleasure, and he nearly thrusts into you as a wild man would, but he resists easily enough for he knew it would cause you harm. He listened as you groaned and your face tugged into a discomforted expression, he felt himself stopping then, ready to pull out should you change you mind.

"Just slowly. Be gentle with me, please," your hands grabbed onto his shoulders, you knees farther parting to allow him better access.

He moves his hips so slowly at first, thrusts shallow and experimental, before his lips captured yours in a passionate flurry of movements. You were so warm, so wet. He knew you were most likely a virgin, a lady such as yourself. That thought only made his feel more hungry for you.

His movements continued as a slow and steady pace, before you whined prettily into his mouth and grabbed at his hip.

"You can move more," you spoke, breathless as he parted from you.

He obliged, building up his pace, pulling one of your legs up and around his waist as his thrusts became deeper and faster with each moan that left you mouth.

He could not tear his eyes away from you, from your sweat slick brow, your squeezed shut eyes and 'o' parted lips. He felt his own release build, but wanted you to finish at least once more for him, so he brought one hand between you and felt for you nub and began to rub at it, listening and watching your reaction as to what was best.

You tightened further around him, legs squeezing at his sides as you came for a second time. He could no sooner hold onto himself and buried his face in your neck and lost himself to you, thrusting without abandon as he chased after his own climax.

He came with a low groan, sucking kisses into your neck, filling you with his seed so deeply that for a moment, he prayed it would take, the thought of seeing you with child so tantalising.

He stayed within you for a few moments, perhaps even minutes, catching his breath and listening to yours.

He presses a tender kiss to your brow before pulling his softened cock from you with a wince. He was unable to look away as he sat up and eventually saw some of jus seed dribble out of you. He had to supress a groan.

"I'm sorry," he eventually broke the silence.

"Whatever for?"

He looked back at you, a goddess much to perfect for someone such as himself, worth more than ten of him, "for dishonouring you, my lady. I would have wed you before bedding you, yet I have not."

"I don't expect you to wed me, my lord," you admitted.

"Please don't call me that now. I have no right to any title after the disservice I have given you," for even thinking of getting her with child.

"You haven't. I wanted to be with you, just as much. I hope you don't think any less of me for it."

"No, I do not."

"Then we are simply two friends having a long and heartfelt goodbye," your smile is sad and small, not one of any joy or happiness.

"Is that all you view me as? Your friend?" he found himself speaking before he could stop, pulling on his underclothes.

"No, no. I... I feel for you. In my heart. I..." you paused and he looked at you, "I have come to love you, Ned. For not only the just and honourable Lord which you are, but for the loving father, and kind man. I enjoy the companionship you have offered me in the time which I have known you, and I have desired more of you for some time now."

He found himself dropping his breeches from hand and returning to your bed where you sat looking at him.

"It is fine should you not feel the same--"

"I do," he interrupted, bringing his hand to your cheek, "I love you."

You leaned into him, smile broadening across your face.

"I will wed you upon my return, my lady. I swear it to you."

He kisses you once more, a deep and long kiss filled with his love, before dressing and bidding you goodnight, feeling wrong to leave you after you had shared something so intimate with him.

Despite himself, despite leaving for war and having bedded you, confessed his love and swore to marry you though he may not even live to see you again after tomorrow, he sleeps well and peacefully that night.

He wed you the same day of his return.

comments are looked upon fondly here so don't be a stranger ;)

(please no negativity, my heart can't take it. I am a delicate soul)

#ned stark x reader #ned stark x you #asoiaf x reader #got x reader #got x you #ned stark #eddard stark #got smut #asoiaf smut #smut #house stark #fluff

[alaynerhinestone]

SIGHING the age difference between margaery and sansa is p big for teenagers! margaery is closer to jon and robb's age than sansa's. margaery and her family actively pursued an interest in elevating her to queen from at least the first book if not longer, tywin was actively trying to arrange a marriage between cersei and rhaegar before the maggy scene, which takes place when cersei was younger than sansa is at the beginning of the series. ned and catelyn had barely discussed sansa's options before joffrey shows up; they might have thought of it later or they might have chosen someone else. the wealthy southern houses are ambitious, but starks rarely send their daughters south to marry. sansa has talent and big dreams, and cat would at least think to take that into account. likely cat was expecting to marry her into another great house, but we know cat wanted her kids to be happy?? and be children?? for as long as they can. she was surprised and a little upset that robb was wearing live steel, even tho he's nearly an adult by westerosi standards and competent enough to manage winterfell when she understandably neglects her duties while bran is in his coma.

this is not a bad thing!! this is reasonable!! and cat did teach sansa how to be a lady the same way ned taught robb and jon to be a lord, through example and demonstration. all highborn girls have lessons with a septa, not least to occupy them while the boys are practicing hitting each other with swords. sansa and arya were also given lessons with maester luwin, which is a significant advantage that not all highborn girls get. and honestly this solid foundation gave sansa and arya the tools they needed to survive thus far!!

catelyn was expecting sansa (and arya!) to continue her education at court, under the supervision of ned and with the help of septa mordane. and cersei did try to educate her in her own terrible way––catelyn could not have known how incompetent cersei was (honestly cersei had robert killed in an incredibly sophisticated way that would still be hard to prove in real court, she is a lot more together in the first book). ned resolved to end the betrothal as soon as he saw what joffrey was like, he definitely believed revealing joffrey's parentage would make this easy.

margaery came to king's landing with an army at her back, knowing there was a possibility, however slim, of the lannisters rejecting an alliance. she knew she was entering a city her family had been starving out for months!! she brought food!!! she was prepared. she knew exactly what she was getting into!! loras had almost definitely been feeding the tyrells information about the court for years, if only so they'd know what was going on lol.

the tyrells are absolutely the lannisters' foils, I think that's pretty clear? margaery is the political powerhouse cersei wants to be, and she has the support and respect cersei craves. loras is the new Best Tourney Knight who mostly lives up to the ideals jaime strives for without really trying, and his relationship actually is unfairly discriminated against instead of just creepy (affectionate). willas is the scholarly heir trusted absolutely, like his claim is so rock solid he is just left with the castle, and he has a more 'socially acceptable' disability (in tyrion's mind especially!). like they are both engaged to sansa even. and olenna is who tywin thinks he is, except she also has the power of being a reasonable adult who would prefer that people (not joffrey) didn't get hurt. then garlan is just a good guy, all the lannisters wish they had a garlan

for the record, also, sansa tried to 'talk up' joffrey because she was terrified. she does not like anything about joffrey at this point and is desperately trying to think of things to say that won't get her killed?? what olenna and margaery do so well, and what is indicative of their strength as politicians and the power of being nice to people, is put sansa at ease enough that she's willing to tell them the truth. like yes sansa was fully deluding herself at one point, accepting joffrey's apology for lady's death, but she starts to hate him as soon as he has ned arrested (and their household killed??). how many of us can say we have not gone a little delusional over a crush in middle school regardless of what our parents taught us. lmao.

cat and ned may not have prepared sansa to be queen but they are the reason alayne is still kind, and that is why she inspires the kind of loyalty littlefinger can't, which will prove to be her greatest weapon.

#sansa stark #margaery tyrell #cersei lannister

[agentrouka-blog]

"She is too hesitant (yet!) to take charge of a situation if there is someone else to do it. To her own detriment." Yes, that's a good point and like you mention we see her when the chips are down take charge and be confident like in the blackwater, almost killing Joff, and saving Dantos. Do you think her reluctance is part of her natural personality or a learned behavior from a patriarchal society which makes women reactive and less in control of their own lives?

I would call it a mostly learned behavior.

We see echoes of this in Catelyn, whom we witness having to voice and present her opinions indirectly and phrased as suggestions, always always mindful of the fact that as a woman she is not supposed to look powerful, that the men in her life have the power to ignore and overrule her at will. Her "battle" against Ned in their bedchamber, her counseling of Robb, her deference to her father, even her attempts to stop Bran's climbing. She cannot put her foot down, ever. She lived her life mindful of her duty and trying to navigate within these shackles, and she barely acknowledges the bitterness she feels about it. We know that inside she has very clear ideas and priorities, but that is not visible on the outside. Her behavior is often deferential.

Catelyn has modeled this behavior for Sansa her whole life. It's beneficial when Sansa tries to find ways to manipulate Joffrey, but it also means she is not used to seeing women make bold and open choices - outside, perhaps, the songs. What she does see is Cat deferring to Ned, Cersei humiliated by Robert.

Septa Mordane reinforces the rididity of their society even more. Every single Septa we meet is presented in a negative light (save "Lemore"), as a judgmental or harsh source of psychological pressure. Because they teach rigid, uncreative submission. Mordane's mode of dealing with any deviation is to smack down on it.

"Stop that weeping, child," Septa Mordane said sternly. "I am certain your lord father knows what is best for you." (AGOT, Sansa III)

and

"Sansa, your lord father knows best," Septa Mordane said. "You are not to question his decisions." (AGOT, Eddard XIV)

The lesson here is clear. Choices are made by the father, or his successor the husband, or the son. Patriarchy.

Sansa is naturally not inclined to act rashly without understanding the context of a situation, but the behavior she has been taught amplifies this into a reluctance to act at all when there is no clear path.

It's no coincidence that GRRM set up Sansa in conflict with Ned. His neglect of her, his expectation of her unquestioning obedience, and his use of her as a pawn (he loved her but he was also very much a patriarch) all support this mode of behavior. All are harmful to Sansa, and impoverish Ned's relationship with her. Patriarchy.

And Sansa starts to strain against it in the first book, when the sharp edges of this social construct begin to bite her. She is independent enough to question and disagree with Ned's decisions, and his lack of regard for her concerns causes an alienation, of seeking independence from him. Ironically, modelled in her mind on her sister. "As willful as Arya". Her act of rebellion, going to secretly talk to Cersei, unfortunately coincides with Ned's arrest (and yes, going by the text it COINCIDES, it is not causally related if we look at the facts as broken down brilliantly by @istumpysk), which sadly reinforced her hesitation to trust herself with the decision-making.

In the isolation after Ned's death, in the absence of a trustworthy patriarch to make the decisions for her, surrounded by abject danger, Sansa is left feeling extremely insecure. But this is where she starts having to really make decisions for herself within the small wiggle room she has. It doesn't come easy, which is why these are always very moving moments.

Once she has escaped KL, another patriarch steps in, professing to be trustworthy: Littlefinger. He flatters her by acknowledging her intellect, he give the appearance of allowing her agency, he seemingly shares information with her. He seemingly does all the things Ned failed to do. A seemingly benevolent patriarch.

And it's obvious that Sansa slides into a familiar place, in spite of copious red flags. Even while mistrusting him, she gives him power over her decisions. But we have seen that Sansa will rebel when she reaches a certain point. Sansa doesn't truly trust, certainly doesn't love Littlefinger, like she did Ned. The point of true alienation will come sooner rather than later. But it will be a painful moment, because it means burying the illusory comforting idea that someone else can be trusted with her life choices. Independence is hard. But it's better. A thing she will keep in mind for the North itself.

We're going to see Sansa rely on herself again, with more vehemence than before. If Jon at all tries to play the patriarch after they reunite, she will be in a place of rejecting that construct much more easily than ever before.

#sansa stark #patriarchy #self confidence #decision making #eddard stark critical #catelyn stark #septa mordane #littlefinger #growth

[esther-dot]

Why do people act like Sansa was so unlikeable and difficult to sympathize with in agot. I loved her from Arya's first chapter for God's sake 😭😭😭 when Arya was bitching about her. I always thought we needed totally feminine, prim, proper female characters like Sansa in fiction. There are already too many Arya's and Dany's.

If you begin reading the story thinking that a character’s POV is the author’s factual representation rather than an attempt to give us a a fractured picture via intensely personal experiences/interpretations, it’s easy to accept the premise presented in AGOT, Arya I which is Sansa is to blame for Arya’s misery. Also, the idea of the beautiful girl that has everything who makes less attractive people feel inferior, who mistreats people lower down on the social ladder, that has the potential to tap into personal grievances, so people respond to Arya’s feelings without thinking about any of this from Sansa’s perspective

Think about that last highlighted bit. If you take that as gospel, you are going to think horrible stuff about Sansa and Cat. Obviously, Arya is upset and and not giving us an accurate reflection of the situation, but it isn’t immediately countered. It takes a while to get a Sansa chapter, and when we do get her POV, it’s after she’s betrothed and getting attention from the prince which seemingly supports Arya’s feelings. That means, even when the turn comes, when Lady is killed, some people are too entrenched in their view of Sansa as the vicitmizer, and Arya as her victim to realize that all along, Sansa has also been a victim.

In fact, in Sansa I we get a glimpse of how Arya’s behavior puts a burden on Sansa and makes her feel bad:

I have siblings, so I suppose I’m used to the “everyone is experiencing their own version of this event” idea, and I like Arya’s rebellion and Sansa’s dreaminess, so I don’t react negatively to either girl. They’re sisters, of course these dynamics are present! But, if you accept Arya’s attitude toward Sansa as factual, then you misidentify the cause of Arya’s inferiority complex, you might even hold Sansa responsible for the words/actions of their Septa who is cruel to Arya. If fans are stuck reading things this way, instead of realizing Arya’s pain largely comes from being forced into a role unsuited to her interests and personality (in contrast to Sansa who is suited to the role by personality and interests), they’ll decide that Arya is right, her suffering is at Sansa’s hands, although we’re shown (not told, shown) this isn’t the case. I believe the idea is to show how their society fucks over every woman, regardless of how much they attempt to rebel, regardless of how well they “obey” (saying that makes me shudder), but that’s just not something fans can absorb if they hate the girl who suffers in a different way.

More broadly speaking, there are trends in media, so I understand why at one point it was necessary to create characters like Arya who refuse to conform to societal expectations, but, the reaction to Sansa, the way the fandoms tries to vilify her for wanting to marry and have kids, for enjoying romance and songs and stories, well, it proves that we need more characters like her too. The goal should be to have every version of femininity represented in fiction, to be more inclusive and representative, so it’s a shame that a character like Sansa is hated for her interests when so many people see themselves in her.

But, I should also note, my sister doesn’t like Sansa. She doesn’t say anything mean about her, but the character isn’t personally meaningful to her. There’s nothing wrong with that. Different characters speak to each of us. That’s fine. What’s disturbing about the ASOIAF fandom is that it doesn’t stop with “not my fav”and instead devolves into unfair criticism, misinterpretations of her motives and actions, and then really horrific takes.

#ask dot #sansa stark

[shining-m00nlight]

A mother's love

She is their mother! Even if Lysa doesn't think so. A little drabble with Lysa and Ashara.

"You can't take them! They are my kids!" Ashara yelled loudly at the furious Tully woman in front of her.

"No they are not. They are my sisters. They are hers and Eddards. I am their aunt and you are nothing to them!" Lysa screamed right back at her.

"I am their mother too!" the Dornish woman answered almost as loud,

"No, you're just the harlot that spent her time in my sister's husband's bed! And my sister would not have wanted her children to live with her husband's mistress."

Ashara took a pause and tried to talk as calmly as possible, "Lysa, listen! I loved Cat. I loved her the way I loved Ned. And she loved me. If she would have survived we would have stayed together because we loved each other independently from Ned! Ned might have brought us together but he is not the reason we wanted to stay together forever. I know you just lost your sister and you want your family close. But understand I just lost my wife and my husband. My kids just lost their father and one of their mothers. Don't try to take my children from me and don't try to take away your nieces and nephews last parent just because you don't understand our marriage. Because I will fight you."

"I don't need to understand whatever power you held over them because of your proclivities to know that you never even had any legal rights to any of my sister's kids. The only one you can keep is your little brat."

Ashara was quiet for a minute before responding.

"You're right. I never had any rights over them because the system wouldn't allow it. But now I do. While I wasn't allowed to adopt them, Ned and Cat  put me in the papers to become their legal guardian in case of their death. It pains me to no end, that I have become their official guardian only through the death of the two people I loved most in the world. But now because of it I have the rights to fight for them! So if you try to take them I will call the police on you for kidnapping."

"How dare you, they are my family. And you would deny me access to them?!" Lysa squawked. Ashara didn't like looking at her. She reminded her of Cat. But it was like she was insulting Cats memory when she was spouting hatred while wearing her features.

"I never said that. I'm sure the kids would be very happy to see their aunt. But you won't take them away and I won't tolerate you talking bad about their parents' love for each other."

Lysa stared at her as if Ashara had slapped her. Then she turned around and walked out of the door. Ashara felt nothing but relief. She had expected that there might be a problem with people in the family who accepted her to various degrees. But she had expected them to wait longer than a few days before barging into her house demanding her kids only armed with the typical "You didn't push them out of your vagina, so they are not your kids" argument.

"Mama? Why are you crying? Are you missing Mommy and Daddy again too?" little six year old Arya toddled into the room. Ashara hadn't noticed that tears started falling down her cheeks.

"Yes, sweet one." she answered while lifting Arya up into her arms. She missed them very much and she would probably never stop missing them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A while back I got annoyed at a Ashara vs. Cat debate. So this is my solution. Kind of. Well the solution was supposed to be Ashara/Cat/Ned I'm not sure why I again had the urge to kill both of them off. Oh well hope you liked it anyway.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #ashara x cat x ned #ashara x ned #ashara x cat #ashara dayne #lysa tully #lysa arryn #arya stark #ned x catelyn #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #my fic #my drabbles

[makerkenzie]

Sansa learns the limits of Family.

An idea that keeps coming up in Sansa’s arc is what I describe as: “Family is not destiny.”

Does Sansa love her family? Of course. She loves them, she misses them, she will always regret not having more time with her mother and Robb. 

Westeros is a setting in which politics are tangled up with family dynamics. A noble family represents power as much as it represents love. Members of noble families, especially children, are treated as assets of their Houses before they’re seen as individuals. Examples: any noble marriage ever, fosterage, squiring, service, hostage-taking, and expectations of combat service. 

Sansa knows this; she’s lived it. Her marriage to Joffrey would’ve represented an alliance with House Baratheon and, because we’re talking about the royal family, it would’ve given House Stark much more influence on the governance of the realm. Her being kept as hostage was meant to affect her brother’s political ambitions. Her marriage to Tyrion was supposed to put House Stark’s assets under the Lannisters’ control. She grew up with Theon as a de facto sibling but his purpose in the Starks’ household was to keep his father under control. 

In this system, the family determines the individual’s reputation. Individuals from more powerful Houses are generally treated with more deference and generosity than those from poorer and lower-positioned Houses. From the perspective of a noble child, individuals from the “right” Houses are to be trusted and those from the “wrong” Houses are to be regarded with the most uncharitable assumptions.

In the culture of Westerosi nobility, one is viewed by one’s surname, first, and one’s actions...later. 

As the child of a Paramount-level family---especially, having grown up with loving parents and affectionate siblings---it would be understandable if Sansa bought into this culture. Her own mother’s House motto is “Family, Duty, Honor.” It would be understandable if Sansa were inclined to conflate family ties with one’s sense of duty and honor, and assume everyone else did the same. 

Having been forcibly separated from her family for so long, while kept hostage by people who don’t care to make her feel safe and welcome...it would be understandable if Sansa became more entrenched in the belief of surname as a representation of character.

She’s going in the opposite direction.

Sansa has interacted enough with the royal family to see that they are not a monolith. The non-viability of her marriage to Tyrion is a separate issue from his behavior. When Aunt Lysa asks, Sansa recalls Tyrion as...kind. 

She knows Podrick Payne is related to Ilyn Payne and she doesn’t hold that against him. He’s a nice kid trying to survive in the Red Keep and he didn’t ask to be born into the same House as the official headsman. 

In an early chapter in AGOT, King Robert is making a loud drunken scene at Cersei, and Jaime is the only man there who tries to get him to settle down. Even after Robert knocks him on his ass, he keeps his cool. This is in Sansa’s POV. Contrast that with Ser Barristan, and Renly, and oh, all the other men at the feast who could have intervened, and didn’t. 

When Joffrey was having his Kingsguard knights beat her, Tyrion was the one who put a stop to it, and Sandor Clegane--a kingsguard at that point--used his cloak to cover her. This happens in front of the court in the throne room. Tyrion’s move is the bolder one but Sandor’s kindness is still meaningful. By putting that cloak on Sansa’s body, he is quietly showing the court that he sympathizes with the Stark girl, not the king. Later, he rescues Sansa from the mob in Flea Bottom, and not on Joffrey’s orders. She remembers Sandor coming to her aid. Meanwhile his older brother is leading the Lannister troops’ invasion of the Riverlands. Sandor is nothing like his brother and Sansa knows that. 

She knows Tyrion is not like Cersei. Tommen is not like Joffrey. Podrick is not like Ser Ilyn. Jaime is not like the other Kingsguard. Sandor is not like his brother, not like the other Lannister vassals, not like the other Kingsguard, either. 

Either way, Littlefinger takes her out of the Red Keep and up to Aunt Lysa and Cousin Robin at the Eyrie. It’s the first time she’s been around blood relations since her father was executed. First of all, Aunt Lysa starts talking about marrying Sansa to Robin, which, first of all, yuck, and second: because Lysa is the only adult family member presently available to Sansa, she’s not really in a position to refuse. Anyway, because Sansa can’t catch a break from people trying to plant their flags on her ass, Littlefinger starts molesting her. Aunt Lysa, being the nearest equivalent to a parent in Sansa’s life...treats her like a homewrecker.

Aunt Lysa was born into House Tully, the one whose motto is “Family, Duty, Honor.” When she sees her new husband behaving inappropriately with her teenage niece, she tries to toss the girl out the Moon Door. Is that what Family-Duty-Honor looks like? Granted, Lord Hoster fucked up with Lysa pretty hard, but there’s no need to take that out on your sister’s daughter. 

Now this much is bad enough: Sansa’s own aunt is trying to kill her out of jealousy. There’s that. The much bigger issue is where the conversation goes as Littlefinger talks Lysa down from the literal and figurative ledge. She mentions that she killed her first husband, Hand of the King Lord Jon Arryn, using the poison Littlefinger gave her. She wrote to Catelyn, at Littlefinger’s instructions, and told her the Lannisters killed Jon. 

If we recall: Ned and Cat spent all of AGOT trying to prove the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn. The fallout from that investigation started the War of Five Kings and cost Ned his life. Because of that fallout, Sansa was held hostage at the Red Keep and forced into marriage with Tyrion. Because of that fallout, Cat and Robb have just been murdered at the Red Wedding and Arya is off who knows where doing Seven only knows what. Far as Sansa knows, her brothers Bran and Rickon were killed by Theon Greyjoy and she has no way of knowing Arya is even alive. Aunt Lysa is the only family member left in a position to take care of Sansa now, because of the war she and Littlefinger started. 

In more news of Littlefinger’s machinations: because he conspired with the Tyrells to frame Tyrion for Joffrey’s murder, Sansa’s life at the Red Keep went from uncomfortable to untenable, with Littlefinger being the only one ready to rescue her. She’s dependent on him because of his political sabotage, so now he’s molesting her at her aunt’s house, and her aunt has to be coaxed and cajoled out of killing her. 

It’s because of Littlefinger’s machinations that the Lannisters became the Starks’ enemies. Granted there’s no version of this story in which the AGOT-era Starks and Lannisters are buddies, but there could’ve been a story where they haven’t been actively trying to kill each other. 

Sansa’s been places and met people enough to know the Lannisters are not consistently villainous and her own family are not reliably safe. 

Unbeknownst to her Sansa (yet), Tyrion’s squire Podrick Payne is traveling around with a big warrior-lady carrying a Lannister-branded Valyrian steel sword. A gift from Jaime Lannister. Cersei’s twin brother, and the one man with the backbone to ask the drunken king to stop embarrassing himself. Unbeknownst to Sansa, Ser Jaime has just deserted his army because he’s helping Brienne and Podrick rescue Sansa out from under Cersei. 

They have this assignment because Catelyn stepped away from her animosity to the Lannisters for a moment long enough to give Ser Jaime a chance to do the right thing. That Jaime is rejecting the Lannister regime in favor of Stark-Tully interests has a lot to do with Brienne’s influence, while the likely success of their mission will probably have to do with Sansa’s conduct at the Red Keep. It’s Podrick Payne who’ll recognize Sansa with her hair dyed brown, and Podrick who has the best chance to convince Sansa that Lady Brienne is good and Ser Jaime is on their side. 

Winter is Coming. The Stark motto isn’t nihilistic; it is a call to action. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. It’s the spirit of mutual protection, care, and cooperation that keeps the pups alive in the darkest and meanest times. 

Sansa is gradually learning that “the pack” isn’t just those who share her family tree. The pack is made up of the ones who show up. When the wolves are tossed to the four winds, the pack may welcome the strength of lions. Unbeknownst to Sansa, the Hound showed up for Arya and may yet appear and join her pack. The real danger is the mockingbird. 

It was Sansa’s own family---her mother’s sister and foster brother---who created the conflict that drove the Starks into war with the Lannisters. Now it’s Lannister associates coming to her rescue. There may yet be a story in which the wolf and the lion work together and learn to trust each other. Sansa can help write that story. 

#asoiaf meta #sansa stark #westerosi culture #noble Houses #house stark #house lannister #littlefucker started the war #lysa arryn helped #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #podrick payne #sandor clegane #tyrion lannister #arya stark #catelyn stark #cersei lannister #robert baratheon #joffrey baratheon #tommen baratheon #asoiaf themes #asoiaf speculation #theon greyjoy #the wolf and the lion

[ladycatofwinterfell]

37

37. “Are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard” “Who are you?”

I was very inspired by the talk of there always being at least one person Ned and Cat doesn’t know in their home. So thanks to all the people who were discussing that. Enjoy!

The door barely had time to close before he had her pressed up against it. She let her bag drop to the floor and somehow managed to get her coat off, then she buried her hands in his hair, kissing him more firmly and desperately trying to get him even closer to her. Though she didn’t believe it was possible. His hands on her hips held her back against the door, she liked the feeling of being pinned between the hard surface behind her and his strong body.

They had a free afternoon and the kids would be in school for another few hours. So they had together decided that they would make the absolute most of that time, Catelyn had looked forward to it all week. It seemed the house was stuffed with people all the time, but finally it was just them. The ride home from the office had almost been unbearably long.

She kicked off her heels and hooked one leg around his. He immediately lifted her up so that she could wrap both her legs around his waist.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy” Ned growled as he moved his lips up her jaw.

“Give me five minutes and I’m gonna make you lose your mind.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Oh yes.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door, let go of every other thought and just focused on the feeling of her husband’s lips on her throat.

“Hello?”

Everything happened very fast after that. Ned twirled around and his grip on her loosened. Catelyn managed to get a leg down under her just before he dropped her, but it wasn’t enough and she stumbled backwards into a wall with a bang. She slid down along it and ended up on the floor with her back to it, her head pounding.

“Ouch, fuck!”

She raised a hand to the back of her head and rubbed her scalp. It felt like her skull had split right open, but it was intact.

She wanted to shout something at Ned, because what the fuck, but then she remembered the third person in the room. He was a complete stranger, she had never seen him before. What the fuck was that person doing in their house?

“Are you okay?” he exclaimed. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

She would have been a bit concerned about it if it had not been for the stranger who had somehow gotten into her house.

“Who are you?” she asked, more than a bit panicked.

The stranger wouldn’t look at her though. She looked down at herself and realized that her skirt had slid almost all the way up to her hips. She quickly readjusted it before looking back up at him. He was young, seemed to be of age with Sansa or Arya, tall and muscled, with the blackest hair Catelyn had ever seen.

“My name’s Gendry, I’m one of Arya’s friends” he responded.

“Ah. And how did you get into the house, Gendry?” Ned asked.

He eyed the boy, Gendry, with suspicion. Gendry seemed to shrink before his gaze, twisting uncomfortably. Ned could have that effect on people and in the moment Catelyn couldn’t feel sorry for Gendry.

“Arya gave me her key and told me to wait for her here. She said you wouldn’t be home until later, I’m sorry.”

They had talked to the kids about just giving out keys before, but they really had to do it again. She really didn’t want that situation to repeat itself. And she didn’t know what she felt about random friends hanging out in their house without the kids.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, I suppose” Catelyn sighed. “You scared the hell out of us though.”

She rubbed the back of her head again and grimaced. That would definitely leave a bump, it hurt like hell.

“I’m so sorry, Cat” Ned said and stretched out a hand towards her.

“You better be” she muttered as she took his hand and he helped her up.

She knew it hadn’t been his intention, but she couldn’t help but feel irritated about that he had just dropped her.

“Are you okay?”

She softened a bit at the worry on his face.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He would most definitely hover over her for the remainder of that day just to make sure of that she had not been seriously injured, as he tended to do. But that she would have to deal with later.

She turned towards Gendry.

“You’ve probably figured out that we’re Arya’s parents by now, but anyway, I’m Catelyn, and this is Ned, my husband” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, although I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you.”

Gendry rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. Catelyn glanced at Ned and wondered how the hell they had gotten into that situation. His thoughts seemed to be at the same place. It could have been avoided if they had only been a little more patient.

“Well, uhm, I think I’m just gonna leave” Gendry said after a moment of silence.

Had he not found them in the position he found them in she would have insisted on that he should have stayed, but letting him leave was probably kinder considering everything.

They watched Gendry scramble to put on his shoes and disappear out the door with his jacket in one hand.

“So our daughter’s friend seeing us like that wasn’t enough, I had to end up flat on my ass as well?” Catelyn said. “I have no dignity left.”

Ned frowned.

“Are you sure of that you’re fine?”

“Yes, I’m fine. A bit annoyed about that the kids somehow got into the way without even being at home, but fine.”

“It’s like they have a sixth sense.”

They looked at each other and started laughing in the exact same moment. One could definitely see the humor in the situation.

Catelyn stepped close to him again and laid her arms around his neck.

“I expect you to make up for trying to kill me” she smiled.

“I have to say I’m surprised you’re touching me” Ned chuckled.

“You had time to get me all hot and bothered before the boy made himself known, and if you leave me like this I’ll make you sleep in the guest room. But I’m walking to the bedroom with my own two legs.”

~*~

Arya fished her phone out of her pocket the moment she was out of the classroom and saw that Gendry had texted her.

I’ll wait at my place instead, things didn’t go as planned

Arya stopped and frowned. What did that mean? She didn’t really like the sound of it. She immediately called Gendry.

“What happened?” she asked as soon as he picked up.

“I might have caused your mother to have a concussion” he almost whispered.

“What?”

First of all, her parents weren’t supposed to be home until an hour later. Second of all, what the hell had Gendry done?

“I was waiting in your room, and I heard someone and assumed that it was you so I walked downstairs. But it wasn’t you, it was your parents.”

“And how did that lead to Mom having a concussion?”

She didn’t understand anything at all.

“I don’t know if she has a concussion, I just know that she hit her head...” he paused and seemed to be looking for words. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna say it because nothing can be more embarrassing than when I was actually there.”

Arya could feel a smile creep up on her face. She had an idea of something that could have happened.

“Okay, here it comes, Mr. Stark had Mrs. Stark pressed against the door and he had lifted her up, and I was like ‘okay, so I’m gonna have to let them know I’m here’ and I accidentally scared the crap out of them and Mr. Stark dropped Mrs. Stark and she stumbled into a wall.”

And Arya couldn’t hold back her laughter. She laughed until she could feel tears in her eyes. Gendry, on the other hand, was silent. She could imagine that he thought that she was mad. She wasn’t, she just found his little story incredibly funny.

“That’s so on brand for them!”

“What?”

“Just get used to it.”

#catelyn stark #ned stark #ned x cat #gendry waters #arya stark #my drabble

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part VIII

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 2,165

Note: Leave your thoughts please! 💛

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.9

“I don’t want to leave King’s Landing! What about you and Tommen? No one can separate us! Please Y/N, I don’t want to go to Dorne.” Myrcella was weeping holding you tight by the waist.

“You’ll be safer in Dorne, little one. It’s dangerous if you stay. I promise you I’ll visit Sunspear as soon as I can. They will give you a warm welcome. Nothing bad is going to happen, okay?” You keep saying to ease her worries. She’ll be just fine, you thought.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You are my sister. We’ll be in each other’s hearts till the end of time.” You wiped her tears.

“Princess Y/N, Princess Myrcella.” Sansa greeted you. Another two courtiers arrived to be with her.

“Lady Sansa, I love your dress! Did you make it yourself?” Myr announced.

“Yes, princess.” She chuckled.

“You should teach me how to do this beautiful stitching. Sadly we don’t have the time.”

“I’ll send you a golden gown as a present on your nameday” She grinned and went off to play hide & seek with the ladies. “You are going to miss your sister.” Sansa said.

“A lot. But I know it has a purpose. She’s strong.” You nodded.

“Just like you. I miss Arya. We had a complicated relation, she was always so annoying and I was a brat. I should have cherished the moments we had together. She’s out there all alone.��� With a sad voice she spoke.

“We will find her.”

“May I ask you something?” She doubtfully inquired.

“Anything.”

“You don’t like to be around Joffrey?”

“No. And I’m glad he hardly ever request my presence. We had a messy childhood. I’ve been closer to my siblings since they were born. They brought light to my life. There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for them.”

“I admire you, Y/N.” You smiled.

“Lady Sansa, do you fancy poetry?”

“I do! It’s very romantic.”

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. I made you a poem... you inspired me. Here it goes...

Big vivid blue eyes

Gentler than the ocean sea

Long silky auburn locks

Warmer than a sunset

This a lady, a lady who will own the world.”

You created it the very first day you meet her, of course, you wouldn’t recite it to her when you barely knew each other. It was way too short but it meant something.

“Woah... Y/N I’m speechless. You are so sweet. I don’t deserve a friend like you.” Right, friend.

“Of course you do.” You said. She kissed your cheek the same way you kissed hers the other night. Swiftly and subtly. Gods it felt so good. If anyone was watching they could see how blushed you two were.

“May I ask specifically what the King has in mind?” Tyrion was weary of his sister’s stubbornness.

“You may, specifically, or you may ask vaguely. The answer will be the same.” She nonchalant answered.

“It’s important we talk about this.” He insisted.

“It’s the King’s royal prerogative to withhold sensitive information from his councilors.” Cersei was looking from the balcony to the gardens the longing stare Sansa had on you. You watched with a heavy heart over the younger princess so you weren’t paying much attention. The Queen Regent didn’t like the idea of that kind of closeness between you both. She didn’t suspect anything either, not more than devotion the northern lady held for Y/N. Still, it bothered her you always stood up for her. “That whore should stay away from my daughter.” She declared.

“Why? It seems they get along pretty well, your son loves to torture her. She found someone who treats her right. I don’t quite understand the reason you’re mad about it.”

“She’s poisoning her. Manipulating her. Y/N is so naive. That girl thinks she has her under her claws at her disposition.”

“What you are saying doesn’t make any sense. They are just girls. What harm can they do to each other?

“Will you send her away as well? Maybe you should have considered Y/N instead of Myrcella.”

“You haven’t changed a bit. Still so bitter and distant with Y/N. She knows how to fight, how to defend herself. She’s brave. Just like her father Robert Baratheon was. Only three of your four children are sane. But I’m really curious about this... how can you put one of them above the other? Being so hurtful with your actions and your words, Y/N experienced that. Where were you when she needed you the most?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I love her. In my own way. She’s my blood, and for good or for bad, blood is for life.” Tyrion let out a tired sighed of disbelief. Then he left.

“My friend...” Varys approached you.

“What news, Lord Varys?”

“Your uncle Renly. He’s dead.”

“How?”

“He was stabbed in the heart. Some say it was Lady Catelyn Stark, his own Kingsguard, and others Stannis Baratheon himself. We don’t know for sure.” You knew this was a high possibility due to the quarrel between Stannis and Renly, though it was soon you were pretty sad about the fact he’s gone. He was always good to you.

It was the day Myrcella was leaving home to be in an unknown place. She was terrified, truth be told you were too but you had to remain strong and positive.

“My lioness, I’m sure the next time we see each other you’ll be even more beautiful. Five years, twenty years, we’ll always be the same.” You were trusting Dorne to take care of her.

“Just a bit older. Who is going to stay with me when I have a nightmare or when-“

“As father told me, don’t be scared even in the face of danger. You will never be alone. I love you.” You kissed her forehead bidding her goodbye.

“Promise you will never forget about me Y/N.”

“I promise.”

“May the seven guide the princess on her journey...”

Tommen was sobbing, the septa cleaned his face. You held him whispering she was going to be safe and soon enough you’ll be seeing her again.

“You sound like a cat meowing for his mother. Princes don’t cry.” Joffrey hissed with his arms folded. You were to busy comforting your baby brother to pay him any attention.

“I saw you cry.” Sansa blunted out.

“Did you say something, my lady?” He turned to her.

“My little brother cried when I left Winterfell.”

“So?”

“It seems a normal thing.”

“Is your little brother a prince?”

“No?”

“Not really relevant, isn’t it?” He irritably replied.

“Some people care for their siblings, you don’t care for any of us. That’s why you are so stone-hearted about it.” You kept looking at Myrcella almost gone boat. He gave you a withering look before walking. Sansa was emotionless, perhaps because of her younger brothers, Bran and Rickon. Hopefully, they were alright.

“Come, dog.”

You followed the guards. In the hall, a crowd started to yell things at the King. Tommen was taken back to the Keep while your mother and you stayed close to each other, she held your hand.

“Hail to the King!”

“Murderer! Bastard!”

“Please your grace, we are hungry!”

Suddenly a piece of cow excrement was thrown to his arrogant face. “Who threw that? I want the man who threw that! Find him and bring him to me! Kill them! Kill them all!” Sansa handmaidens were keeping her close. The Lannister guardsmen shielded you and Cersei while the folk tried to get to your eldest brother. They were rioting, it was chaos.

“Move, move!” Tyrion ducked his head. You tried to follow the tall girl but she left your sight.

You entered a big gate to safety. “Where’s the Stark girl?” Tyrion shouted.

“Let them have her!” Joffrey furiously screamed.

Wasting no time you ran to the exit not caring about the riot happening outside.

You entered a short corridor, almost tripping by your feet. When you found her she was on the ground with her clothes ripped off, crying while trying to break free from the man’s grip.

“Have you ever been fucked?” You heard the disgusting person say.

“Take your hands off her!” You pushed one of them and hit him. The other flee and the last punched you in the stomach and then slapped you. The northerner was terrified. In that precise moment, before you kept fighting, The Hound arrived and spun the leader down, then disemboweled him, the second begged for mercy, resulting in him cutting his throat. He first offered to help you what you refused so he could carry the Stark girl. She was in shock.

Now you were in the gated area. You heavily sighed. “The Princess is hurt! So is the little bird.”

“Thank you, Sandor.” He nodded.

“Y/N! Are you alright? Did the assailants do something to you?” Tyrion worriedly asked you.

“No, no I’m fine.” You shook your head, trying to catch your breath.

“That was stupid.”

“Well, Joffrey is a slow thinker.”

“Your mother is going to be so angry about this.”

“I don’t care, uncle. You know it.” You smiled at him and he shook his head in disapprove. “My lady. They will take you back to the Red Keep. I will personally treat your wounds okay?”

“You already have done too much, my princess. I-“

“Please.” She nodded. “I’ll be with you in a few moments.”

You entered Cersei’s chambers, she was expecting you. Both hands on her waist. “What the hell were you thinking?! Are you an idiot? I’ve sent one of my daughters away and now the other is almost raped and killed the same day!” She was all hysterical.

“Mother, your son wasn’t deciding. Someone had to. Without Lady Sansa we’ll never see Jaime again. I’m the only person who cares for the innocent people? I wouldn’t let them hurt her.” You fought back.

“She is not worth risking your life for. You are trying to follow your father to the grave! It’s not about honor. It’s about your safety. I can’t lose you, Y/N.” She argued.

“You won’t.” You walked out leaving her with a mad expression.

“She was so brave Shae! She came to my aid when I thought those people were going to hurt me. She’s so fearless.”

“It was a very silly act. Things could have gotten worse.”

“But they didn’t. Sandor also helped. But Y/N,s boldness is remarkable.” Shae peered at her knowing what Sansa really meant.

You knocked on the redhead door. “I hope it’s not too late. My mother kept talking, I couldn’t wiggle my way out.” You excused yourself.

“Come in. I was waiting for you. Shae insisted on do it herself.”

“Princess. My lady.”

“Goodnight, Shae. She’s in good hands.” She gave you a little smile.

“Did you have supper already?”

“Yes, I took a quick bath too.” Sansa gestured you to sit down.

“I see. Your hair is still wet.” You quipped.

“You saved me. Again.” She began.

“Actually, Sandor saved us. I’m glad I arrived in time.”

“I thought they were going to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t let them. I won’t let anyone touches you ever again. I’m sorry. It must have been very frightening to you.”

“It was. You rescued me. I’m so grateful, Y/N. But your life is way more important than mine. Stop doing it.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You took the kerchief smearing in it some ointment.

“I’m serious. You are very brave. I don’t want you to get seriously injured because of me.” She insisted, more serious this time.

“I wouldn’t blame you. No harm will come to you while I’m around. I mean it. What I wouldn’t do to save you?”

“You are so stubborn. I would have given them bread if I had it. I hate the King more than any of them.”

“I know you would and I know you do, we share the same feeling about him.”

“Oh, gods! I’m a fool! I didn’t notice until now that you are also hurt.” She concernedly acknowledged.

“It doesn’t matter.” You brushed it off.

“Of course it does.”

“You first.” With the fabric, you began to swab her eyebrow cut.

“Auch.”

“It’s not deep. Does it hurt?”

“A little. What about yours?” She carefully touched your lower lip with her thumb.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Let me clean it.” You found her eyes staring at your lips.

“The-the cut will disappear soon.” She stuttered.

“I won’t.” She looked up yo meet your eyes.

“What?”

“I won’t stop risking my life to keep you safe.” Not only you were doing this for the promise you made to Lady Catelyn, or because it was the right thing to do, not even for honor or recognition, but because you were falling harder and harder for her, you were deeply in love with the she-wolf.

#game of thrones fic #got #sansa stark x reader #sansa stark #sansa x reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader #house baratheon

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance, Fill #1: Eragon Being a Dumbass

Prompt: I want Eragon being a dumbass when Murtagh is the only one to look after him, or the aftermath when Brom finds out about the dumbass thing.

(Note: This may conflict with the timeline of Eragon’s first seizures set by ‘Fatherhood.’ I’m keeping it as is though, as it fits with some characterizations. Arya’s laid out because she pushed herself past the breaking point to watch over Eragon while he was comatose and all that beforehand, Brom and Saphira are left to do the emergency work that requires heavy lifting and magic while they all use kid gloves for Eragon following his injuries, and Murtagh is...well, he’s Murtagh. So yeah, timeline is sketch and always will be.)

“You wanted to look…at a greenhouse?” Murtagh stared down the long rows of planters, dumbstruck. “Why?”

“Are you kidding me?” Eragon spun around and threw out his arms. “This place is amazing! Do you understand just what they’re doing here?”

The giddy smile plastered on Eragon’s face was a welcome sight. It had only been around twenty four hours since the Rider had been released from his room in Tronjheim’s hospital. With Saphira and Brom doing their best to help the dwarves stabilize damaged tunnels and Arya practically asleep on her feet between meals, Eragon had expected to be cooped up in the Elves old embassy. Murtagh had been his rescuer.

The two youths had spent the day walking around the dwarves city mountain, following sights, sounds and smells that struck their fancy.

A fountain gurgling hot water into a stone tub down an alley had occupied their attention for well over an hour as residents of the nearby living quarters happily cooked food in the steaming basin. Both Eragon and Murtagh had been urged to share in the simple feast, and left with full bellies.

Down one hall, Murtagh discovered that the massive hexagonal garnets, square pyrite and triangular topaz plates that mosaiced the wall played musical notes when pressed. At Eragon’s behest, he had lifted the Rider up on his shoulders to hit the high notes and wobbly played the bass end of their favorite songs.

Not long after, Eragon had suddenly perked up and pulled Murtagh after him into a bright room that smelled of composted, moist earth and hummed with UV lighting.

Murtagh crossed his arms, a little amused at Eragon’s enthusiasm. “They’re growing food. In a cave.”

Eragon’s smile, if even possible, grew wider. “They’re growing wildly different plants in the same spot. Look, look!” He again grabbed Murtagh by the wrist and pulled him to the closest raised bed, pointing to a short plant with ragged edged leaves. “Look, this is strawberry. But other there, on that corner, that’s a blueberry bush. Blueberries need acidic soil but strawberries prefer neutral. These two shouldn’t be growing so well in the same bed!”

Eragon dashed off again, pointing out the plants he knew and chattering excitedly about their proper growth conditions and how the climate for some of them shouldn’t be attainable underground but somehow the dwarves had to be using magic to alter spaces around specific plants to allow them to flourish. Murtagh followed a bit more slowly, taking in the smell of pungent herbs as they wandered into an area apparently dedicated to their growth. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was nice to just take a moment and appreciate the simple lives of plants.

“No way!” Murtagh jerked, startled by Eragon’s raised voice. He realized then that the young Rider had disappeared from his sight, and with a sudden pang of anxiety he bolted down the green corridor.

Brom always said Eragon was a magnet for trouble, and Murtagh believed him. ‘I can’t leave him alone for two bloody minutes!’

The young man skidded to a stop, heart pounding…to see Eragon happily cramming a handful of leaves into his mouth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Murtagh rushed forward, grabbing the younger boy by the cheeks. “Spit it out! You don’t know what that is! I swear you’re worse than a bloody puppy!”

Eragon grinned and pushed Murtagh back, swallowing his newfound treat as he did. “I know exactly what it is!” He plucked another leaf from the bushy plant that practically spilled over the edges of the raised bed in front of him and held it out. “This is Virestalk. It grows all over Palancar Valley. It helps you get back on your feet after being sick.” He offered the leaf to Murtagh. “Want some? It’ll probably help you get over that concussion.”

“…I think I’ll pass on the magically grown plant in the magical garden with apparent energy restoring properties.” Eragon shrugged and popped the leaf into his mouth before grabbing two handfuls off the bed and shoving them into his pockets. “Come on. It’s almost dinner time. Arya’s probably awake by now and losing her mind over where you are.”

“Can we stop at that little place we passed earlier with the chicken kebabs? I’m getting hungry again….”

~~~

Murtagh paused, flattening himself against the wall to allow a group of dust coated dwarves past as he looked around. Eragon had fallen behind again, and, with a few choice swears, Murtagh followed behind the grimy workers and retrace his steps.

He found the young Rider staring into the window of an empty shop.

“Hey. That’s not the chicken stall you know. They’re going to run out by the time we get there if you don’t hurry up.”

Eragon slowly turned his head to stare at his friend. He blinked twice, eyelids moving almost comically slowly before he slurred out, “Murtagh…there’s so many colors.”

Murtagh stared back. “…What?”

“The parrot. It’s got…so many colors. Where’d you find it?” He raised an arm and pointed towards Murtagh’s shoulder. “Where’d you come from, bird?”

‘…Oh. Oh this is not going to go over well.’

~~~

“Why do you smell like…oooooh like cotton candy?” Murtagh did his best to resist the urge to just drop Eragon down the short flight of steps leading up to the embassy door as the boy nuzzled his face against his sleeve.

Instead he grit his teeth. “Because I was born in a cotton candy factory.” Really, it would be so easy. Just…sling him over his head from where he was draped across Murtagh’s shoulders and dump him down like a sack of unruly potatoes.

Eragon let out an impressed gasp as his human transport kicked the embassy door, yelling for Arya to open it. “Woooooow! Are you made of cotton candy?”

“Don’t you DARE–”

Both stopped dead, Eragon with his teeth halfway to Murtagh’s arm and Murtagh flexing in preparation to throw him, as the door swung open to reveal not a very groggy elf, but instead a rock dust sprinkled Brom.

He took in the scene with a deadpan expression before asking, in an equally deadpan voice, “What the hell is this?”

“Just let us in and let me put him down, will you? He’s heavier than he looks.”

By the time Murtagh had deposited Eragon on the couch, Arya had dragged herself out of her room to see what was happening. She took a cursory glance at her charge where he lay ‘catching butterflies’ that floated around his head, sniffed the air twice, gave an amused snort, and settled into an open armchair to sleep again. “I smell Divining Sage. Nice going, Murtagh.”

Brom rounded on the young man. “You let him eat Divining Sage?! Do you have any idea what the hell–”

There was a crash from the direction of the embassy’s warehouse where Saphira usually settled down.

“S’all right. I’ll get it.” Arya waved Brom off and pulled herself out of the chair. “Keep tearing into him.”

Murtagh felt his face going red.

What the hell? What the hell. So they all foist Eragon off onto him and when something, because it’s ALWAYS something with Eragon, happens because the boy’s a complete idiot when it comes to self preservation, they all blame him?

“Divining Sage is a fucking hallucinogen, why– how did you even find–” Brom threw up his arms, a flabbergasted mix of angry and confused as to how the situation even came to be. “Are you THAT DENSE?!”

“I don’t see you looking after him!” Murtagh angrily pointed to the Rider currently petting an invisible cat and cooing nonsensical praise to it. “You left him here alone with a practically anesthetized bodyguard and said ‘Yeah, sure Murtagh, keep him busy for a few hours!’”

“I didn’t tell you to get him high, you idiot welp! Where did you even–”

“Oh don’t you blame that on me!” Murtagh jabbed a finger in Brom’s direction. Even as angry as he was at becoming the scapegoat for Eragon’s own idiocy, he knew better than to try and throw hands with the old man. “If I was going to get him high it wouldn’t be off some backwater psychedelics, it’d be off some proper Urû’baen kush and plenty of stout! He ate that crap himself!”

That finally gave Brom pause. “…He what?”

“He stuffed his face with it! I tried to stop him, but he said it was Vire-vine or something.”

Brom slowly turned to stare at Eragon. Eragon smiled widely back before pointing and laughing at Brom’s face.

Then the old Rider sat down and began to laugh as well.

“Virestalk. He thought…it was Virestalk.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Of course he did. They look almost identical. Damn fool probably wanted to give some to all of us to recover after the fight.”

Murtagh approached slowly. Now that Brom was no longer yelling, his own anger began to fade. He puzzled over what it was being replaced with before asking tentatively, “He’s…going to be okay, right?”

Brom sighed and nodded. “Yes. He’ll be fine. The effects wear off within a few hours. We’ll just have to watch him and Saphira till they do.” There was another crash of falling boxes in the warehouse, followed by faint Common Elvish swearing. “Hallucinations affect both partners so….” He gestured down the hall as Eragon took another swipe at a nonexistent Urgal. The sound of the boy’s war cry was mimicked by a loud growl from an apparently hallucinating Saphira.

“Oh.” Murtagh paused. “We have a hallucinating dragon in the building.”

“Yes. And it’s going to be a very long night.”

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #modern inheritance asks #modern inheritance fills #murtagh #saphira #brom #arya #farm boy!Eragon canonically loves plants and still does in MIC #and yes i got eragon high #i feel like he needed it after all that #murtagh is trying to figure out wtf life is going to be like now that he has this weird family #brom is trying but doesn't know 100% how to react or parent #he's still everyone's dad tho ofc

[queenaryastark]

I don’t understand the obsession with basing Arya’s value and importance on whether she likes dresses or not. It’s brought up, often at random, to simplify the character and to “prove” that she’s not able have love or hold a leadership position or do anything other than commit violence. None of these things are dependent on her wearing a dress or not wearing a dress. 

That said, Arya is not a one-dimensional character, but a fully fleshed out, nuanced character that cannot be fit neatly into a type. So many want to put simple labels on the characters like “tomboy” or “girly-girl” and project things onto them based on those labels rather than actually discussing what’s in the books. The novels prove Arya is a lot more complicated than a one-dimensional tomboy stereotype that hates everything the patriarchy has decreed as “girly” on principle. That isn’t how GRRM writes. 

“I don’t wear gowns. You can’t fight in a stupid gown.” – AFFC  

Arya has just escaped an actual warzone and ended up in the care of a death cult. Self-defense is a concern for this traumatized child. And frankly it is difficult to fight in elaborate gowns. Dressing for specific situations is normal. Like wearing leggings, shorts, or sweats when exercising. 

Also, Arya is exaggerating when she says she doesn’t wear gowns since she has them on before and after that statement. In AGOT, she never criticizes dresses. She wears them until she leaves Winterfell to ride south to King’s Landing. While riding south, she wears riding leathers. When she begins training with Syrio, she wears pants. This is about wearing clothing to fit the situation:

Small wonder; she was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats. – AGOT

When she escapes the Red Keep, she is still wearing the pants she was training in and she gathers the variety of other clothes for practicality  as well: 

Arya recognized silks and satins and velvets she never wore. She might need warm clothes on the kingsroad, though … and besides …

Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell.- AGOT

Those clothes are all stolen from her while she struggles to survive on the street, so she only has her pants and shirt going forward until she was forced into slavery at Harrenhal, where she is stripped and put into a “scratchy wool shift” or simple dress. After helping the Northerners take Harrenhal, she gets a promotion and a page uniform to match:

In her cell, she stripped to the skin and dressed herself carefully, in two layers of smallclothes, warm stockings, and her cleanest tunic. – ACOK

So she’s probably wearing a pink version of this. She wears that until reaching Acorn Hall where Lady Smallwood puts her in two dresses and a pair of breeches:

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem.

——

Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs.

——

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. “I’m sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty.” – ASOS 

Arya can’t stay in the acorn dress because she wrestles with Gendry, which gets the dress dirty and torn, further proving that delicate, elaborate clothing isn’t a good choice for physical activity. The delicate lilac dress proves the same thing, which is why she is given more practical clothes.

Her next costume change comes at a brothel where the workers “dressed her up like one of S*nsa’s dolls in linen and lace”.  One of the patrons of the brothels tried to proposition her until Gendry stopped him. This leads back to the reason why Yoren had her pretending to be a boy in the first place, to make it less likely that men would try to rape her. Note that she is never free from threats of rape while she’s wearing pants, since she is threatened repeatedly before this. Wearing pants just makes it a little less likely. She is back in her breeches and tunic after that until she gets a fresh version of that garb in the House of Black and White, which is in turn followed by a new Faceless Man uniform:

Her servant’s garb was taken away, and she was given a robe to wear, a robe of black and white as buttery soft as the old red blanket she’d once had at Winterfell. Beneath it she wore smallclothes of fine white linen, and a black undertunic that hung down past her knees. – AFFC

From there on, she wears clothes to fit her station in the HOBAW or to fit the role she has taken on, which include simple dresses or the equivalent of dresses:

A long iron knife rode on her right hip, hidden by her cloak, a patched and faded thing of the sort an orphan might wear. Her shoes pinched her toes and her tunic was so threadbare that the wind cut right through it. –AFFC

The clothes she wore were rags, faded and fraying, but warm clean rags for all that. Under them she hid three knives—one in a boot, one up a sleeve, one sheathed at the small of her back. – ADWD

An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots. Last of all she palmed her finger knife. – ADWD

She shaved, donned her smallclothes, and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. …Her boots were lumps of old brown leather mottled with saltstains and cracked from long wear, her belt a length of hempen rope dyed blue. She knotted it about her waist, and hung a knife on her right hip and a coin pouch on her left. Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer’s cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She’d hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last. A real blade, not a fruit knife like the one on her hip, but it did not belong to Mercy, no more than her other treasures did. –TWOW

The issue with Arya’s aversion to dresses was due to functionality. As an active girl, most dresses don’t work with the activities she enjoys. As she’s training to take on other roles and using clothing in addition to performance to fill those roles, she’s seeing the benefit of other kinds of outfits in different situations. 

I would also argue that dressing her up in pretty clothes makes her uncomfortable due to the pressure she was put under to conform to the patriarchal restrictions put on women. Her sister and septa bullied her for not fitting those restrictions and her mother held out the possibility of being pretty as a carrot or prize she would receive once she obeyed. 

All of that said, it really doesn’t matter if Arya hates dresses, loves them, makes use of them, or is ambivalent toward them. That’s not something that will impact whether she is loved or if she takes on a position of power. She can effectively administrate no matter what she wears and the kind of people she would love, would love her no matter what she wore.

#text post #arya stark #asoiaf #the way these people link a woman's worth to how well she conforms to patriarchal ideals is disturbing #my meta #meta

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Outside the Wall

Part 19

Hey guys, very short, laid back chapter. I finished up writing my timari spitefest work and then immediately had a 6 month old puppy brought into my life. She likes sleeping on my hand. If you guys want, I'll post a picture of her, but the point is that writing may slow down significantly due to training and cuddles. Sorry this is almost more of a filler.

Wonderfully patient CLOSED taglist: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Walking through the portal, Jason took in the sight of his team dropping their transformations one at a time, taking no mind to the kid who walked in behind him. Guess it didn't really matter. What are the chances he would recognize them in any manner that mattered? Plus, they wanted the kid to feel comfortable here. That he could trust them.

Marinette walked over to him, barely glancing at the awkward Robin standing out of place.

"Alright, reprieve is over. You'll never adjust to your body this way," she said with an apologetic smile, lacing their fingers together and both loosening their crushing grip on their bond they'd been holding for the last two hours. As they both relaxed their minds, they slipped back into their own bodies, souls settling happily into their rightful place. 

Placed properly, Jason turned towards the Robin in the room, offering a lopsided smirk, "Welcome to the shitshow."

He shuffled his feet, "I don't plan…"

"On staying. Yes, we know Timothy. It's okay," Marinette helped him out, smile soft.

His shoulders tensed and narrowed eyes stared them down, staying quiet.

"Look, replacement, we're not trying to intimidate you or anything. We know Bruce's identity. Comes with being one of his charity cases, you know? It's not difficult to figure out which kid ended up in his care next," he intoned, trying to help Timothy see their lack of intentions towards revealing his identity.

"We only thought it fair you should be made aware of what exactly we know. I imagine it would be quite unsettling to think you had the upper hand on us only to find out later that we knew the whole time," Marinette chimed in next.

They watched as his face screwed up with an off put expression only to nod his assent, "That would bother me more, yeah."

"My name is Marinette," she put her hand out towards him, waiting patiently.

"Tim," he carefully shook her hand, staying almost formal despite the informal correction, "So the part about you getting stuck in the former Robin's body during his death. That's why you share the madness you mentioned before?"

"Lazarus Pit insanity. So fun. Definitely recommend," Jason decided to butt in, noticing the way Tim focused on Marinette the moment they switched bodies, "we were both dipped in a way, though she got the short end of the stick. My body, her soul."

"So some of it transferred due to it contaminating her soul then?" Tim asked, finally looking at him.

"Pretty much. Splitting it up this way makes it easier to handle," Marinette answered.

Tim seemed to consider this for a moment, "why are you answering me so willingly?"

"What purpose would hiding it serve?" He countered, receiving a surprised silence in response.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that out there. I'm sure that couldn't have been pleasant," Marinette slowly brought her hand to his shoulder, leaving plenty of time to move if the kid decided the contact was unwanted. When Tim allowed it, eyes still almost glaring, she smiled up at Jason and led the boy further into the room while he followed behind.

Zeroing in on where Marc stood on the phone, he gave a curious look only for Marc to end the call and curiously glance at the screen before turning back to the room at large, "That was Alfred. He can't make it here for a few days due to the giant man baby that's currently throwing a fit, but apparently someone else will be coming by tomorrow to speak to you two," This was partially directed towards Tim, but mostly to himself, "Said one would know her as a bat, the other as the eye in the sky."

"Barbara's coming? Oh great! It's been entirely too long since we've seen her!" Mari perked up, "did he say when to expect her?"

"Around eleven," they easily replied, picking their way over towards the trio, "sorry about holding you down by the way. Couldn't let you get caught up in that mess. My name is Marc," was directed at Robin.

"So… you were the mice?"

"They were the mice, yes. I'm Juleka. I was the one who brought you to the portal."

"The fox then, and you were likely the cat?" Tim directed towards Kagami.

"Kagami. In the next room over is Chloe."

"The one who opened the portal."

Jason felt a strange sense of appreciation for how quickly Tim placed the identities together. As well as a sense of dread. This kid was too bright, too sharp, based on what Mari told him, to be so easily fooled by Bruce. To not see how toxic that environment was. What happened to his replacement to make him so willing to overlook it all?

At this point a small hand slipped into his as Chloe introduced herself to the boy, having entered the room a moment before. Looking down, he took note of Damian huddling closer to him, watching the scene unfold.

"Another one?" The kid grumbled, tightening the grip on his hand and looking none too pleased, "I know you said I'd have to adjust to new people, but isn't this a bit much?"

"I don't know, kid, you seem pretty accepting of me," Jason tilted his head, watching the kid stiffen slightly, a blush overcoming his face.

"I hadn't realized you changed back yet," Damian replied, though he remained gripping his hand as they watched Tim interact with the others, "Will they all leave already?" The kid added, drawing his eyes back down to the uncomfortable shifting. Glancing at the clock, he figured he might as well indulge Damian every now and then.

"Chloe, lead the herd, would you?" He asked, maintaining eye contact to get his point across.

"Alright you lot, time to head out. Surely Robin won't be too comfortable around all of us for very long."

There was a touch of an argument over this, but eventually the team picked themselves up around the apartment and headed out, saying they might stay away for a few days. Jason caught the grateful smile on Marinette's face and took his small victory in how Damian pulled him back a little when he moved, as though afraid he might leave as well. 

When the apartment quieted down and everything went still, he took a deep breath and led the kid over towards the kitchen, feeling Marinette move behind him to follow. He set a pot onto the stove and filled it with milk to heat up, turning to look through the cabinets while it heated up, "Have you ever had Hot Chocolate, kid?"

"You mean melted? Once. I was given a piece to hide, but it melted a bit," Damian answered, sounding disappointed, though at only having it once or having to admit letting it melt, he wasn't sure, "Why?"

"Not quite what I meant. But I'll take it as a no. We're gonna have some tonight then," Jason responded, pulling down a bag of milk chocolate chips. They'd have to do. He pulled his hand up to ruffle the kid's hair, chuckling as he yanked back with a sneer, shuffling over to duck into Marinette's side, who'd been holding easy conversation with Tim all the while, carefully not commenting on the way the Robin pulled off his mask carefully and was beginning to calm down now that there weren't as many people. Jason chose this moment to eavesdrop, now that he no longer had to occupy Damian.

"Why's the new one still here?"

"Damian, this is Tim. He needed a place to stay."

"Why does it have to be here?"

"The same one who wronged Jason and I has wronged him as well. I imagine being around people who understand his position and won't judge him helps."

Jason chose to speak up now, "Marinette took you in when you had no one. When the two of you understood each other and felt connected for it. That's how you came to be family. He and I have a similar understanding."

"So he is family to you?"

"Nah, think more like when you first met her."

"You are… Wanting to protect him despite not personally knowing him. Instinct."

"Now you got it," he responded, pouring four mugs of the beverage, ignoring the calculating gaze between his shoulder blades. Then went about handing them out despite Tim's reassurance that he was fine, "drink it or don't, won't bother me either way, but I'm not going to leave you out."

Damian remained silent up until this point, observing the young teen curiously before passing his final judgement, "okay, as long as he sticks with you," the unspoken threat to keep away from Marinette did not go unheard.

"No one will take your place in my heart, little one. That place was created for you. If I become close to anyone else, they'll have to find their own place. Yours is occupied," she assured, as they both pretended not to hear his unbelieving grumbles. That lesson would be learned with time. 

Through it all, Tim kept to himself, sipping slowly and watching their interactions. Jason couldn't know what the boy thought, but if he had to wager a guess, he probably felt suspicious over how open and honest they were. Confused by their relation to Damian, but unsure if it was safe to ask. Likely, the teen just wasn't sure what to make of it all and wouldn't for quite a while. 

It'll take time and reassurance, probably even multiple visits from Alfred and Barbara to convince Tim that this was a safe place for him, but they had time to spend.

#maribat #jasonette #ml x dc #WFTW #part 19 #Alfred and Barbara will be in part 20

[butterflies-dragons]

the first ones are 1. what do you know of my heart, priestess. What do you know of my sister and all of the connections to Arya being his heart : his heart stopping when Alys reminded him of Arya, him connecting his torment over Arya's marriage with his own black bastard heart. 2. Arya kissing the black bastard king-of-the-castle cat. 3. jon "grinning like an idiot", remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt and 4. "I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back"

Okay Anon, I know some of the passages you mentioned, but for others I would need more context to be able to comment on them. But I'll do what I can.

One

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.” 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.  

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her. 

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation. 

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.  He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak. 

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”. 

Roose Bolton summons all leal lords to Barrowton, to affirm their loyalty to the Iron Throne and celebrate his son's wedding to …" His heart seemed to stop for a moment. No, that is not possible. She died in King's Landing, with Father. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

My heart would also stop at the prospect of my 10 years old little sister marrying a well known psycho.... 

She looked enough like Arya to give him pause, but only for a moment. A tall, skinny, coltish girl, all legs and elbows, her brown hair was woven in a thick braid and bound about with strips of leather. She had a long face, a pointy chin, small ears. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IX

Is this the passage you mentioned? Making a pause to inspect a person you were expecting it was your little sister, is not like your heart stopping. 

Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. He'd had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo's blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Is this the passage you mentioned? This is about his conflict between his vows as a bother of the Night’s Watch (his only family) and his blood family, represented this time by Arya. He felt the same about Robb and he actually ran away but was stopped by Sam and the others. His bastard status always makes him feel his is not worth, so once again he thinks he is a bad person because he can’t stop thinking about helping his siblings, despite being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.   

Two

Arya kissing the black bastard king-of-the-castle cat. 

When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat bolted. Left, then right, he went; and right, then left, went Arya, cutting off his escape. He hissed again and tried to dart between her legs. Quick as a snake, she thought. Her hands closed around him. She hugged him to her chest, whirling and laughing aloud as his claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. Ever so fast, she kissed him right between the eyes, and jerked her head back an instant before his claws would have found her face. The tomcat yowled and spit. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya III

The cat didn’t want to be captured or kissed. After the kiss the cat wanted to claw at her face, then the cat yowled and spit. 

Three

“jon "grinning like an idiot", remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt”

"First lesson," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end."

Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. "I know which end to use," Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. "Septa Mordane will take it away from me."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Jon and Arya relationship is one of the purest in the Books. Their memories of each other are always so beautiful and lovely.  And this is how I imagine Ned and Lyanna relationship was. 

Grinning like an idiot when you are with the ones you love is natural and sincere, especially between two close siblings.  

My favorite quote about Jon and Arya relationship is this one:

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

The memory of a beloved person laughter is a powerful image. Is what I remember the most of the ones I lost. That’s why this quote is so special for me.   

I didn’t find anything about this bit: “remembering mussing Arya's hair when his hand was burnt”, sorry.  But I know that Jon always remembers mussing Arya’s hair. It’s a very cute memory.

Four 

"I want my bride back, I want my bride back, I want my bride back"

“I won’t say you’re wrong. What do you mean to do, crow?”

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night’s Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

“I think we had best change the plan,” Jon Snow said. 

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Take note that this is after Jon read the Pink Letter. So, again, thinking about your 10 years old little sister as the bride of a well known psycho is awful.  And it gets worse if the well known psycho is mad and making revengeful promises.

Jon remembered all his siblings, but it’s only logical that he focused on Arya, that is the one in present danger, the one that he can actually help.  And at the end, he decided to help her, despite his Night’s watch vows. 

#anon ask #jon and arya

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance, Fill #1: Eragon being a Dumbass

Prompt: I want Eragon being a dumbass when Murtagh is the only one to look after him, or the aftermath when Brom finds out about the dumbass thing.

“You wanted to look...at a greenhouse?” Murtagh stared down the long rows of planters, dumbstruck. “Why?”

“Are you kidding me?” Eragon spun around and threw out his arms. “This place is amazing! Do you understand just what they're doing here?”

The giddy smile plastered on Eragon’s face was a welcome sight. It had only been twenty four hours since the Rider had been released from his room in Tronjheim’s hospital. With Saphira and Brom doing their best to help the dwarves stabilize damaged tunnels and Arya practically asleep on her feet between meals, Eragon had expected to be cooped up in the Elves old embassy. Murtagh had been his rescuer.

The two youths had spent the day walking around the dwarves city mountain, following sights, sounds and smells that struck their fancy. 

A fountain gurgling hot water into a stone tub down an alley had occupied their attention for well over an hour as residents of the nearby living quarters happily cooked food in the steaming basin. Both Eragon and Murtagh had been urged to share in the simple feast, and left with full bellies. 

Down one hall, Murtagh discovered that the massive hexagonal garnets, square pyrite and triangular topaz plates that mosaiced the wall played musical notes when pressed. At Eragon’s behest, he had lifted the Rider up on his shoulders to hit the high notes and wobbly played the bass end of their favorite songs. 

Not long after, Eragon had suddenly perked up and pulled Murtagh after him into a bright room that smelled of composted, moist earth and hummed with UV lighting. 

Murtagh crossed his arms, a little amused at Eragon’s enthusiasm. “They’re growing food. In a cave.” 

Eragon’s smile, if even possible, grew wider. “They’re growing wildly different plants in the same spot. Look, look!” He again grabbed Murtagh by the wrist and pulled him to the closest raised bed, pointing to a short plant with ragged edged leaves. “Look, this is strawberry. But other there, on that corner, that’s a blueberry bush. Blueberries need acidic soil but strawberries prefer neutral. These two shouldn’t be growing so well in the same bed!” 

Eragon dashed off again, pointing out the plants he knew and chattering excitedly about their proper growth conditions and how the climate for some of them shouldn’t be attainable underground but somehow the dwarves had to be using magic to alter spaces around specific plants to allow them to flourish. Murtagh followed a bit more slowly, taking in the smell of pungent herbs as they wandered into an area apparently dedicated to their growth. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was nice to just take a moment and appreciate the simple lives of plants. 

“No way!” Murtagh jerked, startled by Eragon’s raised voice. He realized then that the young Rider had disappeared from his sight, and with a sudden pang of anxiety he bolted down the green corridor. 

Brom always said Eragon was a magnet for trouble, and Murtagh believed him. ‘I can’t leave him alone for two bloody minutes!’

The young man skidded to a stop, heart pounding...to see Eragon happily cramming a handful of leaves into his mouth. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Murtagh rushed forward, grabbing the younger boy by the cheeks. “Spit it out! You don’t know what that is! I swear you’re worse than a bloody puppy!”

Eragon grinned and pushed Murtagh back, swallowing his newfound treat as he did. “I know exactly what it is!” He plucked another leaf from the bushy plant that practically spilled over the edges of the raised bed in front of him and held it out. “This is Virestalk. It grows all over Palancar Valley. It helps you get back on your feet after being sick.” He offered the leaf to Murtagh. “Want some? It’ll probably help you get over that concussion.” 

“...I think I’ll pass on the magically grown plant in the magical garden with apparent energy restoring properties.” Eragon shrugged and popped the leaf into his mouth before grabbing two handfuls off the bed and shoving them into his pockets. “Come on. It’s almost dinner time. Arya’s probably awake by now and losing her mind over where you are.” 

“Can we stop at that little place we passed earlier with the chicken kebabs? I’m getting hungry again….”

~~~

Murtagh paused, flattening himself against the wall to allow a group of dust coated dwarves past as he looked around. Eragon had fallen behind again, and, with a few choice swears, Murtagh followed behind the grimy workers and retrace his steps.

He found the young Rider staring into the window of an empty shop. 

“Hey. That’s not the chicken stall you know. They’re going to run out by the time we get there if you don’t hurry up.”

Eragon slowly turned his head to stare at his friend. He blinked twice, eyelids moving almost comically slowly before he slurred out, “Murtagh...there’s so many colors.”

Murtagh stared back. “...What?”

“The parrot. It’s got...so many colors. Where’d you find it?” He raised an arm and pointed towards Murtagh’s shoulder. “Where’d you come from, bird?”

‘...Oh. Oh this is not going to go over well.’

~~~

“Why do you smell like...oooooh like cotton candy?” Murtagh did his best to resist the urge to just drop Eragon down the short flight of steps leading up to the embassy door as the boy nuzzled his face against his sleeve. 

Instead he grit his teeth. “Because I was born in a cotton candy factory.” Really, it would be so easy. Just...sling him over his head from where he was draped across Murtagh’s shoulders and dump him down like a sack of unruly potatoes. 

Eragon let out an impressed gasp as his human transport kicked the embassy door, yelling for Arya to open it. “Woooooow! Are you made of cotton candy?” 

“Don’t you DARE–” 

Both stopped dead, Eragon with his teeth halfway to Murtagh’s arm and Murtagh flexing in preparation to throw him, as the door swung open to reveal not a very groggy elf, but instead a rock dust sprinkled Brom. 

He took in the scene with a deadpan expression before asking, in an equally deadpan voice, “What the hell is this?”

“Just let us in and let me put him down, will you? He’s heavier than he looks.” 

By the time Murtagh had deposited Eragon on the couch, Arya had dragged herself out of her room to see what was happening. She took a cursory glance at her charge where he lay ‘catching butterflies’ that floated around his head, sniffed the air twice, gave an amused snort, and settled into an open armchair to sleep again. “I smell Divining Sage. Nice going, Murtagh.”

Brom rounded on the young man. “You let him eat Divining Sage?! Do you have any idea what the hell–”

There was a crash from the direction of the embassy’s warehouse where Saphira usually settled down. 

“S’all right. I’ll get it.” Arya waved Brom off and pulled herself out of the chair. “Keep tearing into him.”

Murtagh felt his face going red. 

What the hell? What the hell. So they all foist Eragon off onto him and when something, because it’s ALWAYS something with Eragon, happens because the boy’s a complete idiot when it comes to self preservation, they all blame him? 

“Divining Sage is a fucking hallucinogen, why– how did you even find–” Brom threw up his arms, a flabbergasted mix of angry and confused as to how the situation even came to be. “Are you THAT DENSE?!”

“I don’t see you looking after him!” Murtagh angrily pointed to the Rider currently petting an invisible cat and cooing nonsensical praise to it. “You left him here alone with a practically anesthetized bodyguard and said ‘Yeah, sure Murtagh, keep him busy for a few hours!’” 

“I didn’t tell you to get him high, you idiot welp! Where did you even–”

“Oh don’t you blame that on me!” Murtagh jabbed a finger in Brom’s direction. Even as angry as he was at becoming the scapegoat for Eragon’s own idiocy, he knew better than to try and throw hands with the old man. “If I was going to get him high it wouldn’t be off some backwater psychedelics, it’d be off some proper Urû’baen kush and plenty of stout! He ate that crap himself!”

That finally gave Brom pause. “...He what?”

“He stuffed his face with it! I tried to stop him, but he said it was Vire-vine or something.” 

Brom slowly turned to stare at Eragon. Eragon smiled widely back before pointing and laughing at Brom’s face. 

Then the old Rider sat down and began to laugh as well.

“Virestalk. He thought...it was Virestalk.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Of course he did. They look almost identical. Damn fool probably wanted to give some to all of us to recover after the fight.”

Murtagh approached slowly. Now that Brom was no longer yelling, his own anger began to fade. He puzzled over what it was being replaced with before asking tentatively, “He’s...going to be okay, right?”

Brom sighed and nodded. “Yes. He’ll be fine. The effects wear off within a few hours. We’ll just have to watch him and Saphira till they do.” There was another crash of falling boxes in the warehouse, followed by faint Common Elvish swearing. “Hallucinations affect both partners so….” He gestured down the hall as Eragon took another swipe at a nonexistent Urgal. The sound of the boy’s war cry was mimicked by a loud growl from an apparently hallucinating Saphira. 

“Oh.” Murtagh paused. “We have a hallucinating dragon in the building.” 

“Yes. And it’s going to be a very long night.”

#modern inheritance #eragon #modern inheritance cycle #mic fills #modern inheritance story #mic asks #mic stories #mic story #murtagh #saphira #brom #eragon was a farm boy and canonically loves plants so why not #also yes i got eragon high after farthen dur #i feel like he needs it #murtagh is trying to figure out wtf life is going to be like now #brom just doesn't know how to react or parent

[turtle-paced]

Appreciation Post: Catelyn Stark

Catelyn had never liked this godswood…

This is how we meet Catelyn Stark, our second recurring PoV character in all of ASoIaF, and the first thing GRRM shows us about her is that she still feels an outsider in her own home. The second thing he shows us is that Catelyn’s willing to push past her discomfort for the husband she loves.

Catelyn is a grown woman when the story begins, and more importantly, she’s a happy woman. Her life is not perfect, but she lives a materially comfortable life with a family she adores. She has the respect and trust of her husband and his advisors. As we discover later, Catelyn was also unquestionably her father’s favourite child, and her famous uncle doesn’t just love her, but holds her in high regard. The patriarchal norms of her society affect her, but save for Jon Snow’s presence in Winterfell at Ned’s insistence, Catelyn doesn’t feel the bite of said norms all that much. 

Her arc is one of ASoIaF’s most painful and drawn-out tragedies: Catelyn goes from happy, respected, in control, loving and loved, and experiences the loss of almost her entire family, realising in the process how little she was able to do to prevent it. When last we see her in AFFC, she’s a reanimated corpse driven mostly by the need to hurt the people who hurt her, consumed by rage and hate to the point where she’s willing to hang the innocent Podrick and forces loyal Brienne to a terrible choice.

For the first three books, Catelyn does sterling duty as one of the smartest and best-informed PoV characters. Right from the word go we see that the force of her intellect is such that the men around her have to admit it - some quite happily, some a little less so.

"Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either," Catelyn reminded him.

"I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully," he said with a rueful smile. 

- Catelyn I, AGoT

All his life Tyrion had prided himself on his cunning, the only gift the gods had seen fit to give him, and yet this seven-times-damned she-wolf Catelyn Stark had outwitted him at every turn.

- Tyrion IV, AGoT

"A woman can rule as wisely as a man," Catelyn said.

"The right woman can," her uncle said with a sideways glance. "Make no mistake, Cat. Lysa is not you."

- Catelyn VI, AGoT

"King Robb is warring, my lord," Catelyn replied with icy courtesy, "not playing at tourney."

Renly grinned. "Go softly, Lord Randyll, I fear you're overmatched." 

- Catelyn II, ACoK

And it’s not hard to see why people think she’s smart. It’s because she is. She handily outwits Tyrion at the Inn at the Crossroads. Once Stannis tips her off to the fact of Cersei and Jaime’s affair, Catelyn puts the rest of it together, including the attempt on Bran’s life, in a matter of hours. She argues that Robb should not send Theon to the Iron Islands. She’s fast enough to put the pieces of the Red Wedding together, tragically only seconds ahead of the crossbow bolts, too late to do anything about as per her tragic role.

Her two-chapter stay in Renly’s camp is one of the highlight of ACoK, wherein she points out another central tragedy of the series:

"Look at them. They're young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?"

"Because it will not last," Catelyn answered, sadly. "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming."

- Catelyn II, ACoK

Which is followed the next chapter by ACoK’s mission statement:

"This is folly," Catelyn said sharply. "Lord Tywin sits at Harrenhal with twenty thousand swords. The remnants of the Kingslayer's army have regrouped at the Golden Tooth, another Lannister host gathers beneath the shadow of Casterly Rock, and Cersei and her son hold King's Landing and your precious Iron Throne. You each name yourself king, yet the kingdom bleeds, and no one lifts a sword to defend it but my son."

- Catelyn III, ACoK

And an epic burn showing the hollowness of Renly Baratheon:

"While he lives," Renly admitted. "Though it's a fool's law, wouldn't you agree? Why the oldest son, and not the best-fitted? The crown will suit me, as it never suited Robert and would not suit Stannis. I have it in me to be a great king, strong yet generous, clever, just, diligent, loyal to my friends and terrible to my enemies, yet capable of forgiveness, patient—"

"—humble?" Catelyn supplied.

- Catelyn III, ACoK

This capacity to get to the heart of the matter is also crucial to pointing out the effects of the society she lives in, as Catelyn starts to see how her life and actions have been constrained by the gender role she’s expected to play. She has some of the best internal monologue (and a real highlight of GRRM’s writing in this series) on this point:

She was no stranger to waiting, after all. Her men had always made her wait. "Watch for me, little cat," her father would always tell her, when he rode off to court or fair or battle. And she would, standing patiently on the battlements of Riverrun as the waters of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone flowed by. He did not always come when he said he would, and days would ofttimes pass as Catelyn stood her vigil, peering out between crenels and through arrow loops until she caught a glimpse of Lord Hoster on his old brown gelding, trotting along the river-shore toward the landing. "Did you watch for me?" he'd ask when he bent to hug her. "Did you, little cat?"

Brandon Stark had bid her wait as well. "I shall not be long, my lady," he had vowed. "We will be wed on my return." Yet when the day came at last, it was his brother Eddard who stood beside her in the sept.

Ned had lingered scarcely a fortnight with his new bride before he too had ridden off to war with promises on his lips. At least he had left her with more than words; he had given her a son. Nine moons had waxed and waned, and Robb had been born in Riverrun while his father still warred in the south. She had brought him forth in blood and pain, not knowing whether Ned would ever see him. Her son. He had been so small…

And now it was for Robb that she waited…for Robb, and for Jaime Lannister, the gilded knight who men said had never learned to wait at all.

- Catelyn X, AGoT

And some of the most pointed questions:

He pushed a fall of hair out of his eyes and gave a shake of the head. "I might have been able to trade the Kingslayer for Father, but…”

“…but not for the girls?" Her voice was icy quiet. "Girls are not important enough, are they?"

- Catelyn I, ACoK

Catelyn does not let Robb nor the reader forget this point. Her PoV is instrumental in keeping the personal losses to the Stark family in view, hence another of her excellent moments in AGoT. Which I’m going to quote in its entirely, because this is an appreciation post.

Catelyn waited until they had quieted. "My lords," she said then, "Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?" Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself. "Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more … but he is gone, and a hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark's valiant sons, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?"

[…]

"You are the gentle sex," said Lord Karstark, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. "A man has a need for vengeance."

"Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be," Catelyn replied. "Perhaps I do not understand tactics and strategy … but I understand futility. We went to war when Lannister armies were ravaging the riverlands, and Ned was a prisoner, falsely accused of treason. We fought to defend ourselves, and to win my lord's freedom.

"Well, the one is done, and the other forever beyond our reach. I will mourn for Ned until the end of my days, but I must think of the living. I want my daughters back, and the queen holds them still. If I must trade our four Lannisters for their two Starks, I will call that a bargain and thank the gods. I want you safe, Robb, ruling at Winterfell from your father's seat. I want you to live your life, to kiss a girl and wed a woman and father a son. I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."

- Catelyn XI, AGoT

As a political proposal, this may be fatally flawed, but it is nevertheless a beautiful expression of Catelyn’s priorities and an emotional portrait of the human-scale effects of Ned’s death.

This speech, and Catelyn’s question to Robb regarding Sansa and Arya, also help show some of the most impressive character writing with Catelyn. Catelyn’s great motivation is to protect her family. Her love for her family is palpable. It’s one of her greatest virtues.

It’s also her greatest flaw.

Catelyn is clever and brave and willing to do just about anything to protect her family. When she makes her proposal for peace, she fails to account for the effects on families not her own. When she frees Jaime, she’s looking to protect Sansa and Arya alone. And most controversially, her drive to protect her children is a major contributing factor in her treatment of Jon Snow (however you characterise this treatment). 

While this might be a character flaw, and a bloody serious one, it’s also fantastic character writing. Also exellent worldbuilding, since it goes to show both how Jon suffers due to social class and the effects of the patriarchy on Catelyn. It unifies her virtues and her vices, allowing her to be clever and sympathetic - and also horribly wrong in ways that seriously hurt others, on occasion. I strongly believe that Catelyn is a more impressive character for the fact that GRRM has given her that truly serious flaw. Catelyn is allowed to be a human being with grievances and blind spots rather than a saintly mother figure.

Catelyn is a complete character, capable and complex and challenging. Whether or not you like her, whether or not you think she took the best actions, there’s a lot to appreciate in her.

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #catelyn stark

[agentrouka-blog]

How I re-read ASOIAF

(ASOS, Daenerys)

“Ask the whore of Westeros whether she can read Ghiscari glyphs.” When Dany admitted that she could not, the slaver turned to the Unsullied. “What is your name?” he demanded.

“This one’s name is Red Flea, your worship.” The girl repeated their exchange in the Common Tongue.

“And yesterday, what was it?”

“Black Rat, your worship.”

“The day before?”

“Brown Flea, your worship.”

“Before that?”

“This one does not recall, your worship. Blue Toad, perhaps. Or Blue Worm.”

“Tell her all their names are such,” Kraznys commanded the girl. “It reminds them that by themselves they are vermin. The name disks are thrown in an empty cask at duty’s end, and each dawn plucked up again at random.”

(ACOK, The Soiled Knight)

Cyvasse, the game was called. It had come to the Planky Town on a trading galley from Volantis, and the orphans had spread it up and down the Greenblood. The Dornish court was mad for it. Ser Arys just found it maddening. There were ten different pieces, each with its own attributes and powers, and the board would change from game to game, depending on how the players arrayed their home squares.

As well as…

He had to think a moment. “A dragon eating its own tail?” “The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again."

(AGOT, Arya)

 “But you lied!”

“My words lied. My eyes and my arm shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing.”

“I was so,” Arya said. “I watched you every second!”

“Watching is not seeing, dead girl. The water dancer sees. Come, put down the sword, it is time for listening now.” […] "When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat. He told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise. ‘Have you ever seen her like?’ he asked of me. “And to him I said, ‘Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,’ and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.”

Arya screwed up her face. “I don’t understand.”

Syrio clicked his teeth together. “The cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others expected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. How large it was, they said. It was no larger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. What curious small ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ‘her,’ and that is what the others saw. Are you hearing?”

Arya thought about it. “You saw what was there.”

“Just so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head Plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.”

 I am no longer surprised that GRRM takes decades to write. Everything is so incredibly deliberate. You have a re-telling of the same story from every imaginable angle, a part of it in every chapter, clues as to which name means what in wholly different books. You have to identify who is what, the particular story based on signal words (queer, Myrish (lace), sea-green, willowy, sly, stone, dog, anything in italics...) which you have to learn slowly over time. But when you do, you get the entire story told to you, all at once. I'm still at the very beginnging, BUT I am pretty certain I figured out a major secret. I'm working on presenting it properly.

Let's say, that out-of-nowhere thing on the show about memory and stories is actually pretty major. The show just didn't do the things justice it was trying to smuggle in.

#asoiaf #asoiaf speculation #GRRM