#catelyn in the middle telling them to shut up

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Oooh another prompt. Ned is rescued from the black cells and back in winterfell but he developed a fear of the dark. Of course he would try to hide it but Cat knows him too well and tries to help him.

Ask and you shall receive, here it is

Ned is afraid of the dark because of his time in the black cells and Cat tries to help him.

She had been suspecting it for a while. That there was something about the dark. Of course Ned hadn’t said a word about it. He hadn’t said much about his time in the Black Cells, at all. He didn’t want to speak about it, as soon as it was mentioned he would draw back into himself and shut the conversation down.

It had started when they were travelling back to Winterfell after Robb and Stannis had taken King’s Landing. As soon as darkness fell over the lands he wouldn’t leave the fire. And if someone else was to do so, even if it was just to go to their tent and retire for the night, he would become restless and look after them. As if he was afraid of that they would disappear and he would never see them again.

It was such a relief when they reached Winterfell. To be home, to be safe, to be able to hold all her children. To be able to sleep in her own bed and know that she would not wake to the news of the death of her husband and her daughters. It was a dream. She was almost afraid she would wake one day and find herself in a war camp again.

A thing that was not a relief was the change in Ned’s behaviour. Things that he previously had not thought twice about made him cower like a beaten dog. He never left the keep once he was there after dark. Made sure to always have a fire burning in every room he was in, even though he thought it was too warm for it. He avoided windows, avoided everything that would make him come face to face with the dark.

Catelyn could remember a time when her husband had visited the godswood even if the moon stood high upon the sky and the sun had long since disappeared. As it was he barely slept, afraid of closing his eyes. And when he did he dreamt bad dreams. He didn’t say a word about those either, but she noticed. She tried to make it better for him, tried to comfort him. Sometimes it worked, and he would stop mumbling and tossing when she held him close to her and whispered comforting things.

Though she didn’t say anything about it. Thought that maybe it would get better if he was allowed some time. He had spent a lot of time in the black cells, it had taken its toll on him, and she could not expect him to get better immediately. She also carried scars from the war, could never quite shake the feeling of that the moment she let one of the children out of sight they would disappear. She could wake with a startle in the middle of the night, and not be able to fall asleep again until she had visited all the children’s rooms and made sure they were there.

All of them but Robb had come to her chamber with nightmares, and asked if they could sleep with her. One morning she had woken up with all three of her youngest with her in the bed, only remembering when Rickon had come. She didn’t even know how Bran had got there, and he wouldn’t tell her how he had managed to sneak in there despite that he couldn’t walk. She suspected Arya had something to do with that. Though she was happy to have them. When they were with her she wasn’t afraid of that they had disappeared. Though they were pushing Ned out of the bed.

He claimed he had no issue with it, but it was not helping him sleep. Catelyn believed he was afraid of making the children aware of his nightmares, and so he did not sleep at all. He stayed awake and tended to the fire, made sure it didn’t go out.

But he had completely abandoned his own chamber, he was always with her at night. He was never alone, ever. Made sure that there was always at least one person with him. He had always been in need of solitude, and suddenly he could not be alone.

Though the moons came and passed, and nothing changed. It did not pass, his fears and worries remained. And Catelyn could not keep watching him waste away and pretend she did not notice that something was haunting him.

So when she woke in the darkest hour of the night to find Ned tending to the fire she decided that she had had enough. He had to let her help him, he could not push through it alone. She had given him time to do that, and it had not worked.

“Are you cold?” she yawned, and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, and leaned back against the headboard.

“I did not mean to wake you, forgive me” he responded, avoiding her question.

“There is nothing to forgive” Catelyn said. “It’s quite hot in here, though.”

She usually enjoyed warmth and would do anything to keep the cold out, but it was becoming a little too much for her taste. And she knew that if she was warm, Ned was burning to death. He usually disliked the temperature she wanted to keep in there and thought it was unbearably hot.

“I had not even noticed.”

One thing that had not changed since he was rescued fro the black cells was that he was not very good at pretending. He was warm. He just could not admit it. Because that would lead them onto the question of why he he was keeping the fire burning.

“Is that so?“ she asked.

She was met by silence. Though it was not one of those good, comfortable silences she so often experienced with her husband. It was a silence that felt choking.

“How long were you in the black cells?” she asked.

That question had been on her mind for very long. Word of it had not reached her immediately, she didn’t know exactly how long he had been there.

Ned stopped what he was doing, but he did not turn to face her. For a long time she thought he was going to ignore her. Had he done so she feared she would have lost her temper, she was sick of not getting words out of him. But he did speak.

“I do not know” he said. “There were no nights and no days, no way of knowing how much time had passed.”

That was more than he had ever said before.

“There was only darkness” Catelyn said.

There was a long pause.

“Yes, there was only darkness” Ned confirmed.

He sounded more sad than anything else. Perhaps he grieved for what his time in the cell had taken from him.

He stood up, satisfied by his work, and walked back towards the bed. His leg still pained him, caused him to limp. Maester Luwin said that would likely never pass. The bone had not been allowed to heal correctly as it had not been tended to in the black cells and the wound had become infected. Through some miracle they had managed to fight off the infection and that she thanked the gods for every day, but even as the wound and bone had healed his pain would not go away. Some days he could barely stand on it, and only managed to get around with a walking stick. She knew how much he hated that, being dependent on a walking stick to be able to do what he had to do.

“Will it be a bad day?” she asked softly as she saw him grimace.

“Yes” he sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Then let me ease some of your pain.”

Ned carefully moved closer to her. Maester Luwin had showed her how to knead the muscles in a way that made it hurt a little less. That was the only thing Ned could tell her, when his leg hurt and he needed help with easing it. He had decided that the relief weighed heavier than having to admit his weakness.

She could see some tension leave his body as she worked with her palms and the tips of her fingers. It was a relief for her, as well, she hated seeing him in pain. Had it been within her power she would have taken it all away, not only a little bit.

“I am sorry you sent a whole man to King’s Landing and got a lame horse back” he said.

His voice was dripping with bitterness.

“A lame horse is a dead horse, and you are not dead” she said. “Merely crippled.”

“Crippled” he repeated after her, still with the same bitterness.

“Yes, crippled. But you are the same man I sent to King’s Landing. You are Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and you are my husband and the father of my children. You are not any less that because you limp.”

He took one of her hands and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“And you are not any less that because you are afraid of the dark” she continued, looking into his eyes.

He frowned.

“I am not afraid of the dark, Catelyn.”

“If I were to put out the fire, would you feel no fear?”

She made sure to lock eyes with him, keeping his gaze from straying away as he tried to come up with an answer.

“There is no shame in it” she promised.

She raised her free hand to his face, let it rest against his cheek. For a short second his eyes drifted close, and he seemed almost at peace. Though as soon as he opened them again she saw that haunted thing that had followed him ever since he saw the light of day once more after so long.

“Close your eyes again” she told him.

“Catelyn” he sighed, turning his face away.

“Please listen to me.”

Ned hesitated, but ultimately did as she said.

“When you closed your eyes in the black cell, what could you hear?”

His voice was so low it was almost a whisper when he answered.

“I could hear water dripping, and the rats on floor, and my own breaths. I could hear my own voice.”

“And what do you hear now?”

“I hear you, I hear you moving, I hear your voice. And I hear the crackling of the fire.”

He sounded more sure of himself when he said that.

She squeezed the hand she held, assuring him of that he was doing good.

“It is very different, is it not?” she said.

“It is different” he agreed.

“And what could you feel in the cell? What could you touch?”

“I could feel the cold stone that was the floor, and the walls. I could feel the straw on the floor. I could feel my own dirty clothes. Sometimes the rats came so close that I could touch them.”

Just imagining it made her skin crawl, she wondered how he had kept his mind sane. How he had not gone mad down there in darkness below the Red Keep.

“What do you feel now?”

He let his free hand roam around, blindly touching all things within his reach. And when he had found all things at his sides he found her. He touched her face, let his hand run through her hair, go down her arm until he held both of her hands.

She smiled at him, hoped he could feel it even though he did not see it.

“I can feel the feather mattress, and the furs. I can feel the headboard, and the candle on my nightstand. I can feel the leather bound book next to it. I can feel you, your nose and your lips and your hair. I can feel your hands, I can feel the ring on your right hand, the one that you never remove.”

“That is also very different” Catelyn said softly. “Now, what could you smell?”

“Filth and decay.”

That time he continued on without her having to ask. He had understood what she was after.

“And now I can smell burning wood, and what you wash your hair with.”

“If you opened your eyes in the cell, what would you see?”

“Nothing. It was so dark I could not see my own hand in front of my face.”

“If you opened your eyes now, what would you see?”

“It would not be dark. I would be able to see, and I would see you and I would see our home. I would see all the things I could hear and touch and smell.”

She leaned towards him and pressed a kiss to his lips. It seemed to surprise him, but he did not draw away from her. He was perfectly still.

“So open your eyes” she whispered.

And so he did. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she believed he looked less haunted. He looked calmer, his eyes were softer.

“All those things you experienced now, all those things you heard and smelled and touched, they did not go away because it was dark. They were still here, and it was not like in the black cell. This darkness is different, it is not dangerous” she said softly. “I am still here, even when it’s dark. As is everything else.”

“Do not ever leave” he said.

She let go of his hands, and moved closer to him once more to wrap her arms around him. She held him, kissed his forehead. She would hold him until the end of time, as long as he felt safe. The gods knew he needed to feel safe.

“I will not. I will be here, at your side, whenever you have need of me” she promised.

“And please do not put out the fire” he then continued.

“I will not do that either.”

Just like his leg, he would most likely never fully return to what he had once been. But one small step at a time he could get better. Feel more safe, feel less afraid as soon as it grew dark. Maybe one night they would be able to sleep without the fire.

Though for as long as he needed it, it would be lit. And as long as he needed it, she would help him remember that the dark in their home was not a dangerous thing that took all good away and filled a person with nothing but pain and despair.

Catelyn felt hope and happiness when her husband fell asleep in her arms.

#catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ned x cat #my fic

[janiedean]

crack prompt inspired by all the tvd talk on your blog: damon, jaime, tony stark all walk into a bar alone and end up drunk oversharing ~~

(if you wanna include ships in it anything with delena/dalaric/bamon; brienne; pepper/bruce/strange/rhodey is okay lmfao so pretty much anything goes, i just want them being each other's therapist because the timeline collapsed for some time and their universes interacted somehow lmfao)

*spins the wheel* AAAND hello anon we can absolutely try that u__u

ten years on tumblr anniversary prompt post | buy me a coffee | commissions open

Well, now I really did bite off more than I could chew, Tony thinks as he shakes his head and hopes that he and Bruce didn't fuck up the entire fabric of reality.

Well.

He's not in New York and he wasn't in the span of five seconds since they got the machine turned on, but - but well. Bruce isn't here, so hopefully he'll figure out where the fuck he ended up. Maybe we should have been sober when trying to work out that whole different timelines and multiverses thing.

Now, damage control. He should probably try to not go anywhere, but in case he actually just... teleported somewhere, maybe he should just ask where he is. He glances at his back. He's in front of a bar named Mystic Grill, which... okay, shitty name, but he could be anywhere in fuck-all-middle-of-nowhere Idaho for all he knows. He takes out his cellphone, and there is zero reception.

Bad news.

He sees a blonde kid with a police badge coming up the road, so he clears his throat and stops him.

"Uh, officer?"

"Hello," the kid says, "I don't remember seeing you around here."

Yeah, because I'm not from this world, most likely. "Eh," Tony lies, "I was driving my car but it broke down outside town and the way I got in, there wasn't a sign. Would you mind telling me where exactly I ended up?"

"Mystic Falls," the guy says, "I didn't know the damned State of Virginia now took us off the maps, too." That was sarcastic, Tony can hear it, but.

He's sure that there is no such place where he comes from.

"Right," Tony says, "I'll, uh, be out to find a mechanic then."

The kid gives him instructions to reach one, Tony thanks him and lets him go. Well, he can't certainly go anywhere now, but at least it seems like they fucked up just his -

"What the fuck," he hears from his left side -

Just in time to see a blonde guy wearing a white armor and a white cloak fall through a portal just the same as his own, that disappears a moment later. The blonde guy has green eyes, Tony notices, is lacking a right hand because he has a rather heavy golden prothesis on it that looks tacky also for his own tastes and looks completely out of his depth as he moves to his feet.

"Uh," Tony says, "I imagine you aren't from... here."

"Certainly not," the guy says, sounding... near hysterical, as he takes the surroundings. "What - what are those things anyway?" Cars. Oh fuck, he's looking at cars. "How are you dressed? What - what are these houses?"

"Er," Tony says, "humor me a moment. What's your name and where do you come from?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Jaime Lannister, and I come from Westeros, thank you very much, now where the hell am I?"

... Great, Tony thinks, now it's not even someplace where the USA exist. "Er," Tony says, "in another world. Listen, it's my fault, I, uh, sort of caused it, and my colleague will most likely fix it, but it's really better we don't go anywhere so he can locate us more easily. Tell you what, can I buy you a drink while we wait?"

"Another world?" The guy blurts, and then - then he stares at Tony, then at his surroundings, then rolls his eyes again.

"You know what," he says, "I've had a shit long day. What can this be on top of fucking undead Catelyn Stark? Buy me the fucking drink."

I'm not doing drunk science anymore, Tony vows to himself as they walk inside the place, and he really hopes he can spin some story as to why the guy with him is wearing bonafide armor -

"And who the fuck are the two of you now?"

So: Tony had not taken into account that there would be just one person in the bar and that this person would be of course not human because no one human could pin the two of them to the wall in a split second and hold them there with such strength, and that's how he finds out that pretty guy with blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin and homicidal face is a damned vampire.

Except that the moment Tony explains it - Jaime or whoever he is is just keeping his mouth shut, wisely - the guy stares at them, and then more, and then -

"With everything I've seen in the last years," he says, "honestly, that's not even the most fucking stupid. So, you just want to lounge around until your friend shows up to fix whatever the fuck you did?"

"Er, yes?"

"Whatever. I'm Damon. I can cover your drinks and compel the bartender to forget your face. I sorely fucking need some myself."

He lets them go, but then - "Get that armor off," he tells Jaime, "this isn't New York City."

"I can't just leave my armor around!"

"Just leave it in the bathroom and take it back later," Damon shrugs, and then nods towards what's most likely the bathroom.

Jaime shrugs and goes, muttering something about maybe having drank too much milk of the poppy, and Tony doesn't want to know whatever the hell that is.

--

"Listen," Jaime says later, wearing an attire that's still obviously Middle-Ages-like but at least doesn't stand out too much, sipping at the bourbon Damon shoved at them, "I'm choosing to think I'm making this all up, but if I'm not, how long will it be before I can go back where I come from? Because you dragged me away from a rather fucking delicate situation."

"No idea," Tony shrugs, "but he's good at his job. And he was less drunk than me. We might get you back at the point you left."

"And what would that delicate situation be?" Damon asks. "Entertain me."

"And why should I tell you?"

"First, I bought you that alcohol and you're definitely enjoying it. Second, this is my town and I could tear your throat open if I wanted to." Fuck. He just showed fangs at the both of them. What the fuck. "Also, my murderous former girlfriend who is the cause of all my problems just finally fucked off this planet for good after possessing my current girlfriend who looks like her but really is the whole contrary and my best friend just came back to life after being dead for a whole lot of time and it's a complicated situation and I need a distraction or ten."

"That... sounds like something," Tony mutters, sipping at his alcohol. It's good, at least.

"Believe me, it is. So, what's the poison from Middle Ages here?"

"Ah, fuck that," Jaime says, takes a drink, and starts talking.

--

Half an hour later, Tony thinks that he and Damon are equally staring at the guy with the same disbelieving face.

"... Was that the undead woman that got you like this?" Jaime asks, blinking. "Considering that he seems like he's some kind of living dead, that's a tad hypocritical."

"No," Damon says, "that's the least of my problems. How haven't you frenched this Brienne person already?"

"I frenched?"

"Dude, he's from the Middle Ages," Tony takes pity on him. "He means put your tongue in her mouth."

"I - what - she's not - I'm not -"

"Listen," Damon cuts him, "I've been there. I mean, thinking I couldn't live without an arse who didn't give a fuck about me, which you admitted. But you do realize you spent at least five minutes of your charming tale describing us exactly how this Brienne of yours is ripped and has pretty eyes and was about to die for you?"

"Yeah, uh," Tony says, "let it come from someone who had the right people in front of him for ages and didn't let himself go for it, you really don't wanna drag it any longer."

"That's - she's a knight, that's not -"

"Oh, sure, all knights are shit where you come from, you said that, but suddenly someone would rather hang than kill you and you're here jittering because you got sucked here while she's dealing with a zombie that wanted you dead but I have to think you don't wanna french her?" Damon rolls his eyes again, pours himself another drink and honestly, Tony has cut down on the alcohol lately but he's gonna just make a damned exception. "Please."

"He's right," Tony says, "and also, let it come from someone whose dad was loaded on money and fairly shitty and still way better than yours, whatever he said about you is wrong."

"How do you know -" Jaime starts, half-blanching.

"Told you," Tony shrugs, "loaded on money, shitty father, at least I missed out on the shit sister. Honestly, man, just fucking drop her like hot coal and follow your gut. And let it come from someone who's fucked around a lot to get distracted, if you wanted to bone her in that bath then you're into her."

"I -" Jaime goes red in the face, finishes the drink, "it's not like it ever happened with anyone else before, it was a mistake, most likely -"

Damon gives him a look that looks halfway worried.

Tony thinks he just matched it, except even more worried.

"My vampire friend," he says, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"I'm afraid so," Damon says, and then looks back at Jaime. "Newsflash," he goes on, "if you get hard looking at a naked woman most likely you find her attractive. Also, you can find more than one person attractive in your life. And let it come from someone who's been there in the sense that I thought I could only love fucking Katherine, you really don't want to keep on doing it."

"I didn't say I wasn't done with Cersei," Jaime replies, somewhat weakly.

"Good," the two of them reply at the same time, and Tony has to snort.

"Look at that," he says, "for once I'm the one with the healthiest relationship history sitting at a table. Who'd have thought?"

"Fuck this," Damon says, "I'm getting more bourbon."

"Please," Jaime says, and - well. Seems like when Bruce comes to collect him, Tony won't be sober.

--

"Wait," Jaime says, "wait, wait, wait, she possessed your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, well, as if," Damon shrugs, "honestly, sometimes I think I should have just run away to New York after deserting."

"You deserted what?" Tony asks.

"The fucking confederacy," Damon shrugs. "Well, what are you staring about? I'm a vampire, I've been around ages, I'm from fucking middleofnowhere Virginia, you think I got drafted with the unionists? But I disagreed and I hated it and I never wanted to go, so I fucking deserted. I hope you aren't here judging me, or -"

"Please, I used to build weapons for the army and stopped when I realized it wasn't what I wanted to be, and honestly, that just means you have a conscience, so -"

"Wait, you did what," Jaime says.

"Deserted. An army. Back in the day. Risked my neck for it, and I came back and met Katherine and honestly I should have just gone North, but -"

"Hm," Jaime says, drinking, and then - "you don't regret it?"

"No," Damon says at once, "best decision I ever took. Why, you want to do that, too?"

"Sure he wants to," Tony says when Jaime doesn't immediately reply. "Let me guess, not just your army. You want to desert the whole shebang, don't you?"

"I don't know what a fucking shebang is, but yes. So what?"

"Well, if you want my been there done that advice, do that," Damon shrugs. "From what it sounds like, your entire world is collapsing because of zombies anyway, what do you have to lose? Your sister? You're better fucking off without."

Jaime stares down at the glass, then knocks it down. "Can I have another?"

"Sure," Damon says, and generously tips it.

--

"So what," Tony says, "now that your best friend you had a thing with while your girlfriend was with your brother is back to life you're having trouble adjusting?"

"She also hadn't been possessed by my murderous ex until then," Damon shrugs.

Jaime just looks at them, then drinks some more. "Who am I to judge on that anyway," he says, "but that sounds like a lot of work."

"You wouldn't believe," Damon shrugs, knocking down some more of his bourbon. "Never mind that Stefan won't get over brooding instead of fessing up to the girl he is in love with now, but it's not like I hadn't expected it."

"Tell him to," Jaime says at once. "I let my father fuck things up for my brother once and I hate that I ever did, just - don't."

"This is getting fucking eerie," Damon says.

Tony, who is currently feeling very thankful he doesn't have siblings, takes another sip. Then -

"Man, if it's complicated just date the both of them. If they both like you and aren't the kind of super monogamous people that can't handle a threesome once in a while, they won't have a problem."

"... And what do you know?"

He shrug. "Well," he says, "my steady girlfriend was in front of my eyes for years. Took us a while to get over ourselves. The guy I was doing drunk science with, well. Was an instant hit and I didn't let myself drag it in the centuries and guess what, we have a nice lovely arrangement where I'm with both of them, they commiserate about how much of an idiot I can be and sometimes we all occasionally have sex. It's grand. You should try it."

And I really hope Bruce shows up soon.

"Huh," Damon says, "maybe it has merit. For me. Not for you."

Jaime sputters. "I said nothing!"

"You shouldn't even think about threesomes. I can see it in your face you're not the type. And certainly not including your sister."

"Fuck you," Jaime replies without meaning it, "I was not considering that." Huh. Now he sounds offended Damon implied it. Maybe he really will fess up to the other one when he's back.

"Then it means this enlightening talk has enlightened you," Tony grins. "Mind telling us more about that hand?"

"And why?"

Tony shrugs. It's not like he doesn't have time to waste. "What if I could help you with that thing?" He says, nodding towards Jaime's stump, and then - well. Time to test if he can summon the armor here, too.

--

"God," Damon says a while later, "I'll have to compel that poor bartender so hard, but fuck this is something."

Sure it is, Tony grins. "Hey, I managed to fuck with quantum reality, I'm not the first idiot that passes by."

"Seven Hells," Jaime says, "I have no idea what it is you're putting on me but if it works half as well as that thing you have, I'm going to show back up in King's Landing just to show my sister who has the useless hand now. If she didn't get herself killed."

"Well, now that is one reason I could approve of," Tony laughs, "and don't fucking move."

Sure, building a prothesis from the rests of whatever nonfunctioning electronics the bartender had lying around is... somewhat a challenge, but as stated, he has time to waste and it's not like he's wanted anywhere soon.

"By the way," Damon says as he watches him tinker around with the toolkit he found him in the backroom, "do you need advice in the whole I fucked up and want my brother to forgive me department?"

"What if I do?" Jaime replies through his teeth. "Because now that would distract me from how much this entire thing is fucking hurting."

The more they talk while he tinkers, the more Tony decides he's absolutely glad he was an only child and that his father only fucked one son up.

--

"You're doing this while not even being fucking sober?" Damon knocks back more bourbon. "You sure you don't wanna stay here and turn into an immortal? You'd be useful."

"Thanks but I like my life as it is," Tony snorts. "But if you need tech tinkered with, you can ask while I'm here."

Jaime is just staring at the steel-colored hand coming to life while Tony puts piece after piece together, his throat working up and down.

He drinks some more. "Fuck, if only I had such a thing when I realized what the fuck Aerys had turned into."

"Wait, who's Aerys now?" Damon asks.

--

He hadn't told them that part in detail.

When he's done and Tony is at the fourth finger, he kind of wants to hurl, but mostly -

"Do we really have to stay here," Damon says, "or you think we could sneak him to a VA? I can compel them to just hear that he's talking about Vietnam or something."

"He's not old enough for Vietnam, but you know what, I think we could risk that."

"What in the Seven Hells is a VA?"

"Someone I really could have used in the nineteenth century," Damon sighs, and then just as Tony moves to the last finger -

"Tony, what the hell is this?"

--

Turns out, where Bruce comes from it took him two days to figure this out. He also immediately spots three different improvements Tony could do to that hand, and when he hears the entire shebang he raises his hands and says that he can send Jaime right back when he left at any point and he and Tony, too, but he supposes that if they want to compel the VA before they leave it's not like he's in a hurry, and wait, vampires?

Damon ends up asking him if the threesome thing is really working out as well as Tony says.

While he does, Tony manages the finishing touches on the sort-of-steel-and-iron-hand he cobbled up together, and thank fuck Bruce showed up because he had been the one studying how Barnes's arm worked, back in the day, and gave Tony the pointer he needed to make sure the entire thing was... well, connected to the nervous system without needing to rip Jaime's wrist open.

"Right," he says, "try to move the fingers."

Jaime holds them in a fist.

It works.

"Seven fucking hells -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Just keep it out of too many lines of fire, but if you're from the middle ages it should withstand most stuff. You're welcome. And go french that knight of yours instead of waiting, really."

"I think in between him and you, you've made a case. Uh, thank you, I -"

"Nonsense, I was the reason you're here, I might as well have helped out. Hey," he says, "so, what about a last round before we drag him to the VA and Bruce here settles everything?"

"I'm so down for it," Damon says.

"Do I even have a choice," Bruce groans, but then he does sit down at the same table and lets Tony fill his glass.

"Oh, don't look like that," Tony says, "after all I didn't destroy the universe and made some friends, it could have gone worse."

"Wouldn't know about that, but I could have done worse, too," Damon says, and orders more bourbon.

"I sure as the fucking Seven Hells will never manage to explain this to anyone," Jaime says, "but I guess I'm not too disappointed, either."

"Tony," Bruce groans, "did you manage to somehow end up with two people with - never mind. Of course you did. We're never doing drunk science again, hear me?"

"Maybe so," Tony agrees, though... well.

Maybe he will want to check on them, once in a while.

But he can think about how to convince Bruce to make sure they can later.

For now, he'll enjoy his last round.

#tony stark #jaime lannister #damon salvatore #ten years anniversary promptfest #... this was LONG #jaime x brienne for ts #my fic #god idk what happened anon but i hope you enjoyed this mess #tvd for ts #anti jaime x cersei #only slightly less toxic than chernobyl's ruins #anti katherine pierce #my stuff

[alicenttully]

Only Just

I.

283 A.C.

“Robb, meet your Aunt Lysa.” Her sister gently places the babe in Lysa’s arms. Catelyn’s exhaustion is visible in her voice – remnants of the birthing, but pride as well. Catelyn and her lord husband had been together scarcely a fortnight before he had ridden off with Jon Arryn, leaving her behind with nothing but promises. And she’ll have a son to give him if he comes back. If he falls in battle, he’ll have a son that’ll be his legacy.

Trust her sister to be blessed so quickly when it sometimes took other women over a year and more. Lysa gazes at the red-faced babe, and for a moment she feels as though she is about to retch. This could have been her precious little baby she was holding, not Catelyn’s, the baby she and sweet Petyr made that night – Bursting into tears, Lysa thrust Robb back into Catelyn’s arms.  Deaf to Catelyn's startled cries, Lysa fled from the room.

She knows that Catelyn will go to find her later, but Lysa will not want to see her. She doesn’t want her sister or that horrible Lord Jon Arryn. He was older than even Father, and yet he had excepted her to go to bed with him? She had wept so bitterly she had believed the seven gods would free her, but if the seven heard her they were not merciful, and neither was her father.

Jon Arryn is an excellent match for a girl that acted as shamelessly as you did. Have I taught you nothing, Lysa? Family, Duty, Honor. When it comes to our house words, duty comes second- because it is the family to which we owe our duty. And you failed our family when you allowed that boy to despoil you as if you were some serving wench, and not a daughter of Riverrun.

Lysa notices how Father never speaks Petyr’s name – instead always referring to him as “that boy”. Catelyn doesn’t speak of him at all. Petyr who had been her father’s ward and who had loved her sister so- they had discarded him so easily. Not Lysa, though. She would not forget Petyr so easily, no matter what lords her father gave her to. Nor would she forget their child either. He would have been so beautiful. Lysa thought with a dull ache. I would have given Petyr a son. Catelyn might be Father’s favourite and better at nearly everything, but she wouldn’t be able to claim that. And neither it seemed, would Lysa.

II.

288 A.C.

It is her fourth pregnancy. She is seven moons gone. A blessed number Lysa thinks - seven for the seven faces of god.  Surely that must count for something, Lysa hopes.   She knows her husband waits impatiently with bated, stinking breath for the son she will finally give him - but Lysa knows in her heart that she is having a daughter.  And although the babe undoubtedly belongs to Jon - the result of all those nights she was trapped beneath the weight of his body, her eyes shut and mind far away- when she dreams,  her daughter looks like Petyr.

She is seven moons gone and surely that must mean something.  That it will be different, this time.

It isn't.

She awakes suddenly in the middle of the night, to find their bed drenched.  Her heart freezes when she realizes what it means.

No, no, no, no, please-

It's too early.  This is a nightmare, she'll go back to sleep and all will be well.  And when she awakes again, she won't be here but a child again in Riverrun.  

Instead, Maester Pycelle aids her in her delivery.  Lysa is right - she does give birth to a daughter.  Small, beautiful - and dead.  It is morning when Pycelle pulls her little girl from her, and it will be before the sun has set that she will be buried, along with a piece of Lysa's heart.  For every babe she lost, they took a piece with them.

To his credit, if Jon Arryn blames her for disappointing him once again - he does not show it.  He is too honourable for that.  But he is thoughtlessly cruel.   When Maester Pycelle suggests naming their daughter, stating that it helps some women to do so, Jon squeezes her hand and thanks the Maester who is even older than he is. "We've never named a child yet," he says wistfully.  For that Lysa wants to slap him, for she has given a name to every child she has lost.  The babes she lost were all named, and loved and wanted- including the first babe she lost all those years ago in Riverrun.  The babe that would have been Petyr's, the man she loved still.

III.

289 A.C.

Princess Mrycella is born in the first month of the new year. Later, men will tell Robert Baratheon that the gods sent Mrycella as a sign to herald his victory in defeating the Greyjoys that same year.  

As she is the wife of the Hand of the King, Lysa has the honour to be one of the first to hold the little princess.

Lysa smiles and pretends happiness for her queen.  And maybe a part of her really is happy for Queen Cersei.  After all, perhaps the gods will stop torturing her and grant her a child of her own too one day, who will grow up to become close with Mrycella. Like she and Cat.

But when her husband receives a raven from his former ward that Lysa's sister has given birth to their third child - a healthy girl named Arya, and a sister for their Robb and Sansa - Lysa wants to rage at the terrible unfairness of it all.

Lysa has worked it out, and Arya was born on what would have been her first child's sixth nameday.

IV.

299 A.C.

When she hears of how Winterfell has fallen, and that the Greyjoy boy has killed her two nephews, Lysa wants to weep for her sister.  She knows the torment Catelyn must be going through.   Perhaps in a world that had been kinder to Lysa Arryn, she would have.

But she is glad too, as she clutches her Sweetrobin closer to her chest, who is not just her only child but her miracle as well.

The gods had taken so many children from her.

It was only just that they would take some of Catelyn's away, as well.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #catelyn stark #lysa arryn #ned stark #robb stark #arya stark #sansa stark #bran stark #rickon stark #game of thrones #got #anti hoster tully #rape tw #anti jon arryn #this was a hard pov to write tbh

[butterflies-dragons]

You’ll Be Queen One Day

This is something I wanted to say about the current debate of Queen Sansa.

For a big faction of the fandom, Queen Sansa is only D&D fan fiction and that won’t be Sansa’s endgame in the Books. ¡¡¡NEVER!!!    

According to Bryan Cogman, the man named by GRRM himself as the Keeper of the Lore, hints of Sansa’s Show endgame as Queen in the North were there since the Pilot Episode back in Season One:

BRYAN COGMAN: In the pilot, Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen—except a very different kind of queen than the one she ended up being. So Sansa’s storyline was always meant to have a note of triumph at the end, especially after all that she went through in the middle of the series. It was appropriate that she came full circle at the end. She was the only Stark left in Winterfell and leads the North into this new chapter. She’s the best hope for the North’s future.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd

"Winter Is Coming"

“In the pilot, Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen.”

Please take note that GRRM was very involved in the first four seasons of the Show. Especially the first one, he participated in the casting, he was part of the original pilot, he travelled to filming locations, he wrote one episode per season, etc.  

Season 1, Episode 1: "Winter Is Coming". Directed by Tim Van Patten & Written by David Benioff & D. B. Weiss.

SANSA: Do you think Joffrey will like me? What if he thinks I’m ugly? CATELYN: Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived. SANSA: He’s so handsome. [CATELYN rolls her eyes.] SANSA: When would we be married? Soon or do we have to wait? CATELYN: Hush now. Your father hasn’t even said yes. SANSA: Why would he say no? He’d be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms. CATELYN: He’d have to leave home. He’d have to leave me. And so would you. SANSA: You left your home to come here. And I’d be queen someday. Please make father say yes. CATELYN: Sansa… SANSA: Please, please. It’s the only thing I ever wanted.

Watch the scene here.

Curiously enough, the immediately previous scene was a scene of Dany, the one where she said to Viserys: “I don’t want to be his [Khal Drogo] Queen. I want to go home.” A scene straight from the Books:

"I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home." 

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I

What a contrast with Sansa’s scene!

But Sansa’s scene is not from the Books. We don’t have any scene between Sansa and Catelyn at Winterfell.  

Sansa wanted romance more than being a monarch. She certainly was not opposed to marry a prince or a king, but her wishes were more about romance, being a Lady in a song, a wife of a gallant knight, and a mother of future ladies and gallant knights.      

This is what happened in the Books:

“Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.

“In his eyes, yes,” she said.

“And in yours?”

“And in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?”

“Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey … Joffrey is …”

She finished for him. “… crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment. "Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. "What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?"

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Catelyn pushed Ned to accept the betrothal while Sansa corrected Beth’s comment about her being Queen.  

* * *

Later in the the Fourth Episode of the First Season, Cogman wrote a scene between Sansa and Septa Mordane where the septa says that Sansa will be Queen someday.

Again, this scene is not from the Books.

"Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things"

Season 1, Episode 4: "Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things". Directed by Brian Kirk & Written by Bryan Cogman.

SEPTA MORDANE: Someday your husband will sit there and you will sit by his side. And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince... SANSA: What if I have a girl? SEPTA MORDANE: Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls and plenty of them. SANSA:What if I only have girls? SEPTA MORDANE: I wouldn't worry about that. SANSA:Jeyne Poole's mother had five children, all of them girls. SEPTA MORDANE: Yes, but it's highly unlikely. SANSA: But what if? SEPTA MORDANE: If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey's little brother. SANSA: And everyone would hate me. SEPTA MORDANE: Nobody could ever hate you. SANSA: Joffrey does. SEPTA MORDANE: Nonsense. Why would you say such a thing? That business with the wolves? I've told you a hundred times... A direwolf is not... SANSA: Please shut up about it. SEPTA MORDANE: Do you remember your lessons? Who built the Iron Throne? SANSA: Aegon the Conqueror. SEPTA MORDANE: And who built the Red Keep? SANSA: Maegor the Cruel. SEPTA MORDANE: And how many years did it take to build... SANSA: My grandfather and uncle were murdered here, weren't they? SEPTA MORDANE: They were killed on the orders of King Aerys, yes. SANSA: The Mad King. SEPTA MORDANE: Commonly known as the Mad King. SANSA: Why were they killed? SEPTA MORDANE: You should speak to your father about these matters. SANSA: I don't want to speak to my father, ever. SEPTA MORDANE: You will find it in your heart to forgive your father. SANSA: No, I won't.

Watch the scene here.

* * *

Later in the the Sixth Episode of the First Season, there is a scene between Sansa and Joffrey where the prince says that Sansa will be Queen someday.

Once again, this scene is not from the Books.

"A Golden Crown"

Season 1, Episode 6: "A Golden Crown". Directed by Daniel Minahan. Story by  David Benioff & D. B. Weiss & Teleplay written by : Jane Espenson and David Benioff & D. B. Weiss.

SEPTA MORDANE: My prince. SANSA: My prince. JOFFREY: My lady. I fear I have behaved monstrously the past few weeks. With your permission? Joffrey offers Sansa a necklace. She turns around, for him to put it on her, as acceptance. SANSA: It’s beautiful. Like the one your mother wears. JOFFREY: You’ll be queen someday, it’s only fitting that you should look the part. Will you forgive me for my rudeness? SANSA: There’s nothing to forgive. JOFFREY: You’re my lady. One day we’ll be married in the throne room. Lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come, from the last hearth in the North, to the salt shore of the south. And you will be queen over all of them. I’ll never disrespect you again. I’ll never be cruel to you again. Do you understand me? You’re my lady now, from this day, until my last day. The two share their first kiss.

Watch the scene here.

I think that Sansa & Septa Mordane scene and Sansa & Joffrey scene were written from this Book scene:

“The king is dead.” Sansa could not say how she knew it, yet she did. The slow, endless clanging filled their room, as mournful as a dirge. Had some enemy stormed the castle and murdered King Robert? Was that the meaning of the fighting they had heard?

She went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king now? Or had they killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they would tell her what was happening …

That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

So far we have:

Sansa: “And I’d be queen someday.”

Septa Mordane: “Someday your husband will sit there [Iron Throne] and you will sit by his side.”

Joffrey: “You’ll be queen someday.”

The Sansa and Joffrey scene even got his own theme, a song composed by Ramin Djawadi called: 

You’ll Be Queen One Day

¿Why changing “Someday” for “One Day”? Maybe this curious detail means nothing... Maybe it means something...  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why reiterate some many times that Sansa will be Queen, if it was clear that Sansa was betrothed with the Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, the Heir of the Iron Throne?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“—except a very different kind of queen than the one she ended up being.”

This is not the first time that Cogman alluded of that old say that says: “Be careful what you wish for” in regards of Sansa. He said something similar about Sansa’s arc in Season Five, specifically her marriage with Ramsay Bolton. 

Basically, when we decided to combine Sansa’s storyline with another character in the books it was done with the idea that it would be hugely dramatically satisfying to have Sansa back in her occupied childhood home and navigate this Gothic horror story she’s found herself in and, of course, to be reunited with Theon – setting her on the path to reclaiming her family home and becoming a major player in the big overall story. 

This stupid line “hugely dramatically satisfying” is BS of course. Men..........    

I have the impression that after they run out of canon material, D&D, Cogman and all, decided to recycle old plots. Here with Sansa, they basically gave her ANOTHER ONE GOTHIC HORROR STORY.

Since they didn’t like Sansa’s Vale plot as Alayne Stone, they gave Sansa “another lesson” like Kings Landing and Joffrey: “Be careful what you wish for”.

Sansa wished for a Southern Courtly Life with her Prince in Kingslading, and she got a Ghotic Horror Story. 

Sansa started to wish to return North, to Winterfell, to her Home, and D&D, Cogman and all decided to gave her Ghotic Horror Story 2.0 in Winterfell with Ramsay. Sexual abuse included. Men..........        

GRRM uses “Be careful what you wish for” theme very often, you just need to read his tale: “In The Lost Lands” or re-read Cersei’s story with Maggie the Frog. And as I just mentioned, Sansa’s wishes for a life at court in the south with her gallant Prince Joffrey. But D&D are just... not so good adapters.            

“So Sansa’s storyline was always meant to have a note of triumph at the end, especially after all that she went through in the middle of the series.”

¿How the majority of the fandom interpret these Cogman’s words? This way: “Queen Sansa is a reward for Sansa’s Season Five arc.” 

But Season One is four seasons before Season Five, and there were hints since the Pilot Episode... 

The fandom: SANSA WILL NEVER BE QUEEN, ¡¡¡NEEEVEER!!! 

..............................

“It was appropriate that she came full circle at the end. She was the only Stark left in Winterfell and leads the North into this new chapter. She’s the best hope for the North’s future.” 

Full Circle: From wanting to be Queen consort in the South to be the Queen in the North, by her own right.

Sansa’s Show endgame is also very in line with characters getting what they wished for but not in the way they thought. That is like the bit that follows: “Be careful what you wish for” = “You might just get it.” Seriously, go and read GRRM’s tale: “In The Lost Lands.” You can thank me later.     

Please also take note that GRRM has repeatedly said that:

Sansa is a major character. Part of the core that dominates the story.

He knows the endgame of the major characters for decades.

You can read more here.

So, if Queen Sansa is only D&D fan fiction, then WHOA! They planned it all since the very beginning, since the pilot episode itself. How surprising! Especially since GRRM was very involved in the Show back then.  

D&D wrote the pilot: “Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen.” AND GRRM LET THEM.

Cogman wrote a scene that was not from the Books where Septa Mordane says that Sansa will be Queen someday. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D wrote a scene that was not from the Books where Joffrey says that Sansa will be Queen someday. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D commissioned Ramin Djawadi to compose a theme for Sansa called: “You’ll Be Queen ONE Day,” for Sansa and Joffrey scene. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D wrote that Sansa’s Show endgame was being crowned Queen in the North. AND GRRM LET THEM.

And if you wanna read about Queen Sansa from the Books, please read these posts: Here and Here.

Good night.

#Sansa Stark #The North Remembers #Queen in The North #Game of Thrones #ASOIAF #GRRM

[agameoftragedy]

What’s the outfalls if lysa died from her forced abortion? Does the story get out? How does that effect relationships with cat, byrden and hoster? What would hoster’s actions be like after be basically killed his daughter for ego? How does this effect Petyr’s feelings? What are some other ways thing effects things and dynamics? What does hoster do with Jon?

Ok, here are my thoughts:

I believe the situation was that it was only after the duel over Cat's hand where Petyr was badly injured that Hoster found out about Lysa being pregnant. We know they managed to keep it secret from Cat despite her living in the same household, so it wasn't broadcast in canon.

I can't find a specific timeline, but we know the Tullys didn't attend the tourney at Harrenhal despite being so close and related to the Whents, so maybe this is (part of) why? In which case the agreement with Jon Arryn was probably not reached until after the moon tea had done its business and Jon wouldn't know anything more than anyone else.

So who does know about the pregnancy? Lysa and Hoster, obviously, the maester presumably, if Petyr doesn't know it wouldn't be hard to put together, and we know from Lollys' situation that bed maids and such will observe things like that (maybe it was one of them who informed Hoster?). We don't know how far along Lysa was, but enough for her to know for sure despite not having been pregnant before, so maybe into her second trimester, but if the news managed to escape Cat then the secrecy must have been intense that it wasn't easily spreading through the castle. We don't know what Brynden knew, if anything.

If she dies, I think it's an even harder lockdown on that information. She died of a fever, or something along those lines - she'd already been vomiting (probably) and staying in her rooms, she was very ill, very unfortunate. Her bedmaids would know better, but if they want to keep their jobs they're gonna keep their mouths shut. Hoster's not going to talk about it (more on him later), the maester will almost certainly keep his peace. Some people might speculate, but with no actual evidence. The potential fly in the ointment is Petyr.

We know in the actual story Petyr knows about bedding Lysa and the loss of their child, but it's not clear if Lysa told him that later. Even if Lysa didn't get the chance to tell Petyr about the pregnancy beforehand, I think he knows she slept with him at least once (he was massively drunk the first time) and he's a fairly intelligent guy, it wouldn't be hard for him to figure out that she was pregnant and died relative to that. Because, after all, without evidence of moon tea, she might have had a horrible miscarriage and bled out without some special intervention - still scandalous because she was pregnant outside of marriage, but not as potentially demonising of Hoster. We know Petyr holds a fuckton of resentment towards House Tully and the high nobles, so it depends how he takes the news of Lysa's death from his fathered pregnancy: is that revenge served through the loss of a daughter? Or is he still resentful and easily spreading the news she was pregnant and maybe rumours that she was killed for bringing shame on House Tully?

But the other thing with Petyr is who he is without Lysa at Jon Arryn's side requesting positions for him. He has capabilities, but who's going to notice if he's just a very minor lord on the outskirts of the Vale? His only in would be trying to blackmail Hoster to get him a better position, and I don't know that Hoster would play ball on that. So Petyr might just be in the Fingers bitterly bad mouthing the Tullys to anyone who bothers to listen.

I think an interesting thing is Hoster himself, because his only (and seemingly beloved) wife died in childbirth, and Lysa's death would probably be quite reminiscent of that but more explicitly at his own hands. I think that would be triggering af - but I also think Hoster is great at emotional suppression and repression, and it might only burst forth in front of someone when he's delirious or getting dementia towards the end, as in canon.

But, practically speaking, for the storyline... so Cat was betrothed to Brandon, Brandon's dead. Theoretically the Tullys could side with the Targaryens or try and stay out of it until later like Tywin. What Aerys did was horrendous, but do you want to fight him without particular benefits? Maybe Cat could marry a Targ loyalist instead, like Oberyn Martell (weird to imagine).

Let's just go with original timeline, Cat marries Ned and say that's enough without the Arryn marriage, say Hoster feels strongly about the royal abuses. And that the rest goes as in canon: King Robert, Queen Cersei, Lady Catelyn Stark... Maybe Jon Arryn takes a different wife or starts grooming Harrold Hardyng as the next Arryn heir. I see no reason why Jon wouldn't make the same investigations after prodding by Stannis, but probably any wife he may have wouldn't poison him in the middle of it. I think Cersei might try to speed up Robert's accidental death, so either Robert is presented with the facts and Lannisters are executed, or Robert dies and the civil war breaks out, but this time the Vale is in as well as the North (led by Ned) and Riverlands, and Stannis has a respected figure with no obvious bias making his claim for him, far more likely to succeed.

Tullys are sad about Lysa, Hoster is racked with guilt, Petyr is minor and bitter, but overall the realm is probably better off :/

#asoiaf hypotheticals #asoiaf aus #anon #house tully

[writingthrones]

the northern dragon- part 6.

PART 6: REVELATION.

TAGS: @psychosupernatural , @xleviiiix , @ashtronomyyyy , @starkbelova,@5aftermidnight , @makapaka11 , @mxxkscreate-write , @scorpiosmalfoy,@harrison-shot-first , @art-flirt , @jessyballet , @vaexvictis ,@callmeconceited , @cassiopeia-barrow , @the-three-eyed-ravenclaw (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d also like to be tagged!)

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another– the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almost part of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: what you’ve all been waiting for!

WARNINGS: lots of violence and, of course, angst.

After the attack, it was made clear that a weapon must be carried at all times. You decided on a nicely sized dagger that you wore strapped to your calf under your dress. It was easily concealed and fairly easy to pull out quickly. It’s probably something that you should’ve always had but it was “unladylike,” but you’ve proven yourself to be no lady. From then on out, you were wary. You couldn’t look upon the faces of the men in the same way. It made you more jumpy. You told yourself, though, that it made you more vigilant. It’s just unfortunate that it had to come out of this.

When Robb returned, he made a point to visit that night. You were just about to lay down to sleep when he walked in. “Y/N...” his voice was low. You met his eyes, still sitting down on your bed and offered him a smirk. “Didn’t worry too much, did you?” He sighed, though he smirked as well as he sauntered towards you. The young wolf then crouched in front of you, gently taking your injured hands, “Stop.. tell me, how are you feeling? Really?” The seriousness in his voice caught you off guard, though it did make sense. This wasn’t nothing. That man could’ve killed your or did unspeakable things.. or both. Every ounce of your being wanted to lean forward and close the gap between you two. It was a feeling you’d had many, many times over the years but especially now. In fact, it took all the self control in your little body not to do so. “I’m fine,” you insisted.

Robb sighed and stood up then sat down next to you. “I didn’t think any of my men would do something like that...” he said. It felt like the two of you were kids again and so, acting on that feeling, you leaned your head on his shoulder for comfort. Luckily, he didn’t move yet it still made you nervous. “I’ll see to it that someone gets punished. I--” You stopped him there. Lifting your head, you looked over at him. “Please don’t. I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be more careful, I know how to defend myself. There’s too much going on for you to punish anyone because one man crossed a line.” He looked to you, looking as if he wanted to say something more but instead settled on, “Fine. Just...” Another sigh. “Talisa will be around tomorrow with supplies to properly clean these up, okay?” With that, he headed out.

Of course she was. Sure, you were grateful that someone who was clearly talented in their craft had the supplies necessary to keep the army in the best condition. All you could think about, though, was the time the two of them got to spend alone. Why else would he have brought her along to such an important meeting? Catelyn was right, he fancied her. You wished desperately not to care but you did-- by the Gods, you did. Throwing yourself onto the bed, you eventually dozed off. It wasn’t a restful slumber though, no, you couldn’t stop imagining the things that must’ve happened on that little trip. The images haunted your dreams.

Shortly after you awoke, Talisa walked in, just as Robb promised. The immediate reaction was that of anger and you hated it. She was a kind woman, someone who was helping you greatly and yet you couldn’t help but to feel anger, hate, jealousy. That familiar Targaryen fire burned within your chest. “Here, this should really help,” the dark-haired woman said with a warm, genuine smile. It made you hate yourself for the contempt you felt towards her. She was good and yet you were filled with pitiful jealousy. “Thank you, really.” The words were forced but you did your best to sound truly thankful. It’s not that you weren’t but... still. “I would say they should be fairly healed within a fortnight, just try not to be too rough on your hands until then.” Did this mean Robb would try to keep you out of whatever conflicts that would come about between now and then? You hoped not but deep down you knew these two were.. close and she would surely tell him. Indigo eyes fell upon the fresh wound dressings on your hands before looking back up at her with a smile. “I take it you’re with us for the long haul, then?” She seemed caught off by your tone, as were you. You hadn’t meant for it to come off the way it did you just couldn’t help yourself. “I just mean... you’ve decided to stay with us? We could use someone with real skills,” you quickly added, chuckling to make the air less tense. “Oh.. yes! This war is getting ugly and... I just want to help those getting caught in the middle while the high lords sit in their castles plotting away not giving a second thought to the men who will die for them.” As she went on, she sounded more and more passionate. She truly did care for the people.. it made you feel even worse about disliking her. “You’re doing good work,” you said softly before standing. “Sorry, I have some things I need to tend to. Thank you again,” you added, hurrying out of the tent to find something else to keep you busy. 

Later, you ended up sitting with Catelyn, who seemed even more troubled than usual as of late. “Lady Catelyn, is there something--” She took hold of your arm, “I must speak to you. But not here, somewhere private.” So the two of you ventured into her tent where no one would dare to disturb you. You sat while she paced, not saying a word. “He’s gone mad, Y/N! He loves this woman and you know I want nothing more than for my children to be happy but..” The shock was written all over your face. Sure, you suspected it but you absolutely dreaded being right. “I fear what this will bring. He wishes to marry her. I reminded him that he made an oath to Lord Frey but he insisted that he’d understand and respect his rule, so long as he offered him another deal. But I don’t trust it. He never truly respected Ned, I don’t believe he would respect Robb just because they call him a king now.” She was right. If this went through, this could change everything. This could spell disaster for their cause.

“Do you think he’ll truly go through with this?” you questioned softly. “Yes, he intends to do so as soon as possible and tell him only after the fact. I believe he plans to offer my brother in his place but I just...” You can see that her thoughts are racing. “I guess all we can do is hope that Lord Frey will accept his offer, then. We both know just how stubborn Robb is. If he loves this woman...” You have to swallow the lump in your throat and pray that Catelyn cannot see the devastation written on your face. “Then I hope she is a good queen and that she is worth all of this.” The older woman sat down next to you, letting out a defeated sigh. “I suppose so.”

The next thing you knew, it was revealed that Robb has made a queen of a Volantian woman named Talisa. In his place, Edmure Tully would marry a daughter of Lord Frey’s. He was a lord of a great house, yes, but he was no king. Walder had agreed to the new deal but Catelyn still felt uneasy and confided in you with her feelings.

That night, though, you buried yourself in the furs and used them to muffle your cries. You always knew that he’d marry some beautiful lady one day but it broke your heart nonetheless. When you cried the very last of your tears, you rolled over to reveal red, puffy eyes, feeling totally exhausted. The encampment was making another move tomorrow, and a risky one at that, so you quickly went to sleep. It was important to stay on alert. You weren’t really supposed to be involved in any conflict with your injuries but when did you let anything stop you?

Another memory replayed itself in your dream that night. It wasn’t long after your fourteenth name day. “I can see it, you know,” Jon spoke up from behind you and you jumped. Turning quickly, your brow furrowed. “And just what are you talking about?” you questioned. “I’ve always been able to read you like a book,” he chuckled, walking up to stand beside you. “Are you going to tell me what you’re on about, Snow?” you sighed. His voice suddenly became more serious, “You love him.” He looked out at Robb training in the courtyard just as you had been. Your face felt hot-- even more so than usual-- and your face went red. 

“Wh--What are you talking about?!” The stutter certainly didn’t help your case. “I’ve known it for years. And maybe you’ve fooled them but you can’t fool me,” his tone was lighthearted again. “He could love you, too.” You scoffed, there was not a chance. Robb Stark loving a plain and honestly unappealing no name girl? Wasn’t that a laugh. “Have you gone mad?” You tore your eyes away from the courtyard to face him. “I’m serious. The way you look at him, that’s how he used to look at you when we were younger.” There is no way that was true. Even if it was, it didn’t matter. “Shut up,” you huffed, shoving him lightly.

Early that morning, just as the sun was peaking out from behind the mountains, you rode next to Catelyn as the northern forces advanced. Half-listening to her, your eyes never left Robb as you watched him ride alongside his queen. They radiated happiness and it made your heart ache. It would make sense to just be happy that he was so happy but you couldn’t force it. All you wanted was to pour your heart out and hope that it would change things. “Y/N?” Then Catelyn snapped you out of your thoughts. “Oh! My apologies, I’m just.. tired,” you said while laughing nervously. “I understand.” The older woman offered you a kind smile, giving you some relief. You had to remind yourself that without her kindness, you would’ve been slain in the arms of your mother and that making yourself heart sick over a man who was now called king was foolish.

Once everyone was settled in, you somehow convinced yourself to go and find Robb. You caught him just before he retired to his tent. “Your Grace,” you said, playfully curtseying. He rolled his eyes and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was a joke or if he was genuinely bothered. “I just wanted to let you know I’m happy for you. Your queen.. she’s beautiful and kind.. and much better than a Frey girl, I suppose,” you chuckled. “She is, isn’t she?” There was this look of wonder in his eyes. He really loved her. And you really loved him. How tragic. You can tell he wanted to return to her but you couldn’t let him go just yet. “So what is going to happen with that, then? I imagine Lord Frey isn’t very happy.” It felt like it was the most you’ve spoken in ages. “We sent a raven as soon as everything was official explaining everything. I proposed my uncle Edmure stand in my place. We were nervous but he sent one back saying he agreed. That’s where we’re headed, didn’t you know? We should reach the twins in a week, I’d expect. Less if we pick up the pace.” It was surprising, learning that Walder Frey had actually agreed to give up the betrothal to a king and settled for someone of, frankly, much lower status. “No, uh, I didn’t,” you replied. “Well find your best dress for the wedding,” he said with a grin that made you melt. “Sleep well,” he added, brushing softly past you and into his quarters.

All the news still had your head spinning and the racing thoughts kept you awake for most of the night. You hardly got any sleep before you were forced to keep moving. That day you couldn’t help but to notice the happy couple being extra smiley. It made you wonder what that was all about, but you couldn’t let this consume your thoughts. It was always possible that Lannister forces could stage a surprise attack, much like they had on them. There were much bigger things to worry about.

Just before the week was up, you all managed to arrive at your destination. The northern forces set up camp outside of the Frey stronghold. Just as Robb had said, you were searching your trunk for your best dress and head wrap. You’d forgotten that you had thrown in one of the ones that Sansa had sewn for you: a grey color with white detailing-- Stark colors. It made your eyes tear up, wondering where she was and how she was now. You would wear it tomorrow, you’d decide, knowing that she would like that. It’d go fine with a plain, light dress that was navy blue in color.

Finally, the occasion was here. You sat there, next to Catelyn, watching the ceremony. Everyone in the northern army seemed shocked to find that the Frey girl was actually quite beautiful but no one more than Edmure himself. His nervous expression quickly transitioned into a smile, causing you to smirk to yourself. She was still a Frey, though, so it’s not like everything was suddenly all better. But everything went to plan, a cheerful feast starting up just after. The hall was bustling with conversation and music but there was still just that bit of tension in the air. You just couldn’t shake the slightly uneasy feeling in your stomach.

The happy couple were rushed off to the “bedding ceremony,” something you found ridiculous, though not surprising that this family seemed so excited for it. Catelyn placed her hand on yours as if she somehow knew that you wanted nothing more than to stand up and leave. You looked up and met her eyes, head tilting with confusion. “I don’t like that look on his face,” she whispered to you, looking directly as Walder. “I think that’s just what he looks like, my lady,” you replied with a chuckle. She sighed as she looked back at you, “I suppose.” 

It was then that he spoke up and the both of you quickly turned your attention to the old man. When you looked closer, you didn’t feel very good about the look on his face either. It was then that you noticed the change in the music to something that sounded quite odd for an occasion like this. He addressed Robb and his queen, saying that he hadn’t given a gift as a congratulations for their marriage. Furrowing your brow, you looked to Catelyn who had lifted the sleeve of Lord Bolton, who was seated next to her, revealing chainmail beneath. Something was terribly wrong and things escalated when she stood and slapped him, the sound nearly echoing throughout the room. Rising to your feet, you looked around and noticed that the doors to the hall had been shut and that’s when all hell broke loose.

It started with a Frey boy relentlessly stabbing the queen in her torso. You sucked in a breath with pure shock, then a crossbow bolt ended up in Robb’s shoulder and you shrieked, as did Catelyn. Startled by the noise, you looked back at her then back to him. Everything was moving so fast, it felt impossible to even move. Another bolt was shot into his shoulder, just missing his neck. Finally, you managed to step back from the table and look around. This was a slaughter. They had rounded everyone up, made sure they were vulnerable and killed every Northman they saw. But that’s when you spotted Lord Bolton take out a dagger and while you expected he would march to the head table to defend his king, you saw him clearly ready himself to attack him instead. 

There was only seconds to act and even in your panicked state, you remembered the dagger you kept strapped to your leg. Weapons obviously weren’t welcome at a wedding but putting it on had become such a routine, you didn’t even think of it and thank the Gods you didn’t. Hurriedly grabbing it out from under your dress, you took off running. It was all a blur as your legs carried you along without any thinking involved. When you finally brought yourself back into the moment, your dagger was buried in Roose Bolton’s chest. 

You gasped as you stared into his wide eyes, then quickly pulled back only to bump into something. Turning quickly, you were met with the sight of a badly injured but very much alive Robb Stark. Y/N had saved the King in the North-- a no name peasant had saved a king. The loud cry of Catelyn pulled your attention away only for you to see that a Frey held a knife to her neck from behind. “Please, Y/N! GO!” she yelled just before the man finished the deed. Without a second thought, you looped your arm around Robb’s and began running. He seemed to move only out of reflex and you briefly turned your gaze to him. “What are you doing?! We need to move!” you screamed over all the noise but he said nothing, not even looking into your eyes. There was no time to argue, though, so you conjured up every bit of strength in your body and made your way to the door, busting it open but not without getting an arrow through your shoulder-- a lucky shot. The adrenaline made it nearly impossible to feel, though. Of course, there was more men and more chaos outside but you somehow managed to fight your way through. All the bloodshed and craziness was a good distraction-- it seemed that no one really noticed that the Young Wolf had escaped.

It was a miracle. Despite the ongoing massacre, you somehow managed to free Robb’s direwolf and get the two of you up onto a horse to ride away from the insanity. You rode until all of you were exhausted, going deep into the nearest wood and collapsed against a tree. It seemed to be not long before noon the next day. He still never said a word and Grey Wind whimpered as he nudged at him. His eyes were completely empty, it was almost as if he had been killed. But your number one focus was tending to his injuries. Speaking of which, you had left the arrows lodged into him, not wanting to rip them out and cause more bleeding when you had no time to patch it up.

“Are you ready? This is going to hurt..” you said as you gripped the first bolt. His eyes met yours but still he said nothing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it quickly as to not prolong the pain. He grunted but never said a word. Wait, you didn’t have any kind of plan. This is why you were a shit medic. Panicking, you pulled at the bottom of your dress and ripped away a piece of the cloth, wrapping it around the injury. Moving onto the next time, this time prepared with the cloth. Still, he didn’t say a single word. “Robb?” you whispered, getting close to try to get some kind of response. There was nothing, though. He was broken, seemingly beyond repair. Sighing, you leaned back against the tree and did the same to your own wound-- receiving no support from him-- before passing out from exhaustion.

When you awoke, it seemed to be the middle of the night. Grey Wind laid at your feet but woke up as soon as you stirred. He immediately growled, though calmed once he realized it was just you. Looking over, there laid the defeated king. It killed you to see him this way, feeling the defeat as well. But it was important to keep moving, it was the only hope of survival, so you shook him until he finally woke. “We need to go. If I’m correct, we keep heading this way and we should be able to reach Seagard.” Robb seemed to look right through you. The frustration was beginning to boil over. “I won’t just watch you lay down and die. Now let’s go.” Still nothing as you pulled him up onto the horse, calling for Grey Wind to follow.

It continued like this for the next few days. He never said a word. You rode to the point of exhaustion and survived off nothing but water and whatever you could find that was edible. It wasn’t possible to find an inn to stay in or a shop to buy from. You didn’t know who could and couldn’t be trusted-- even seeking refuge at Seagard was a risk, maybe they had chosen to betray him as well. Hope was beginning to dwindle, as was your strength, when you finally spotted a castle in the distance. You had found it. It was a shot in the dark but you made it. You chuckled, though tears spilled down your cheeks when you saw it. Gods, please let them remain loyal. After a deep breath, you rode up to the gates where men barked out orders for you to identify yourself.

“I am Y/N and I have with me the King in the North!” There was a lot out of shouting followed by the gates opening and you took the opportunity to ride in, Grey Wind following close behind. The both of you were quickly surrounded. “My king,” they declared in unison, each one falling onto one knee. Releasing the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding, you broke into a weak smile. All of this wasn’t for nothing. You had made it.

The Mallisters saw to it that you two were properly cared for. Each of you was given a bath, fresh clothes, a meal and a warm bed. Even after everything, you found yourself unable to sleep that night. It was late and the castle was quiet as you snuck down the hall and into Robb’s room after knocking and not hearing any protest.

“Can you speak to me already?” Your tone was harsh, finally fed up with the silent treatment especially considering that he’d managed to work up the strength to speak to everyone else. He turned around slowly to look at you, “What do you want?” His voice was raspy and he sounded as tired as he looked. “I want you to say something! We made it somewhere safe because of me! I fought our way through everything to get here and you’ve barely even looked at me!” Frustrated tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you want a thank you?” The anger in his tone never wavered as he came closer to you. “Did you ever stop to think why I never said anything? I didn’t care to make it out of there, Y/N! My wife is dead, my child is dead.” A child? You had no idea. “And my mother. What else do I have?!” His gradual raise in tone caused you to jump back, head tilted with confusion as the tears continued to flow. “You have people who are counting on you. What happened was... terrible but these people named you their king and you promised their freedom. You promised to bring your sisters home! All of that is hopeless without you. I did what I did for your mother!” And because I love you. “So you can’t just lay down and die. I won’t let you. You have me, Robb.” He seemed surprised to see you fight back so hard. There was a long silence. “Get out,” he practically growled. “Robb--” you went to protest. “I said get out,” he raised his volume slightly. Giving him one last look, you turned and walked out.

Doing your best to remain quiet as the continuous stream of tears spilled down your cheeks, you hurried to your room. This was it. The final straw. You did everything you possibly could, brought him somewhere safe. Now it was up to him now to do what was right. It was becoming quite clear what your next move should be.

CUT TO THIRD PERSON.

Sleep continued to evade him as the sky began to light up. Robb felt sick, his mind replaying all that had happened and racing with all the ways he should’ve been able to stop it. Then he felt an intense guilt. She saved him. She fought like a true warrior to save him. All the times she could’ve given up along the way, she didn’t. All of this effort and he repaid her by screaming in her face telling her that he didn’t want any of it. His grief was no excuse to treat a woman who had been there for him his whole life like that. A woman who threw her own safety to the wayside just to save him. He knew that he needed to apologize and that it couldn’t wait.

He made his way down the hall, thinking of what he could possibly say to make things better. “I’m sorry” would be first, obviously, but that certainly wasn’t enough. After hearing no protest and assuming she must’ve been asleep or in the same position he had been, he pushed the door open. As his eyes scanned the room, there was no sign of her. Her trunk still sat at the foot of the bed but she was no where to be found. Confused, he walked to a desk in the corner of the room where a candle was still burning. There sat a letter, addressed to him with ink that was still wet.

Robb,

First, I must tell you why I need to leave. I should have long before this and I suspect you will agree. My name, my true name, is Visenya II Targaryen and I am the youngest child of the Mad King.

Those first lines made him fall down into the chair, feeling weak from the shock.

...

To

Be

Continued.

#game of thrones imagine #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #catelyn stark imagine #targaryen!reader

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars

read the full story on Ao3...

iii. the land was godless and free

she moves with shameless wonder,

the perfect creature rarely seen.

Since some lie I brought the thunder,

when the land was godless and free

-Hozier, “Foreigner’s God”

The great castle of Winterfell was much older than the other keeps in the North but unlike its younger counterparts, there wasn’t a permanent settlement around it. Wintertown was exactly as it sounded, deserted in the summer and packed full in the winter. When it was empty like it was, the royal family came out to play and the only place open in summer was The Smoking Log.

The little dive was a favorite of the young royals. They went so often, their security personnel never followed them out. Most times it was just Robb, Jon, and Theon, but recently they started dragging Sansa along. She was only seventeen (seventeen and three-fourths, she would remind you) but the owner of the Smoking Log didn’t care. As long as they paid their tab.

Thinking about their family dynamic it was strange how close they were.

From day one, Robb and Jon were built-in-best friends. There was a brief tension when their father decided to legitimize Jon. All of it stopped when Robb realized he could do whatever he wanted and would have much less stress on his shoulders. 

At first, Sansa wanted nothing to do with Jon and joined in her mother’s bullying. When she started secondary school and it became clear she could never have normal friendships, she started hanging out with her brothers. They taught her how to fight and drive and beat every game they played. In return, she kept them in line when they went out.

And when Robb came back from Barrowton after university, he started bringing his girlfriend Talisa with them. She was good fun and held her liquor as well as the Starks.

Though, they were all going hard and Jon wasn’t feeling like himself. The music playing over the speakers was too loud and he couldn’t decide if the lights were too bright or too dim. He could handle beer, but his glass that night was filled with whiskey and he wasn’t keeping track of how much he’d had. On any given night he would, he had to keep himself under control, but Wintertown was deserted.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tipsy, Snow,” she taunted.

Only Ygritte was allowed to call him Snow. As the legitimized bastard of King Eddard Stark of the North, she should’ve referred to him as “Your Royal Highness” but they’d known each other for so long, referring to him as anything other than Snow was foreign. 

Ygritte wasn’t an official member of their entourage but she was friends with them since they were young. Her father was the ambassador for the wildlings living in the Gift. When he left the position and moved back, Ygritte stayed and started working at the tavern.

“Someday you’ll have to stop calling me that,” he warned.

“Aye. When we’re both dead and in the ground.”

The fiery red-head was always giving him a hard time. It was a second job for her.

“I’m good for another glass,” he stated, setting his down.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” she filled it. “And tell your brother to stop with the PDA, it’s grossing everyone out.”

Jon looked to the booth in the corner. Sure enough, Talisa and Robb were all over each other. It was drunk and sloppy and Jon felt the urge to vomit. 

“Would you like to join them?” Theon Greyjoy, always over confident and sleazy, asked.

Ygritte leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at him, “I thought I told you I didn’t like your kind.”

“Ironborn?” 

“Men,” Jon answered and took a sip of his whiskey. It wasn’t burning like it had at the beginning of the night. 

Ygritte reached over the bar to punch him in the shoulder and Jon spilled a little on himself. 

“Shut up, Snow. You know better than anyone I play both fields and I do it damn well.”

They both laughed like it was some great joke but Jon had to look away from her. Theon slipped away to terrorize some other single women.

Unfortunately for him, the only other single woman present was the owner and she was stern and middle aged.

The door to the bar opened and a group of men strode in. Ygritte groaned.

“Here they come.”

“Who?”

“Those three. They’re regulars and they love picking fights. Cops���ve been here every night to haul ‘em off.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“You haven’t been here in months, Snow. You’d better keep your head down, they know you’re an easy target.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got a rep for your short temper. Not to mention you’re the crowned fucking prince of the North. They’d kill to be able to boast they punched the pretty boy prince. Better take my advice and stop drinking.”

Jon considered it but took another drink from his glass. Being young and angry at the world and having an intense weight on his shoulders made him a lash out in ugly ways. And even after his service on the Wall and learning to control his temper, the reputation still followed him. 

He surveyed the room again. There was supposed to be another red-head in attendance, but she was missing. 

“Where’s Sansa?”

Ygritte didn’t know either. Then he spotted her, walking past the gang of troublesome boys. His grip tightened around his glass and he could see the lecherous looks in their eyes. 

“Sansa can handle herself. Just relax.” Ygritte attempted to make him see sense but he was too far gone to heed her advice.

Without wasting another second he made his way to her. 

“Hey Princess, sit and stay a while,” one of them called out.

“No,” she deflected.

Sansa was loveable and fun and she never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. She could also be down-right mean when she needed to.

“Why not?” another questioned, his tone suggestive.

“Because I don’t want to.”

The men laughed, “That doesn’t sound like a very good excuse.”

“How’s this one? I don’t want to because you’re a bunch of sleazy creeps.”

“Only for you baby,” one of them winked.

She scoffed and walked away, but one of them got up and stopped her. It was clear she couldn’t control the situation anymore, so Jon stepped in.

“Everything alright Sansa?” Jon placed his hand on her shoulder.

She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off.

“Excuse you, we were having a conversation.”

“I think that’s over.”

“I think the lady should decide whether it’s over or not.”

“It never even started,” Sansa spit.

Jon put his arm out to stop her. They let out whistles, as if her aggression was a turn on. 

“Sansa, why don’t you go round up the others. I think it’s time to leave.”

“Jon, I-”

“Sansa,” he warned.

She sneered at the men around her but got out of the way. 

“Hold up, it’s the pretty boy prince they keep locked up in the castle,” the one standing in front of Jon noticed.

He was taller than Jon but that never scared him. Jon beat men twice his size while sparring with Sir Rodrik.

“Which one?” 

“The bastard,” the one in front of Jon leered down at him, “They put a crown on his head and thought we would be fooled.”

Jon shrugged their comments off. He was used to people putting him down for a decision that wasn’t his. When he was younger he broke himself trying to prove he was a true son of the North. He joined the military instead of going to university and served at the Wall protecting the ungrateful fucks in front of him. 

“Careful, you’ll hurt his feelings. Our dear prince is known for lashing out.”

Jon tried his best to control his anger. Nothing good ever came from the fights he started.

“Shame he’s so protective over his half-sister. We could’ve had some fun.”

There was no one there to stop Jon when his fist collided with man’s face. In the moment he forgot about the other two so he was shocked when a fist smashed into his face as well. Another in his gut and Jon was stumbling back into the table. 

The alcohol in his system wasn’t helping. It only made the spinning sensation in his head worse. The familiar metallic taste in his mouth was no more sobering than the punch that caused it. He saw Sansa coming back from across the bar with Robb draped over Talisa’s shoulder. Some help he was going to be.

One of the men got back in front of him. Jon prepared to throw another punch, but someone’s leg kicked out the attacker’s knees and gave him a solid kick across the face. Jon threw himself at the other man that was still standing, delivering an uppercut to his jaw and kneeing him in the groin. 

Ygritte came from behind the bar with a bag of ice and a clean rag,“I’ve already called the police so you’d better get the hell out of here.”

The Starks didn’t need to be told twice. Jon took the ice and rag while Sansa dragged Theon away from the bar and Talisa helped Robb to the car. 

“You should’ve let me handle it,” Sansa reprimanded.

“I’m sorry-”

“Those dumbasses are going to run their mouths-”

“I know.”

“And we’ll have a whole new wave of critics claiming you’re unfit for rule.”

“You won’t tell Catelyn, right?”

“I won’t,” she confirmed, “But I’m not helping you with dad, that’s your own battle.”

Jon almost forgot about the small council meeting the next morning. He would have prefered to miss it but his father expected him there. As the next leader of the North, he needed to experience them. But he arrived late and received too many disdainful looks.

He sat to the side of the room, never speaking and wishing he was invisible. If he remained still with his head down they wouldn’t notice his swollen eye. The lords of the great houses all sat along the table, sneaking looks at Jon. Roose Bolton, Duke of the Weeping Water and Lord of the Dreadfort, didn’t try to hide his distaste.

It was known the Boltons held an ancient grudge against the Starks. Ever since Jon’s ancestor Brandon Stark defeated them in battle and forced them to stop flaying their enemies. Jon was sure they never stopped the practice. It was rumored that Ramsey, Lord Bolton’s bastard son, had a taste for flaying small animals and Roose condoned the behavior.

“I think that’s all for today,” King Eddard stated, rising from his stately chair at the head of the table. 

He thanked the lords of attending and they bowed and left.

“You’re being awfully sullen, Jon.”

He arranged the papers in front of him. Jon ran a hand through his messy curls, exhaling loudly.

“Long night out?”

“You could call it that,” he grumbled.

“Do you mind telling me why you were late this morning?”

Jon stayed silent and tried to avoid eye contact.

Ned looked at his son and sighed, “Gods Jon, look at your eye. What happened?”

“I got into a fight,”

“Over what?”

Jon wanted to hold his tongue but Ned taught him to always be honest and do the right thing. And lying at that moment seemed like a bad idea.

“I was protecting Sansa,”

“You took Sansa drinking with you?”

“She’s almost eighteen.”

“Her age doesn’t matter, I know Sansa can handle herself. But you … this is the third fight this month. It’s a good thing Ygritte watches out for you otherwise we’d have an even bigger mess to clean up,”

“I’m sorry,”

“What goes on inside that head of yours?”

“It’s not easy being your bastard son who got lucky,”

“Sit down,” Ned commanded and Jon did as told, “When I chose to legitimize you it wasn’t because I thought you were lucky. It’s because I knew you were going to make a great leader.”

Jon huffed. Ned started the legitimization process when Jon was ten years old, there was no way he showed promise as a leader at ten.

“The North is heading towards a new age and she needs someone who will guide her through the confusion.”

His father’s words were idealistic. The North hadn’t changed in the past 100 years as far as tradition was concerned. Technologically, sure, but the people of the North were still set in their ways. 

“You don’t believe me now but you’ll understand,”

It sounded like Ned wanted to put a ‘soon’ at the end of the phrase but Jon didn’t question it. He wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible.

“Jon, your mother wouldn’t like the way you’ve been acting either.”

Ned rarely mentioned Jon’s mother. With all the information Jon knew about her one would think she never existed and he was born by some miracle. He didn’t even know her name and he didn’t think the castle staff would appreciate him running around, interrogating them for information on the King’s old flame. Especially Her Majesty, Catelyn. 

Catelyn despised Jon, though his only crime was being born. He supposed cheating her precious Robb out of the title he was meant to inherit could be added to his list of offenses. She should’ve blamed her husband for those actions but she took her aggression out on Jon. It was worse when he was younger. She would spit names at him as he passed by, exclude him from her children's lessons and sit him furthest away during dinners. As he got older and showed more responsibility and leadership, she relaxed. Mostly because Robb was still galavanting around Barrowton at university and Jon was serving time in the military. There was still the matter of her evil looks for no reason but some things couldn’t be changed.

“Why is it that you use my mother to condemn me but you’ll never speak about her otherwise?”

“Your mother … oh, you know I don’t like talking about her,” Ned remarked.

“I know,” Jon began, “but I would like to know more.”

Most people could at least form a picture in their minds when they thought of their mothers. The most Jon could do was a blank silhouette.

Ned smiled, “One day.”

He stood and began to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, “Oh, and Jon?”

“Yeah dad?”

“Next time you start a fight over a girl, don’t let her finish it for you.”

They had an emergency family meeting later that day. Robb was sure it was about the scuffle at the bar last night but Sansa disagreed. Part of Jon wished it was about that so he could know what to expect. 

They gathered in the library, the most private place in the whole keep. Sansa, Robb, and Jon all arrived together. Although they had close proximity with the Stark family, Talisa and Theon weren’t allowed to attend the family meetings. They were for blood related members of the family only, excluding Catelyn. As mother to the royal children it was her right to be there.

The library was ancient and still warmed by giant hearths. It provided a sense of weight and distinction. The place where the old Kings of Winter would consult the maesters in times of turmoil. Jon couldn’t help the feeling that a tumultuous time was upon them, why else meet in a place that carried such a reputation.

Sansa situated herself on the nearby chair, leaving Robb and Jon to stand beside it. Catelyn and Ned stood with their backs to the hearth which hosted a roaring fire. The North was never warm. It was still early summer so the snows were frequent and the temperatures were just above freezing everyday.

“Where’s Arya and Bran?” Catelyn asked.

The twins, as they were more commonly known, were always causing trouble. It was their nature. And now they both had driver’s licenses. Catelyn tried to regulate their time allowed outside of the keep but they never listened. 

Jon remembered what happened when he defied one of Catlyn’s rules when he was a teen. He was accused of being a bad influence on Robb and Theon, although it had been Theon and Robbs idea to go running off into the Wolfswood without a security escort. They paid the price in extra lessons on Northern history, complete with one of the longest essays Jon ever wrote.

Arya came through the door, running a hand through her short dark hair. Out of all the Stark children, Jon and the twins favored their father the most. Robb and Sansa got Catelyn’s Tully features. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Arya gushed, “Micha stopped us on the way in from the garage.”

Bran came bounding in after Arya. He was always slower than his sister but he kept up just fine. The two settled on the floor beside the chair. They made a pretty picture he was sure, all the King’s children posed for a regal portrait.

“It’s fine, Arya. But now that we’re all here we can get started. The King of the United Kingdoms of Westeros extended an invitation to their annual charity gala,” Ned stated.

“Why would they do that? We haven’t mingled with the south in a century,” Robb quipped.

“The cause they’ve decided to support this year is environmental conservation. Seeing as it’s a cause we support greatly, we’ve decided to attend.”

Sansa sat up straighter, he had her undivided attention. She was obsessed with southern culture and considered them much more interesting than the Northerners. 

“I will travel south with Jon, Robb, and Sansa. Catelyn will stay here with Arya and Bran. We should only be gone a week at most.”

There weren’t any complaints. Jon and Robb knew it was their duty to represent the North alongside their father. Sansa wanted to see the south, Arya and Bran couldn’t care less, and Catelyn knew she needed to stay and hold down the keep. She hated traveling anyway and Jon couldn’t blame her. Hours couped up in a car with minimal stops only to end up in a foreign land. He avoided it when he could.

“We leave tomorrow morning so I expect you packed tonight,” Ned addressed his eldest three then turned to his youngest, “And I expect you to behave while I’m gone.”

“It’s not like we’ve got the whole castle to ourselves, you’re leaving mom,” Bran pointed out.

Ned laughed and mussed his hair.

“And some expectations for behavior while we’re south. No fighting, no running away from your security officers, and as always, lots of smiling. We are their guests and we want to leave a good impression. Now go pack.”

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Sansa confessed as they descended the stairs.

“How are we supposed to entertain ourselves if we’re the only ones our age in the castle? The Prince and Princess are tweens.” Robb asked.

“There is the King’s sister but she lives in Essos for most of the year. I doubt she’ll come home for a charity gala. You know, I read the craziest thing about her this morning!”

#jonerys #ao3 #ao3 link #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jonerysfic #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fanfiction

[xxlittle0birdxx]

WIP: J/B AU fic: The Quiet Isle

One of the things I missed most in the show from the book is the Quiet Isle.  They do have a good reason to be there (and yes I know why and how they get there, but I can’t give you everything at once!). 

Brienne came to, jerking her face away from the astringent aroma, a circle of concerned faces hovering over her.  Jaime’s loomed in her vision.  ‘You fainted,’ he accused.

‘I have never fainted in my life,’ she argued.  

Brother Eston stoppered the small vial and held out a hand to Brienne, helping her sit up. ‘I should like to examine you, my lady.’

‘It’s not necessary,’ Brienne maintained, lurching to her feet.  She regretted it immediately when her stomach rebelled and heaved.  She spun on a heel and stumbled to a nearby tree, vomiting behind it.  As she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, she felt a gentle hand on her elbow.

‘You were saying?’ Brother Eston said dryly.  He steered Brienne to the cottage she shared with Jaime, pausing to pluck a few leaves of mint from one of the plants in an herb garden. He handed them to Brienne who stuck one gratefully into her mouth. The sour taste was going to make her ill again. ‘If you could lie down.’  He glanced at Jaime, who nearly trod on the septon’s feet he was so close behind them.  ‘I think Lady Brienne might feel more at ease, if we had some privacy, my lord.’

Jaime craned his head around Brother Eston.  ‘Brienne?’

She nodded.  ‘I’ll come find you when we’re finished.’  She let her fingers graze over the back of his hand. 

Brother Eston firmly closed the door in Jaime’s face and gestured to the low bed.  ‘My lady?’  Brienne heaved a sigh and stretched out on the bed, hands folded over her stomach.  The septon held his hands out over her.  ‘With your permission, I will need to touch you.’  He laid a hand over hers.  ‘Just here.’  Brienne hesitated, then let her own hands fall to her sides.  He began to prod her belly.  ‘When was the last time you bled, my lady?’ he asked dispassionately.

Brienne’s eyes closed.  The last time she could clearly remember had been just before they left Casterly Rock.  Between traveling to the Wall, waiting for the Night’s Watch contingent to return from Hardhome, and trying to find a port that had a boat that would ferry them to Tarth, she hadn’t noticed its absence.  ‘A few months,’ she admitted.  ‘No more than three.’

‘And…’ Brother Eston coughed discreetly. ‘Relations with your husband…?’

Brienne’s face felt like it was on fire.  ‘Often enough,’ she choked, keeping her eyes fixed on a spot directly overhead. 

‘Have you been drinking moon tea?’

‘No.  I tried it a few times when I was younger, so I didn’t bleed,’ she said.  It didn’t seem that long ago, when Renly called his banners, and Brienne implored her father to let her go. She’d asked the maester for it, hoping the moon tea would help her avoid the rather inconvenient monthly bleeding while in an army camp.  ‘It made me dizzy, and I fell down a staircase.’  She fingered the scar over her lip, freshly healed when she left Tarth.  ‘So I never used it again.’  Brienne felt the prickle of gooseflesh ripple over her arms.  The disinterest in food, especially early in the morning.  She had attributed it to the indifferently cooked food served at Castle Black, and then the plain soldiers’ rations they ate when they made camp for the night while they had travelled through the North and the Riverlands.  The bone-deep weariness that  stubbornly refused to dissipate, even though she fell asleep soon after dinner and slept deeply until the sun rose and Jaime woke her.  One hand drifted up and traced the ridge of the strip of linen under her shirt that she’d used to bind her breasts.  Slight as they were, she rarely had to do so, and eschewed the corestry most women employed.  But when they’d left Castle Black, the incessant jiggling made riding exceedingly uncomfortable, so she’d resorted to tearing one of her spare shirts into strips.  The pieces fell into place when placed next to the fact that she hadn’t bled since they had stayed in Casterly Rock.  They were signs her childhood septa had taught her to recognize, should she ever marry.  ‘I’m pregnant, aren’t I?’

‘It appears that way.  You ought to feel movement within a few more weeks.  I’m told it feels rather like soap bubbles popping inside.’  Brother Eston sat back on his heels, head cocked to the side like a sparrow taking in the troubled frown on Brienne’s face as she sat up.  ‘I gather this isn’t joyous news.’

‘The timing is not ideal.’  Brienne shrugged.  ‘When is there ever a perfect window of time to bear a child?’

Brother Eston didn’t laugh, but his mouth turned up a little.  ‘My child, if we lived our lives waiting for just the right time, we might have died out ages ago.’  He reached out and laid a hand on Brienne’s head.  ‘May the Mother bless you, child, and see you safe through your labors.’  He stood and shook out his robes.  ‘If your party is well enough to travel, you should return to your home.  There is much for you to do before the child comes.  We will ensure you safe passage to Saltpans by boat or on land if the tide is out.’  Brother Eston inclined his head a fraction of an inch.  ‘My lady…’  He left the cottage in a swirl of brown and dun wool.

Brienne leaned back against the wall of the cottage.  Catelyn Stark had called childbirth a sort of battle.  One where women fought and no one sang songs to celebrate their triumphs or mourn their losses.  And now she would learn those unsung songs.  Brienne rose to her feet and left the cottage in search of Jaime.  She found him sitting on a boulder, staring out at the Bay of Crabs.  She perched on the boulder next to him.  ‘When I was younger,’ she began, ‘I believed in the stories where a handsome knight comes to fight a ferocious dragon guarding a tower, and then marries the maiden that was imprisoned inside.’

‘Sounds like Sansa,’ Jaime quipped.  

Brienne turned her severe gaze on him and the grin slid from his face.  He leaned back and waited with an expectant furrow upon his brow.  ‘Until I was… fourteen… perhaps, I believed that would happen for me.  That I would wake up one morning and the witch’s spell would be broken, and I wouldn’t look like Brienne the Beauty.  I would be a warrior queen, like Visenya Targaryen.’  She could always picture it so clearly.  Visenya was said to have been more striking to look at than beautiful, and Brienne would have settled for pleasing features instead of her rather plain and somewhat mismatched face.  ‘And I would find a fair prince to marry.  And we would have…’  She took in a deep breath of briny air.  ‘Children,’ she managed to say.  ‘And then my father held that disaster of a ball.  And I began to tell myself that I didn’t want any of it.  I convinced myself it wasn’t me, and it never was.’

‘Brienne?’  Jaime covered her knee with his hand.  It was quite unlike her to ramble on so.  ‘If I might interrupt…’  He avoided looking at her, for fear she would bolt rather like a skittish horse.  He’d had his suspicions for some days, and had been waiting for an opportune moment to voice them.  The tentative way she circled around the topic meant it might be sundown by the time she worked up the nerve to actually say the words, so he plunged ahead.  ‘Are you…’  His throat closed.  ‘Pregnant?’

Brienne nodded.  ‘Yes.’

‘I see.’  Jaime tuned to look at her, then.  Her mouth was set into a grim line and her body as tense as a bowstring.   ‘Will you be completely honest with me?’

‘Always.’

‘Do you wish to have the child?’ Jaime asked faintly, his heart in his throat.  He could not blame her if she did not while his father was alive.  His claws were already too-firmly embedded in their lives.  He could all too clearly envision his father preparing the marriage contracts between this child and one of the other Houses before they could celebrate its first name day. 

‘We’ve both been taught to do our duty,’ she replied dully, eyes wide and fixed on the horizon.  ‘And this is mine.’

Jaime grabbed her shoulder and forcibly turned her to face him.  ‘Fuck duty,’ he hissed.  His fingers dug painfully into her shoulder.  ‘Don’t do this because it’s what my father wants and expects.’  Brienne’s mouth dropped open.  ‘Or yours,’ he added.  She stared at him, dumbstruck.  He shook her a little.  ‘Do you want it?  Because if you don’t, I will brew the moon tea for you myself.’  

‘I…’  Brienne squeezed her eyes shut.  ‘Yes.’  Her shoulders slumped.  ‘Odd as that might seem.’  She opened her eyes and stared down at her hands.  ‘It is only fair to ask…  Do you want…?’  One hand moved just enough to brush over her middle.

Jaime touched the back of her hand.  ‘I do.   More than you could possibly imagine.’

‘But your father…’  Brienne bit her lip, then blurted in a burst of passion, ‘I do not want our child to become another piece in his game.  To use in order to arrange a marriage with the Tarlys or Daynes, or Stranger take him, the Freys.’

‘He will not come near our child if I can help it,’ Jaime vowed.  ‘I swear it by the old gods and the new.’  Brienne exhaled with a shuddering sigh.  ‘Do you want to tell the others?’

Brienne shook her head.  ‘Not yet.’  She wanted to keep this between the two of them until she had a chance to get used to the idea of becoming a mother.  ‘When we arrive at Evenfall.  We can tell Pod, Sansa, and Tyrion along with my father.’

‘The sooner we’re on Tarth, the better.’  Jaime leaned his shoulder against Brienne’s.  He hoped Tarth would be the sorely needed respite they craved.  

‘We cannot hide on Tarth forever,’ Brienne told him.  ‘Or keep our presence there a secret.’

‘No.  But it might buy us enough time to figure out a way to do this on our terms and not my father’s.  I’ll speak with Brother Eston.  We’ll leave tomorrow if possible.  Perhaps we can find a boat sailing from Saltpans.  If not we’ll continue to Gulltown.’  He slid off the boulder, feeling the first flutters of giddy joy.  He glanced at Brienne, who remained motionless on the boulder, hands clenched into fists on her knees.  ‘Brienne?’  She looked up at him.  ‘This is good.’

‘Even with what’s beyond the Wall?’ she retorted.  He’d wept in her arms more than once since returning from Hardhome, upon waking from a nightmare.

The simple question gave Jaime pause.  It might be better for them both if she did drink moon tea.  He’d left her behind once, and if it came to a fight to defend their home from that thing north of the Wall, she would not be left behind again.  After what he’d witnessed at Hardhome, Jaime was keenly aware of the risks in bringing a child into this world.  If he and Brienne were to fall in the fight for the living, he would be content to die, knowing it might make it possible for their child to live.  He cupped her face in his hand.  ‘Especially with what’s beyond the Wall.’

#brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #braime #jaime x brienne #braime fanfic #braime fanfiction #game of thrones (tv) au #got fanfiction #got AU fanfic #the quiet isle #hardhome #bringing some of book!brienne to show!brienne #it wasn't part of her plan #the beginning of the braime bunch #work in progress #current wip

[distinguishednachotale]

Child of the North

Chapter One

“Leave me, please.” With a curt nod the woman disbursed from the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind them. As Aewen looked at herself her heart began pounding beneath her chest, nerves and fear hit her like a tonne of bricks. After years of waiting, her husband was returning from Kings Landing, from War. His departure had been sudden and in the middle of the night, he made love to his young bride, and kissed her goodbye not wanting to cause a scene. 

Excited knocking at the chamber door brought Aewen out of her thoughts, opening the door a small child stood there. Dressed in thick furs, her pale cheeks had a tint of pink to them as did the tip of her nose; despite being told to stay inside away from the cold she had been out wandering.

 “Mama, they’re here! Papa is here! Can we go great him?” As she jumped excitedly, her black hair bounced and blue eyes lit up. At three years of age, she had not met her Father before. War took the opportunity for Robb and Aewen to share the birth of their first child. She understood though, saving his sisters from the clutches of the Lannister’s, bringing his Brother’s home and restoring balance to Westeros was the goal and it was achieved with bloodshed but achieved nonetheless.

 Kneeling before her daughter Aewen smiled, “Of course, Love.” Taking her tiny hand the two walked the torch lit corridors to the courtyard where the people of Winterfell had gathered. Running Winterfell had been hard work, but everyone played their part to hep keep the city running as best as possible. “Look, there he is Ana.” Suddenly the little girl felt shy, she had heard stories her whole life about The King in the North; the King who could turn into his direwolf at night and conquered all his battles. But to suddenly be meeting her Papa was frightening.

 Robb’s eyes were fixated on his Wife and the small child holding her leg, word had made it to him long ago informing him of his wife’s pregnancy and subsequent birth. The Maesters wrote in detail of the health delivery of his daughter, Ana Stark. It drove him to fight harder, plan smarter and keep his eye on the goal. The black horse halted as Robb dismounted, his boots hitting the dirt ground.

 Aewen felt the warmth of Robb’s hand against her cheeks, leaning into his touch and running her hand through his shaggy hair. As their lips met the world stopped, neither of them cared about who was watching all that mattered was reconnecting after four years apart. Their marriage had not been arranged, it wasn’t originally approved of by those around them. But nothing could stop the lovers from marrying.

 “Mama, is this my Papa?” A small voice questioned, playing with the furs on the edge of her hood that had been pulled up to keep her head and tiny ears warm. Kneeling down to her level Robb smiled upon his daughter, she had his eyes and dark hair while also having her Mother’s beauty. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders with loose curls at the end.

 “I am your Papa, Ana.” His voice broke at the end, it all felt surreal. Being home, feeling his wife’s kiss and meeting the daughter he had dreamed of since the moment the ravens brought messages of her birth.

 “I thought you would look like a wolf, you haven’t even got a tail Papa.” The seriousness of her voice made those around her giggle under their breath. Her attitude was strong, the humor that flowed from her mouth often had those around her in stitches. “Don’t laugh at me, my Papa will bite you.” Glaring at the guards near her the small Stark scowled, arms folded across her little body.

 “You’re right Ana, I don’t have a tail - it’s daytime. But at night when you hear the wolves howling, I’ll be running with them” ‘

 Ana hardly left her Father’s side that evening, a great feast commenced to celebrate the return of the Stark’s to Winterfell. There was a noticeable absence without Ned sitting beside Catelyn, the mood somber as they paid their respects to the fallen Warden of the North. Aewen watched her husband exchange stories with Jon Snow, who had made a trip to Winterfell to great his family, he had his own tales to tell after defeating the Night King beyond the Wall with the help of Queen Denarys and her Dragons.

 “Excuse me, I must check on Ana.” Aewen said to no one, Catelyn was talking to her Son’s as they filled her in on their lives; they had spent their days at The Wall with Jon protecting them from would be attackers. Stepping outside Aewen felt the cold air hit her, the snow was falling faster and coated the ground. The small growl of Grey Wind let Aewen know he was going to follow her to Ana, one of the many things Aewen had missed about life before War was the direwolves patrolling the halls. The connection they had to their Masters was unique. Upon return Aewen was relieved to be reunited with Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggy Dog and Ghost who made the trip with Jon.

 Upon opening Ana’s chamber door Grey Wind entered, resting his head on the bed he watched Ana’s breaths before settling at the end of the bed. Aewen pulled the blankets up higher on her daughters tiny frame, ensuring she was warm enough against the cooling weather.

 “Are you going to stay here, Grey?” The dog whined, looking to his Little Master laying down to affirm his answer. “Come and get me when she wakes.” Turning to leave she was met with a tall frame leaning against the door way. His eyes filled with love and sadness, he had missed so much of his daughters life but to see her well made everything worth it. Had he failed, had the Lannister’s succeeded they would have taken great pleasure in hurting and killing Ana and Aewen.

 “I pictured she would be bigger, for some reason. I never thought she would be so small and fragile.” He mused, taking Aewen’s hand and pulling her into his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, my love. I thought about you both every single night.”

 “It’s okay, Robb. You’re here now.”

 ***

 Candles lit the way along the cells, keeping them slightly lit. Guard dogs growled when any noise startled them. The guard’s wandered down with a plate in hand, bread and a small amount of pork from the nights feast - the gristly part no one wanted. Opening the cell slightly the plate was thrown on the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. Looking up from the corner of the room, the woman looked up with pure hatred on her face. Her long blonde hair matted and spilling across her face.

 “I’ll get out of here, you know I will.” She spat.

 “Sure you will,” The guard laughed. “Can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your neck though.” The door slammed shut locking her in.

 “Sister, when will you learn to just keep your mouth shut?” The voice in the next cell echoed.

 “They murdered our children, Jamie. How can you just sit there and do nothing? As usual.”

 “I did everything I could Cersei, they won. They outsmarted us, them and their fucking dragons. How were you expecting your armies to defeat three grown dragons?”

 “I’ll get us out of here. I will get my revenge. An eye for an eye.”

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

Lets be honest, most of us with Robb Stark didn’t die.

#richard madden #richard madden fanfiction #robb stark fanfiction #game of thrones fic

[severusminerva]

Those Three Words--SMUT

Summary: Petyr has been sent away on a mission that he does not expect to return from. He spends his final days with you and learns a bit more about himself.                                                                                                                    Warnings: THERE IS SMUT!! THERE ARE CURSE WORDS!! I also apparently don’t know how to stick to one tense, which is a problem I should have checked out. Anywho, enjoy the mess!!!                                                                                Word Count: 3,569

Petyr stood with his back to you, looking out of the large window of your bedroom. He’d been standing like that for a while now, almost from the moment he’d stepped over the threshold. You were desperately trying to work up the courage to ask him about the rumor that your dear Aunt Cersei had “accidentally” let slip earlier that day, but each time you opened your mouth to say something, you found yourself unable to even get the words out. It was ridiculous. The truth would come out eventually, why not now? You sighed heavily, realizing too late that it would draw his attention to you.

“That sounded rather angsty, my Lady,” he drawled, a single eyebrow raised in question. Even after all this time, having his focus on you still brought butterflies to your stomach. You felt your cheeks heat up, but you ignored it. There were far more important matters to deal with than your feelings for the man before you. You cleared your throat.

“I’ve heard that you are leaving Kings Landing within the week.” The air around you changed almost immediately—this was no longer just a normal visit between dear friends, but something that felt terribly like a goodbye. He licked his lips and turned his head back to look out the window. His gaze fell upon a man sharpening his sword in the courtyard below. Petyr flinched and looked back at you.

“That’s only half right, my Lady.” He saw your expression brighten, and it almost hurt him to continue, but he had to. “I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

Silence. You stared at him, barely what he had just said. How could he be leaving? Why was he leaving? He had served as your advisor while you were here at court with your Aunt and cousins, and over time you had grown closer together until one night you found yourself in his bed, writhing beneath him. That part of the relationship was a complete secret to everyone else, but you knew that Cersei had little birds of her own that had been lurking ever closer as of late. It had amused Petyr then, but now he couldn’t conjure up the barest hint of mirth.

“Will you miss me, your Highness?” He asked, looking genuinely interested. He had known that over the course of your…arrangement, you had developed some type of feelings for him, but he never imagined that you would react so badly to him leaving. You snorted, rising from your seat and making your way over to him. Instinctively, he reached out and took your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across the backs of them. He may not be good at emotional comfort, but if his brothel had taught him anything, it was that physical comfort was often just as important. He waited for your response.

“Will you miss me, Lord Baelish?” Your tone had been teasing, the kind of banter that kept the both of you on your toes, but he could see in your eyes that your question had meant a lot more to you than you had let on. He squeezed your hands, giving you the fake smile that had women (and men) falling head over heels for him.

“Of course I will, my dear. My life is empty without you in it.” He lifted one of your hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Years, perhaps even months, ago, you would’ve fallen for that, but not anymore. You had come to terms with the fact that you would never fill the hole in his heart that Catelyn Tully had left all that time ago. Your heart ached to think that the reason he rarely ever looked you in the face while you (certainly didn’t make love, but ‘fucked’ is too harsh a word, you think) were being intimate was that he was too busy picturing her long red curls and striking blue eyes. You had never talked about her, and you didn’t think you wanted to.

“When will you be back?” You ask, trying to steer your mind away from those dangerous waters. He doesn’t answer for a long time, making you frown in confusion. What he doesn’t tell you is that he probably won’t come back, that this is most certainly a suicide trip. He doesn’t tell you not to look for ravens from him because he’ll probably be dead long before your first one would get to him. He doesn’t say that this may well be the last time you see each other in this life (and in the next, if he’s honest. There is no Heaven, and if there was, he wouldn’t be going there). The Queen works in mysterious ways.

Instead, he tries to memorize every single detail of you so that he could burn the image of you into his mind forever, to carry with him until the end of his life. He had this silly little habit of taking precious things for granted, something that had happened with Catelyn herself. He had always thought she was a given, that she would always be there, waiting for him. Until she married Eddard Stark and left him all alone in a world that was not made for someone like him. He would not be making that mistake again, thank you very fucking much.

You, who are currently being stared at, are not privy to these thoughts, and so you don’t quite understand what is going on. It had become awkward a long time ago, and now it was quickly becoming unbearable. It felt like you were being dissected, which was not a very pleasant feeling at all. In times like these you had always resorted to the singular most effective way of forgetting your problems: sex.

You look up at him and smile, batting your eyes in the way that made men thirst after you. He frowned in confusion.

“Since we have such little time left, don’t you think we should make the most of it?” His expression changed, as if he was seeing you for the first time. Clearly, he was working through your words in his head, so you gave him time to do just that. You lifted one of his hands to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm. You watched as his eyelids lowered, heard his breathing deepen, and grinned to yourself. You pushed his sleeve up to his elbow, tracing the veins there with your kisses.

“You absolute vixen,” he accused, although you could tell that he didn’t want you to stop. You lifted your eyes so that you were looking straight at him as you licked a line from the base of his palm to the very tip of his middle finger. That did it.

Neither of you knew who had grabbed the other first, but the next moment, you found yourself entangled with him, his mouth moving desperately against your own, his hands roaming around your body in ways that made you ache for him. You carefully undid the mockingbird pin that always adorned his robes, breaking away from him for a moment to place it on the desk that stood behind you. He groaned in protest, but quieted when you came back to him, starting to work on the endless buttons on his elaborate robes.

“Someone is quite eager, I see,” he remarked, feeling your fingers flying, uncaring, from button to button. The glare you shot him shut his mouth, and he went back to kissing you. Usually, the pair of you took things slow, both to make sure that nothing happened that would need to be explained later (love marks), and to savor what time alone you got in each other’s company. Today was not like that. After you had finished unbuttoning, you pushed his robe from his shoulders, needing to feel his skin against yours. He was in the process of repaying you, trying to undo the hundreds of clasps that held your dress together, but failing—there were just too many. Each time this happened, he gained more respect for handmaidens.

“This—damned—nuisance!” He growled, growing frustrated. You giggled, beginning to reach backwards to help him, when a loud ‘rip!’ tore through the air. There was a split moment where you both stared at each other, him unsure of how you were going to react, and you in shock, both because you were entirely nude and because he had always been especially careful with the expensive gowns your father bought you. The moment was over as soon as it started though, because he pulled you back to him, guiding one of your hands to the laces holding his trousers up. You gasped at the feeling of his hard cock straining against the thin fabric, the sound being smothered partially by Petyr’s mouth on yours.

As you undid the knot, the temperature in the room seemed to rise a thousand degrees. Petyr was breathing heavily, and every time your fingers brushed against his aching bulge, his hips bucked forwards, trying to get the friction he needed most. One of his hands found its way to your breast, making you moan involuntarily as he squeezed and massaged the flesh. You finished with his trousers and they dropped to the floor, finally revealing his manhood to you.

“Shall we move this to the bed?” He whispered, smirking at the way you seemed transfixed by him. You nodded and he wasted no time in bending down and lifting you up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and you both moaned simultaneously as your cores brushed against each other. He kissed you, hard, and walked you over to the large, canopied bed. He dropped you onto the bed, perhaps less careful than he should’ve. He didn’t feel too bad because it caused your breasts to bounce prettily, making his cock twitch.

You laid there, looking up at him, feeling more aroused than you had in your entire life. He bit his lip as he studied you, trying to memorize this moment, too. You were beautiful in your long, flowing dresses and elaborate hairstyles, but you were exquisite just like this, laid bare just for him, a blush creeping down from your cheeks to your neck and chest. A ball rose in his throat, threatening to choke him with his own tears, at the thought that he would never see you again. He shook his head, quickly banishing the thought from his mind. He grinned down at you, leaning down and manhandling you onto your hands and knees. The time for being gentle had passed.

You gasped when he entered you, and you were reminded of just how big Littlefinger was in this particular area. He bent down so that his chest was flush against your back and began to move. He started at a bruising pace, slamming his hips against yours. Every single stroke hit that place inside you that made you see stars. He was relentless.

It wasn’t often that sex became so rough between you two. It usually happened when one of you had to let off steam for whatever purpose, and those times had resulted in some of the best orgasms either one of you had ever had. This time, however, the harder he pounded against you, the tighter his grip on your hips became, the worse you began to feel. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good to you, or that he was hurting you too much, oh no. It had never felt so good ever, and with Petyr, Master of the Brothels, that was saying something. No, it was something else. Something about the fact that this felt like a goodbye, like it was the last time he would ever see you, and he couldn’t even look at you, was slowly picking at your heart, until you felt hot tears start streaming down your face.

You were crying silently, biting your lip so hard that you were surprised you didn’t break the skin. Soon, though, you couldn’t hold it in anymore, and your moans devolved into loud sobs, startling Petyr into stopping. You felt him trying to pull away, but you reached back and grabbed his arm, knowing that you were stronger than you looked. He paused, at a complete loss. You were still crying, your forehead pushing into the bed that was slowly becoming damp with your tears. With his free hand, he began rubbing soothing circles on your back, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, sweetling? Did I hurt you?” You breathed deeply, getting your tears under control. You felt your butterflies return at the thought that he was genuinely concerned for you. You shook you head.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. Everything was fine, Petyr, I just…” You sighed. “I just want…”

“What do you want, Y/N? I’ll get you anything.” He waited, not wanting to push you when you were so obviously upset. You turned your head so that you could look at him.

“I want to see you.” He was silent for a moment. You knew he was far too intelligent and clever to not understand what you were saying. You watched his face, wondering what he was thinking.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at you. He always wanted to look at you, you were divine. He had been trying to protect you, and perhaps even himself, from what would happen if he indulged himself too often. Every time he looked at you, whenever you were in a room together, whether you were alone or not, he felt these…feelings that he couldn’t quite explain. It was dangerous. You were the daughter of Tyrion Lannister, niece of Queen Cersei. You were off limits to the likes of him. That was why he had to leave King’s Landing. The Queen had caught wind of the long hours he often spent with you, alone, in your bedchambers, and the next day he had received a raven telling him that his usefulness to the crown was no longer deemed valuable enough and that the Queen had decided to move him elsewhere. He was a dead man walking.

But you were right. He should take advantage of this precious time left with you. He nodded, much to your surprise. Gently, he pulled out of you, straightening his back so that he was standing above you. He tapped your thigh, indicating that you should turn over to your back. He helped you move backwards so that your head rested against the silk pillows at the top of the bed. You watched, still awed, as he followed you up the bed, hovering over you. He reached down and took your hands in his, dragging them up to lay on either side of your head. You smiled at how well your fingers fit together, like puzzle pieces that were made to be together. Your smile faded, however, as you looked at his face. His pupils were blown wide, the dark blue that you loved a mere band around the deep pools of desire. His lips were slightly swollen, bruised from your kisses earlier. His lips twitched upwards into a little smile as he released one of your hands to reach between the you and guide himself back into you. Your newly-freed hand flew to his hair, your fingers tangling into the strands and tugging slightly. He groaned, a deep rumbling sound that made you clench tightly around him.

Everything seemed to be magnified this time around. He buried his head in your neck, trying to stay grounded despite feeling like he was being completely overrun with emotion. He began kissing up and down your throat, unable to help himself. You felt his pace quicken as he got closer and closer to release. You couldn’t keep your moans to yourself, your voice growing louder and louder as your pleasure grew. You shouted his name when he nibbled at a spot behind your ear. He shushed you, giving your hand a squeeze.

“You must try to stay quiet, my dear,” he reminded you, barely holding back himself. In a moment of weakness, he maneuvered his head so that he could reach your collarbone with his mouth. He sucked on a patch of skin there, suddenly needing to mark you as his, although he knew that no one would be able to see it. The fact that it was there, underneath all those blasted layers of fabric that you insisted upon wearing while at court, was enough for him. He felt you tug at his hair again, the feeling sending shocks of pleasure-pain right down to his cock. You tugged at him again, this time pulling his head up so that he was looking you in the eyes. He stopped again, thinking that he really had hurt you this time. He raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for an explanation.

“I want to see you, Petyr.” He swallowed harshly. The hand in his hair lowered to rest against his cheek, making him lean into it. He took a deep breath and nodded. You nodded back at him, letting him know that you were ready. Keeping his eyes on yours, he pulled back, nearly to the tip, and then thrust all the way back in, pushing you further up on the bed. You moaned, struggling to keep your eyes open.

It was then, looking at you being completely undone by the pleasure that he was giving you, that he finally realized it—he loved you. He wasn’t afraid to leave Kings Landing because he would miss your cunt, he was afraid to leave because he would miss you. He would miss the midnight conversations, miss dancing with you, miss the way you could always keep up with him, miss your bantering. He would miss the way your hair shined in the sunlight, how your eyes lit up every time they saw him. He would miss feeling you like this, so tight and wet for him. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you in his arms.

He feels all of things so intensely, and all at once, that he can’t stop the words falling from his lips, so low and rushed that you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

Time slows down. Your world consists of Petyr and nothing else, save the things he is doing to you. This man, who had come into your life all those years ago, during that fateful jousting match, when King Robert was still alive, and told you stories with that silver tongue of his. Never, in all the time you had been together, had he said those words to you, although you often suspected that he was trying to show you in other, less verbal ways. In your heart, though, you had always done battle with the ghost of a woman who had broken his heart so long ago. Now, you know you had won at last.

Everything came back to you in a wave of ecstasy. He was grunting now, his head back in the crook of your neck.

“Say it again,” you begged. He lifted his head, looking down at you with a smile that made you melt for him. It was the kind of smile that made you fall for him in the first place, with mischief in the tilt of his lips but a softness in his eyes that showed more of him than the mystery he put up, like armor, for the masses. He attacked your neck with kisses, touching every spot that made you shudder and moan just a tad bit longer.

“I love you,” He emphasized every word with a deep thrust of his hips, bringing both of you closer with each second passing. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much,”

His words got more broken the closer he got to his peak. You could feel your own body tensing up, could feel yourself approaching the edge. You took his head into both of your hands, moving him so that he was looking at you again. Seeing how utterly disheveled he is, it doesn’t take you much longer before you come, your toes curling and your eyes rolling back into your head. The feeling of you clenching so tightly around him pulls him right along with you, and he had to bite down on your shoulder to keep himself from crying out your name.

It takes a while for you to come down from your high, and when you do, you are exhausted. He makes sure that he doesn’t drop down on top of you, but it is a close thing. He plopped down beside you with a huff. He was completely unwilling to let go of you, so he pulled you with him, moving you so that your cheek rested on his chest. You instinctively tangle your legs with his, knowing that when you wake up, you’ll be sticky and sweaty and gross, but needing to be close to him all the same. He idly draws shapes on your back with his fingers, thinking about what just happened.

“I meant it,” He said finally. You looked up at him, frowning. “I do love you. You will never understand how sorry I am that it took me so long to realize it. We’ve wasted so much time—” You cut him off.

“Don’t think that way. We’ve had plenty of time together. And besides, you aren’t going away forever. When you come back, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

He studied you, praying to all the gods, old and new, that you were right. He leaned upwards and captured your lips in a slow kiss. When you broke apart, you settled back into your spot and closed your eyes, drifting off into sleep. He watched you for a little while and drifted off as well.

#petyr baelish x reader #petyr baelish imagine #petyr baelish #littlefinger #littlefinger imagine #littlefinger x reader #aiden gillen #GoT #Game of Thrones

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 3

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

Ashara poked her head into the bathroom and squinted against the bright light. Catelyn got eye contact with her through the mirror and raised her eyebrows. Ashara had looked better. She was a beautiful woman, but at the moment she looked like seven hard years.

“Where are you going?”

“Did I say I’m going somewhere?” Catelyn asked.

She was going somewhere, but she hadn’t said a thing about it to Ashara and Cersei. She had planned to tell them about it, she really had, but then she had just never found an opportunity to do it. She had thought that she would be able to get out without them taking too much notice about it. That she thought because the two of them had a hangover from hell.

“You didn’t drink last night and you’re wearing makeup, you’re going somewhere.”

Catelyn turned around to look at her directly instead of through the mirror.

“I’m going out for coffee with Ned” she said.

Ashara smiled tiredly.

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you but I also hate you.”

Catelyn turned back to the mirror to examine her look a final time.

“What have I done to deserve that?”

Ashara leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Cersei and I are stuck here, hangover as fuck, but you’re all pretty and have a date with a cute guy.”

Ned had accepted her following request and Ashara and Cersei had deemed him cute based on the pictures he had. Not amazingly good looking, but definitely cute.

Together the two of them had also reached the conclusion that there was no trace of a partner on his social media. He only had pictures with more than two people in them, which made it hard to determine, but after careful consideration they had said that he didn’t seem to have a girlfriend. Which of course didn’t matter to Catelyn, but they had found it very interesting.

“Thanks, but it’s not a date.”

It definitely wasn’t a date, but she was looking good. Her skin was glowing, her hair cooperated. It was a perfect day.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m meeting a person for coffee, that’s what it is.”

Ashara rolled her eyes.

“That really just sounds like a coffee date, KitKat.”

She didn’t know when Cersei’s ridiculous nickname for her had stuck, but it annoyed her that it had. She had long since given up on trying to fight it. KitKat. Sometimes that was just who she was. A chocolate covered wafer bar.

“If you insist on it, fine, it’s a friend date.”

She walked past Ashara and out of the bathroom. The flat was gloomy and the air was heavy with the smell of what Catelyn guessed was lavender, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter what scented candle it was that Ashara had lit, the only thing that mattered was that Catelyn had an intense dislike of it. She was glad for that she had a good reason to get out of there.

“Is he aware of that it’s a friend date?” Ashara questioned as she followed Catelyn to the hallway.

He had to be. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to date her because why would he want that? She hadn’t exactly made a good first impression. Or second impression. She had been given multiple chances and had managed to fuck it up every time.

“Yes. I don’t think he would want to date me anyway.”

“Why?”

Catelyn tried to keep her mind off the social missteps she had made during her conversations with Ned. If she started thinking about that she would die. Well, she wouldn’t die, but she would have some trouble getting herself to their… friend date. And if she actually managed to get there she would have a very hard time looking at him.

“There’s no need to talk about that.”

A sly grin appeared on Ashara’s face.

“No need to talk about it, huh? Why’s that?”

“I’m an idiot, that’s all there is to say.”

“That isn’t like you.”

“My brain abandoned me somewhere in the middle, I don’t know.”

Catelyn really didn’t want to be that person, but she was smart. She was book smart and also did well in social situations. She was simply overall smart. Therefore she would have liked to know what it was about Ned that made her act like she had never spoken to a person before. What about him was so terribly special that she couldn’t use her brain? He wasn’t special, the only thing that made him stand out from the other people in her life was that he was Swedish. And there were literally millions of other Swedes.

“Good luck with your friend date” Ashara said when Catelyn opened the door to leave.

“Have fun here” Catelyn responded.

She was once more very happy for that she was going out instead of staying inside feeling like a corpse all day.

“We’re gonna order pizza, it’ll be great.”

Catelyn didn’t believe Cersei was awake and based on Ashara’s yawn she she guessed she would go back to bed for a little longer as well.

“Save me a slice.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“Come on.”

“That’s what you get for ditching us for a guy.”

“Is it somehow my fault that you’re hangover?”

“Cat, honey, shut up and let me be a little bit jealous over your date.”

Why was she jealous? She had a girlfriend. And it still wasn’t a date, Ashara knew that. Catelyn would get no boyfriend out of meeting Ned for coffee.

“You have a girlfriend, go on a date with her.”

“I can’t date anyone in this condition.”

“I want dinner no matter your condition.”

Ashara almost pushed her out the door.

“Don’t keep the Swede waiting.”

“Hey, I need–“

The door shut before she had finished her sentence. She supposed it was for dramatic effect, but it wouldn’t really work as Ashara had pushed her out before she could take her bag and phone. So she opened the door and went back inside.

“Did you not get my hint?” Ashara chuckled. “I was telling you to leave.”

Catelyn snatched her bag up from where it stood on the floor just next to the door.

“I appreciate your attempt at recreating a scene from a shitty movie, but I needed my bag.”

“I knew something would ruin it.”

“Want to try again?”

Ashara looked like she actually considered it for a moment, but then she scrunched up her face.

“Nah, it wouldn’t be the same” she said.

“Sorry for ruining it.”

“I hate you now.”

Catelyn descended the stairs, cursing the fact that the lift was still broken. She didn’t even know how long it had been since it broke. Weeks, maybe months. And when it actually worked it worked for five days at a time anyway. Catelyn was a world champion when it came to running in stairs. She was nowhere near patient enough to simply walk down those stairs, that took way too long.

When she had stepped out on the street she heard her phone’s text signal and smoothly fished it out of her bag. It was a message from Ned. She had got his number after they started following each other on Instagram so that they could have more direct contact.

Is it fine if Oden comes?

Her lips curled into a smile, he wanted to bring his dog. That felt like an honor. She didn’t know if it was, but it certainly felt that way. And she was fine with his dog. It was a large dog, she wasn’t a fan of large dogs. But Oden seemed very polite.

Yeah, it’s no problem

Okay, see you soon

See you soon

She put her phone away again and happily walked towards the subway. She had hoped it would be sunny, it was not. Maybe it would have been if she hadn’t thought of it. The weather seemed to work that way. But it wasn’t raining, and according to her weather app it wouldn’t. It was just cloudy. Which was fine. Cloudy was fine. But it made her a little sad because her hair was at its best with some sunlight at it, if she could say so herself.

She arrived there before Ned. The bookshop was closed Sundays so she couldn’t browse for books while waiting. So she looked at her phone for a bit, tried not to stare at people walking past her. She didn’t know where he lived, so she had no idea about from which way he would come.

But before she knew it he was standing in front of her with Oden next to him.

“Hey” he said.

She smiled.

“Hi.”

“I hope Oden isn’t a problem.”

She crouched down slightly and scratched Oden between his ears.

“Not at all. We’re best friends, right, Oden?”

Not that a dog could answer her, but it seemed like he liked her. He wagged his tail. She didn’t speak dog, but she believed that meant he was happy. Or at least he didn’t hate her.

“He trusts you” Ned said.

She had been joking, but she saw no sign of that he was.

“I’m sorry, I’m bad with dogs, how can you tell that?”

“Oh that’s not about dogs overall, it’s just Oden. He usually doesn’t let people touch his head. His brothers and sisters were a bit mean to him, and they would chew on his ears so he’s sensitive in that area.”

Catelyn previously hadn’t believed that she would ever reach the point in her life where a dog trusted her. She didn’t like dogs, and dogs didn’t like her. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. And still she stood there with a dog who according to his owner trusted her.

“I really do not deserve that” she said dismissively. “At all.”

Ned looked at her for a moment before answering. She looked back into his eyes. Grey. They were grey. And she was certain of that she wouldn’t forget it that time around. Even more so she hoped they wouldn’t go so long without seeing each other that she had time to forget again. But she wouldn’t let that happen.

“I think you do.”

Maybe she was blushing. She had no idea. All she knew was that he was very sweet and that she liked that about him.

“Thank you.”

She had probably held eye contact with him for longer than appropriate but he didn’t seem to mind. When she snapped out of it and averted her eyes, turning her gaze to the street instead.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

Ned sighed.

“I’m going to confess something” he then said. “I don’t know a lot about coffee, where I come from we drink it plain and black. So you pick wherever you like.”

Interesting that he had asked her out for coffee then. Maybe that was simply the first thing that had come to his mind when he asked her.

“Okay. Well, this isn’t my part of the city, I’m rarely here, but if we walk around the area I’m sure we’ll find something good.”

She was only there when she was at the bookshop. She had no other reason to be there, she only knew they had a good bookshop there.

“Sounds good.”

They started walking down the street with Oden ahead of them.

“Don’t you have coffee shops in Sweden?” Catelyn said.

It seemed so much like an exaggerated stereotype that she couldn’t really believe it. Sweden wasn’t all winter and woods, was it? They had cities and in cities there were coffee shops. Or so she believed. Maybe Sweden was a stranger country than she had initially thought.

“We have in the cities, but my family is from the country side so I didn’t have easy access to them. I learned to drink my coffee black. In the wrong company you could get shamed for drinking it with a little bit of milk.”

“Really?”

“Proper people drink their coffee black” Ned said in a heavy Swedish accent.

Catelyn couldn’t keep herself from laughing and he smiled.

“I drink my coffee black too sometimes” she said. “But that’s mostly when I’m too tired to put anything in it because I’m studying.”

“Everyday I thank myself for quitting math.”

“I get you, sometimes it’s all pain, but I like it.”

“I’m a bit jealous, I wish I was good at it.”

She was somewhat flattered by that. So he wanted something that she had too, she wasn’t the only one who was a bit jealous of the others talents? Maybe she was a bad person for feeling that. She didn’t really care.

“Do you?”

“I have always admired academic people, but I’m definitely not one of them. My brain’s not wired that way.”

“That’s funny, because I thought the same thing about you when you said that you draw” she confessed. “I wish I was good at that.”

Ned didn’t answer, so she looked at him to see if something had happened. He didn’t look back at her, seemingly deep in thought. Which confused her. Had what she said really been that thought inducing? She didn’t believe so. They stopped at a red light, waiting for the light to turn green so that they could cross the street. The moment she wasn’t walking she realized her hands were getting quite cold. She should have brought gloves, she realized as she stuck them in her pockets.

“I could teach you, if you’d like” he offered.

By then she had almost forgotten that she was talking to someone.

“What?”

“I could teach you, if you’d like” he repeated. “I’m not amazing, and I don’t know how good I am at teaching, but I can try.”

Catelyn wasn’t a person who lost her tongue. She could always talk, even in situations where she got nervous or embarrassed. She always had her words. That wasn’t always something she considered positive, but it was true. Though she believed that what she felt then was the closest thing to speechlessness she would ever come.

They had only met a few times, that was the first time they had actually agreed to meet up. They didn’t know each other too well, they were only acquainted with each other. And still Ned offered to teach her. Still he offered to help her learn something she had wanted to learn for many years.

“Would you do that?” she asked, feeling herself smile.

“If you want to, sure” he responded, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

“I have nothing to give you in return, but thank you. I would love to do that.”

“You don’t need to give me anything in return, it’s just a fun thing.”

It could definitely be a fun thing.

The light turned green and together with the other people who had gathered at the crossing they hurried across the street with Oden leading the way.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“What? No, I’m not cold at all” she lied.

There was no need to fuss about that. She was just too stupid to dress for the weather. Maybe she should have learned to after having been alive for quite some time, but she never seemed to do so. Her father would have shook his head if he could have seen her, he had always stooped her in the door and given her a hat and a pair of gloves.

“Are you sure? Because it really seems like it.”

She should have taken a scarf and a pair of gloves, she could definitely admit to that, but it was a little too late to think of it then.

“What makes you think I’m cold?”

“The fact that your shoulders are up at your ears and your hands are very deep down in your pockets.”

“Okay, I’m a little cold, but it’s nothing.”

If she hadn’t known herself as well as she did she would have looked in her bag to see if she by any chance had a pair of gloves in it. But she did know herself, and was therefore aware of that she would never put gloves in her bag. Looking was therefore unnecessary.

To her great horror he first handed her Oden’s leash, and then took of his own gloves off before offering them to her.

“Ned, there’s no need for that, you really don’t have to” she protested. “You shouldn’t have to be cold because I’m bad at wearing enough clothes.”

Ned didn’t listen to that. He merely took Oden’s leash back and instead gave her the gloves. When he did so his hand touched hers and she felt how warm it was. It could just have been the contrast to her frozen hand, but it felt like he was very warm. They would have made a good match if they were dating in that sense.

“God, your hands are warm” she said.

“I know, that’s why you need the gloves a lot more than I do” he said. “Put them on.”

The need to get her hands warmed up came out victorious in the fight against the want to keep protesting. And she was actually very grateful for the gloves when she put them on and felt an instant relief. They were way too large, but they were a lot better than nothing.

“Thank you, this is very kind of you, but never leave your dog in my hands again. He’s a nice dog, I like him, but I draw the line there.”

“Okay, thank you for letting me know.”

“I’m usually not this bad at planning” she then said, feeling that she had to defend some of what little dignity she had left.

“Just like you’re usually not late?” he quipped, obviously amused by her words.

So he remembered that, did he? That hadn’t been a lie, she was always on time. But the latter was a truth with modifications. She was a good planner, but not when it came to dressing for the weather.

“Yes, like that. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately.”

“I hear that’s what London does to you if you stay here for too long.”

“I think it’s Britain overall, it’s been too long since I was home.”

How long had it been since she visited home? It must have been in the beginning of the summer and at the moment it was the middle of autumn.

“Where are you from?” he asked. “More specifically.”

“Galway. Where are you from?”

“I doubt you would know it, most Swedes don’t know it. It’s a small town. And we didn’t even live in that small place, we lived a bit away from it.”

He was right, she knew exactly two Swedish cities. The two largest ones. And he said he was from a small place earlier so she had known it wasn’t one of those, but it had seemed polite to ask.

“I know Stockholm and Gothenburg, which one is it closest to?”

“Good question, uhm… Gothenburg, I think. But it’s about the same distance to both of them. It’s close to the Norwegian border, not too far from Sweden’s largest lake.”

Just then she realized that she knew absolutely nothing about Swedish geography. She had no idea about the name of the largest lake or where in the country it was. And knowing it was close to the Norwegian border didn’t exactly help, Sweden did have a long border towards Norway. That she knew.

“I’m completely lost” she admitted. “You’ll have to show me on a map.”

Ned laughed.

“Absolutely, but then you’ll have to show me Galway on a map. I have no idea about where that is” he said.

“Don’t you know Galway? There’s eighty thousand people living there.”

“I have heard of Galway, I just don’t know where it is!” he said defensively.

“Okay, small town boy” she chuckled.

He pulled a face at her, making her laugh even more.

“I know I’m not the most academic person, but you’re being unfair, big city girl.”

Catelyn smiled.

“Small town isn’t negative. I like small towns. They have an atmosphere and a feeling that cities don’t have.”

She thought of her grandparents’ house in the country side. She had been there all the time when she was a child, sometimes she had thought it was better there than in the city. Wherever Ned was from was probably lovely.

“Small towns are very different from London” he said. “My siblings dreamed of leaving, but I liked it there. It was calm, not much happened. A good place to make art.”

“You said your older brother lives here, right?”

“Yes. My brother Brandon lives here. I have two younger siblings, as well. A sister, Lyanna, and a brother, Benjen. They’re back in Sweden with my parents. Do you have siblings?”

“I have a younger sister, Lysa, and a little brother, Edmure. He’s twelve, he thinks I’m a total nerd for studying math. He thinks I should get a cool degree instead, like criminology. He still calls a lot and wants to come here to visit though.”

“Despite that you’re a nerd?” Ned chuckled.

“Yeah, despite that I’m a nerd. Apparently I’m still likable and a pretty okay older sister.”

“You’re likable. Och vacker.”

The first thing she understood perfectly, but those last two words she didn’t know. That was Swedish. Why had he started speaking Swedish suddenly? And what did it mean?

“Thank you, but I’m sorry, I don’t know what that second thing means” she said.

Ned gave her a look. She didn’t know what that meant either. There were many things about him that she didn’t know or understand.

“It was nothing” he said.

“No, that wasn’t nothing. If it was nothing you would have told me what it meant” she said, nudging him in the side. “Come on, tell me!”

“No.”

“You’ve made me cur–“

“This might be a good place, don’t you think?”

Catelyn shut her mouth and looked up to see that he was right, that was a coffee shop. She wasn’t sure of exactly where they were, she didn’t recognize it so she had probably never been there before. But they had coffee and that was the only criteria she had.

“You wait here with Oden, I can go inside and order” she said. “What do you want?”

“You already know what I want.”

“Are you sure you don’t want something more fun?”

“Proper people drink their coffee black, big city girl” he reminded her.

She laughed and then took off the gloves, handing them to him.

“Thanks for letting me borrow them, I’ll be back out in a few minutes.”

She opened the door and was met by a wave of heat. It was quite crowded, seemed like everyone had decided to get coffee at the same time. She placed herself at the end of the long line and then took her phone out of her bag, immediately taking up a translator. And then found that she couldn’t remember what that word was that he had said. Or those words. She was pretty sure of that there had been two words, but she couldn’t for her life remember what they were. And it annoyed her. It was annoying that he refused to tell her. Had it been something really insulting? But why would he say something insulting, she didn’t believe she had done anything to deserve that.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was one she had mixed feelings for. She had worked in a coffee shop for almost a year, and had quit just before starting to take classes that autumn as her working schedule didn’t work out with the classes, and she wasn’t allowed to change it. Coffee was a good scent, but some of her worst interactions with other people had also happened in that environment. She had to get a new job though, she was starting to run low on money.

When it came down to it she got him a latte because she couldn’t bring herself to order black coffee. It was too boring, she had to teach him to drink other kinds of coffee as well.

“What do I owe you?” he asked when she came back outside.

“Nothing, it’s on me this time. And you didn’t get black coffee” she informed him.

“I knew it. Is it a latte?”

“It is a latte.”

“I’ll accept it.”

“You sure you won’t get all soft from the steamed milk?” Catelyn said teasingly.

He took a sip from his mug.

“If I don’t survive the winter it’s your fault.”

“I’ll be sure to let your family know that.”

“Thank you, I’m sure it will bring them much comfort as they’re grieving me.”

“Most definitely.”

“Do you want the gloves?” Ned asked when they started walking again.

She didn’t know where they were going, and she supposed he didn’t either. Just walking could be nice too.

“No, I’m good. I have the warm mug now, and besides they’re your gloves, you should have them.”

“I’ll bring an extra pair next time.”

He wanted to see her more times. Things couldn’t be going bad then, could they? He liked her as well as she liked him.

“Or maybe we’ll see each other indoors” she suggested.

“That works too.”

They crossed a street once more and came out to a park. Why had she never been in that park before? It was a nice park and it was probably even better in summer. She would have to remember that. Maybe she could go there with Ned again. Or she could take Ashara and Cersei there. They went to parks all the time in the summer.

“What do you do in your spare time?” Ned asked.

“If you’re fishing for hobbies now I won’t be able to give you anything. When I don’t study I read, and spend time with my flat mates, occasionally I go to a pub or meet up with other friends. Well, I bake a lot, does that count as a hobby?”

She was actually a quite good baker, but when she thought of it she lived a very boring life. She didn’t consider it boring, she liked it as it was, but it wasn’t anything spectacular. There wasn’t much variation.

“Why wouldn’t it count as a hobby?”

“I don’t–“

Suddenly he almost fell to the side and therefore right into her. Warm coffee splashed over both of them as she stumbled over her own feet. She would have fallen over if he had not quickly dropped her mug in order to grab her arm and hold her upright.

At first she didn’t understand what had happened or why he had lost his feet, but then she realized that it was Oden that had suddenly pulled at his leash.

“För i helvete, Oden!” Ned exclaimed before turning to her. “I’m so sorry, he must have seen a squirrel or something.”

She looked at him, coffee all over his chest area, then looked down at herself. She had equally as much coffee, if not more, all over her. Had she not worn her coat it probably would have burned her.

Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t intentional. And no major harm was done.”

She hoped the stains would go away in the washing machine. Otherwise she wouldn’t be that happy, but she still couldn’t be angry at anyone. Neither Ned nor Oden had done it on purpose. And it wasn’t like he didn’t also have coffee all over him.

“Jag visste att jag inte skulle ha tagit med dig” Ned muttered to Oden. “Varför kan du inte bete dig när det behövs?”

The dog stood before them, looking at them with puppy eyes. Seemingly wondering why they had just stopped the walk. When Catelyn met his eyes he tilted his head, wagging his tail.

“And that means?”

“He’s not like this usually, I have no idea about what has gotten into him” he said apologetically.

She believed he had chosen to ignore her question and that wasn’t the translation for what he had said, but she couldn’t be sure about that as she didn’t know a single Swedish word.

“It’s okay, really. Accidents happen.”

He was still holding her arm, and they were standing quite close to each other. There was still some distance between them, but it was far less than when they had been walking. She was blushing, she could feel her cheeks burn. Why did she have to blush, why was that her first reaction to everything?

He noticed just seconds after she did and let go of her arm, then he backed away a step, avoiding her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for the coffee?” he asked, sounding deeply troubled about it all.

“I’m sure. Next time coffee’s on you, it’ll even out.”

Ned sighed.

“I really feel like I should in some way compensate you for this.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

It felt somewhat ridiculous to stand there and talk about whether or not he should pay her for the coffee while both of them were dripping with it.

She would have laughed if she hadn’t wanted to disappear into the ground, never to appear again. Both because of the ridiculousness of the situation and because it was so far from how it had played out in her head when she had thought about it beforehand. Nowhere in her imaginations had she come up with a scenario where they stood in a park together with his dog, both of them having coffee all over themselves. She should have expected it though. Of course she couldn’t see him one time without something happening.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again–” he started.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”

His expression changed from a very anxious one to one that indicated that he believed that she had completely lost it.

“Because I poured almost all of my coffee on you?”

“I poured coffee all over you too, this goes two ways. Oh God, we look ridiculous.”

She could always take some comfort in that they were looking ridiculous together.

“I know, I can see you clearly” he responded dryly.

As if he didn’t look just as stupid as she did. 

"Take a good look then, small town boy. I've never looked better."

She had probably never looked worse. At least when it came to her clothes. It was a good outfit, but the stains didn't really go with it.

"Det är ingen dålig syn."

The whole Swedish thing was fun, she liked hearing him speak his first language, but she was also already tired of not always understanding what he was saying. Communicating in Swedish didn't really work though because she didn't know a word in that language, otherwise she wouldn't have minded at all.

"I'm sorry, Swedish is a fine language, but I don't understand and this time you'll have to translate for me."

"That feels deeply unnecessary."

There was something about the look he had after he had said it that made her even more curious. Like a child who was pretending he wasn't guilty of something he had obviously done and was having a hard time keeping the mask up. What was he saying to her? And why did he refuse to translate it?

"Well, this has been very nice, but I suppose we'll have to continue some other time, because we're both in need of a change of clothes" she said.

She crouched down and picked up the mugs they had dropped. Then she walked over to a nearby trash can and tossed them in it.

"Once again, I'm very sorry” he said.

"There's not much to do about it, so no need to feel sorry."

They began making their way back towards where they had met up, trying very hard to pretend they were not covered in coffee. They actually managed to pass by fairly unnoticed, Catelyn only saw one person give them a look as they walked past. And that wasn't strange, she had seen so much weirder things than two people who had clearly had a little accident while living in London. Maybe it even passed as some sort of fashion statement. When it had just happened it hadn't felt like it, but it could have been worse. A lot worse. She still wanted to disappear from the face of earth when she thought about it, but at the same time she knew that it was definitely a thing she could get over. It had been an accident, it wasn't something she had done or said. That was always an improvement from the times they had met in the bookshop.

"Except for the mess I had a pretty good time" she smiled when they arrived at where they would walk different ways.

"We'll have to do it again without that part" he agreed.

"Indoors" she added.

"I'll bring extra gloves in the future, just in case we need to go somewhere."

She snorted, wondering if he really was that much of an outdoor person.

"That works too."

They fell quiet after that, unsure of what to do. What was appropriate? Could she hug him? That was what seemed most reasonable to her as a handshake was way too formal but she still needed to say goodbye in some way. Hugging also felt most natural to her. Though she couldn't be sure of that he was a hugger. She had never been more thankful for her phone ringing. Maybe a few times, but she was happy to hear her ringtone in that moment. She didn't have to answer it, but it gave her a little more time to figure out what to do.

"I should probably check who it is, I'm sorry" she said apologetically.

She wished she could have just taken up her phone, but it had somehow disappeared underneath everything else she had in the bag. Old receipts, two pairs of sunglasses, a charger, her wallet, a box with a broken bracelet that she had intended to get fixed, some pads. And that was only some of it. How had her phone managed to get down under all that? And when had she put all that crap in the bag? When she finally managed to find it she saw Edmure's name and picture on the screen, and she answered the call with a small smile on her face.

"Uncle wants to know if you're coming home for Christmas" her brother's little voice informed her before she had time to answer.

"Hello to you too, Ed" she chuckled.

"Are you coming home for Christmas?"

It was more than a month and a half until Christmas, why did Uncle Brynden want to know that already? And why wasn't he calling her instead of making Edmure do it? They had regular contact, why hadn't he asked her when they talked the day before?

"I am, but why does he want to know that now?"

"He said why, but I forgot to listen, I just know he told me to ask you that."

She had to keep herself from laughing again by biting down on her tongue. It didn't get easier when she locked eyes with Ned who proceeded to wave back at her despite that they were a meter away from each other.

"Okay."

She would have to call him later and see what it was about.

"What are you doing?" Edmure continued, quickly moving past Christmas.

"I'm out with a friend."

"Is it Ashara or Cersei? Or one of your other friends?"

"His name is Ned, you haven't met him."

There was a short pause from Edmure's side.

"Can I say hello to him?" he then asked.

She could imagine him in his room back in Galway. Sitting at his desk in front of the window of the room, picking at the flaking blue paint on his chair, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He was always like that when she told him about new people.

"Do you want to say hello to my brother?" she said to Ned.

He shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

She put Edmure on speaker and then held up the phone.

"Alright, you can say hello now, Ed."

"Hello, Ned."

Ned leaned forward slightly to answer.

"Hello, Edmure."

"Are you and my sister actually friends or are you her boyfriend?"

Ned raised his eyebrows in surprise and she felt the moment she stopped breathing, her eyes going wide.

"Pardon?"

"And that's enough!" Catelyn interrupted, quickly taking Edmure off speaker and putting the phone to her ear again. "Say hello to everyone back home and tell them I love them, bye!"

"But–"

She pressed the button to end the call. There was the reason for why not. She should have seen that one coming, she should have known. She could have spared them both the humiliation if she had just thought it through a second time. Edmure didn't have many boundaries, she had hoped that would grow away when he got older, but it never did. Though he still had some years left before he was a lost case, he was only twelve, after all.

"I had no idea that was going to happen, please forgive me" she said in a low voice as she put her phone back in her bag.

If she looked at him she wouldn't be able to see him again. She would have to delete his contact in her phone and erase every proof of that they had ever met.

"My older brother and my sister are exactly like that, I get you."

She had a feeling of that he wasn't looking at her either, but rather up at the sky.

"There's always some comfort in not being alone, I guess."

"There is."

She took a deep breath and then went in for a quick hug. Based on the way his whole body tensed at first she thought it had been a miscalculation from her side, but then he laid his free arm arm over her back and hugged her back. They were only in contact for a few seconds, but during that short time she once more got to feel how warm he was. His future girlfriend would be lucky to have him in the winter, it was nice. He was nice, all of him.

"We'll have to see each other again" she said when they parted.

"Definitely. Will I hear from you in the near future?"

Catelyn scratched Oden behind one ear. He had patiently been standing still and waiting while they had been standing there and talking. Why weren't all dogs like him? She would have liked them a lot better if they were

"You’ll hear from me as soon as I know when I can. Take care."

"You too."

She threw a glance over her shoulder when they walked separate ways. She did so every few seconds until Ned and Oden had disappeared behind a corner and she could no longer see them. She sighed, that sure had been a lot. They had done quite well, she would like to lay the blame with Oden and Edmure for that it had gone as it did. In the future she wouldn't answer any calls from Edmure while she was around people, it was better that way. Much better. When was back home and had climbed up all the stairs to the sixth floor she was met by ABBA. She hadn't even opened the door yet, but she could clearly hear "Dancing Queen". They were probably watching Mamma Mia!, Ashara loved that movie. Catelyn was almost positive she herself had seen the movie half a hundred times just because Ashara put it one at least once a week.

"What the hell did you do in order to look even more like crap than we do?" Cersei asked when she caught sight of her. "Really, what happened to you, KitKat?"

She felt like she was doing a walk of shame. Except for that she hadn't had sex with anyone, she had just spilled coffee all over herself and the person she had been meeting with. She needed fresh clothes. And dinner, she was starving.

"I don't want to talk about it right now, I need a while to process the whole thing."

"Sounds like a successful date" Ashara hummed to the tune of the chorus of the song.

"It was eventful, if nothing else.”

"There's pizza for you in the fridge, if that makes anything better."

Catelyn stopped to look at her, almost believing that she would start crying over some pizza.

"Really?"

"Yeah, go wild."

"I love you, I'll join you in a minute, I just need to change my clothes."

#catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ned x cat #ashara dayne #cersei lannister #edmure tully #my fic #raindrops snowflakes sunshine #im sorry its so late editing took a lot longer than i expected #but here you have nedcat oden and edmure #aka sugar and spice and everything nice

[mattatouile]

The Stormlands

If I don’t put this on AO3 or get it beta’d that means it’s not happening, right? RIGHT?!?!

—

Jaime stares at her across the corn field. Tall, blonde, broad and muscular, face in a familiar concentrated scowl. Gods, but he has missed her. He’s missed her stubborn mouth, her wind-tangled hair, her crooked teeth catching at her chapped lips. He still remembers the smell of her shampoo, and the faint scent of the cheap detergent they all shared on the road.

She moves between the crew, his old friends and colleagues, people he’s barely spoken to in five years. For a while, Podrick tried, sending Jaime text after text telling him how sad Brienne was, how much she missed him, how much they all miss him. But even those trailed off, and eventually he deleted them, if only to prevent himself from reading them in the middle of the night on his worst days of recovery.

For some reason, Jaime kept the texts from Catelyn ripping him to shreds for his weakness.

Brienne turns around to head back to the large satellite set-up and make adjustments to it. Even from this distance, he can see the gnarled scar tissue that consumes her cheek. He rubs the skin above his prosthetic, the sight of her making his missing hand ache and itch, the nerve endings reminding him of what he once had.

He gets out of the truck. The sound of his door slamming shut finally brings their attention to where he stands. Podrick, Arya, and Peck look shocked. Catelyn and Sandor look mutinous. The new weedy looking man--Hyle, Jaime thinks--looks confused. And Brienne. Brienne looks at him and her face drains of all color, her lips tremble in a way so familiar it makes his stomach hurt.

He sees her mouth move. He knows she’s said his name, even if he can’t hear her voice. Hyle’s head snaps to look at her, and when he glances back at Jaime, there’s a hatred in his face that makes Jaime want to laugh. That’s right, Hunt. You should feel threatened.

Jaime takes a deep, bracing breath and treks through the overgrown grass to where they all stand. Brienne starts to lift her hand to touch her ruined cheek, only to drop it quickly, her mouth thinning to a flat, unhappy line.

“Hey guys,” he lifts his own hand in an awkward way.

Everyone stares for a moment, before Pod pushes his way forward and wraps Jaime in a bear hug. He pulls away, a large grin on his face, and claps Jaime on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Not everyone is quite as happy to see him. Sandor looks him up and down with a particular sort of scorn before saying, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Jaime’s pulse thumps hard in his temple. “I’m back.”

“Back?” Catelyn asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I heard through the grapevine that something big was in the works.” He affects a neutral tone, trying to project the easy sort of confidence expected of him.

It’s Arya’s turn to spit a question at him. “Your weatherman grapevine?” She says weatherman like it’s a curse.

“We prefer meteorologist,” Jaime says automatically, a fraction defensively. Everyone just stares at him. He cuts his eyes to Brienne for only a second. She’s tense as a whipcord, her neck flushed instead of her cheeks, and he still remembers that means she’s furious not embarrassed. Gods, he wants to go to her and touch her, prove that she’s real. He sighs, dropping the smarm that fits like a too-small suit now. “Look, I just want to see if it works. If Oathkeeper succeeds, I think I earned the right to witness it with my own eyes.”

There’s a choked noise off to the side, and he recognizes it as Brienne, knows it’s a sound of distress. He looks at her, and the minute their eyes lock, catching for the first time in half a decade, she looks as if he’s slapped her. Without a word, she turns her back on him and disappears into her van.

#help #idk whats happening #twister au 😭😭😭 #everything trash #fanfic #jaime x brienne

[alicenttully]

Lesser Beasts

Notes: Trident Scene rewritten from Cersei perspective

It took them three days to find the Stark brat.

If Cersei was not so infuriated over what that thing did to her son, she might have found Arya Stark’s behaviour a little amusing. Running off like that – was she not meant to be the daughter of the Hand, and sister to the future queen? Perhaps the girl’s wildness was simply evidence that Lord Eddard let his scrawny daughter do as she pleased.

Scrawny, indeed. Cersei feels her jaw slightly clench as her eyes fix upon the girl. Her long face is splotchy and her eyes are red. Her hair is a frightful tangle too - but Cersei saw enough of her at Winterfell to know that is not entirely unusual; although the Lady Catelyn had made an effort otherwise for their feasts. The girl is alone in the middle of the room, save for one of Stark’s men beside her; a grave expression on his face.

Suddenly, Eddard Stark bursts into the room and ignoring everyone - rushes to his daughter. “I’m sorry-sorry-sorry.” The words come out of Arya Stark in a rush.

Yes, you’ll be sorry. You and your father.

“Shh, sweetling. It’s all right.” Ned Stark breaks apart from their embrace, but one hand is still on his girl’s shoulder. “What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?” He flared.

Cersei pounced. “How dare you speak to your king in that manner!”

Cersei has little love for Robert. Why would she – when she already has Jaime, her other half? It is Jaime who had given Cersei her three precious lion cubs- Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. Jaime, who wants her and who whispers her name in the dark and who proved that he would be willing to go so far as to kill for her.

But just as she must put up with Robert for now until Joff’s crown was secure, Cersei needed him for this.

“Quiet, Cersei.” Robert snapped. Cersei wonders if he is so wroth because they have kept him from his drink. Her husband turned to his friend. “I’m sorry, Ned. I didn’t mean to frighten your daughter. We just need to get this business sorted.”

“And what business is that?” Stark demanded; his voice full of icy courtesy. Cersei squeezed Joffrey’s shoulder before stepping forward.

“You know, Stark. Your daughter’s beast nearly ripped my son's hand off. Could have left him a cripple for life, or worse. She attacked him.”

“That’s not true!” The girl exploded. “She only bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.” A little. Cersei’s lip curled. She had got enough out of Joff to know that the wolf’s bite was not little. “Joff told us what happened. He said that you and your butcher’s boy attacked him with clubs before you set your wolf on him."

Cersei knows that it was Joffrey who struck first – nobody with sense would think that a scrawny girl with a stick would attack a prince with a sword. Joffrey has always been like that. But all lies often have a foundation of truth, and in the end, it was true that the direwolf had attacked her son. And no matter what Joff had done, he was a prince.

“That’s not true.” Arya looked like she was on the brink of tears. “Yes, it is!” Her son retorted. "They all attacked me, and she threw Lion's Tooth in the river!" Joffrey stared straight ahead as he spoke.

“Liar!” Arya screamed.

“Shut up!”

"Enough!” Robert roared. His voice cut through the children’s shouts. He looked towards Arya. “Now child, speak, and tell your king what happened. And you,” He cast a look at Joffrey who was glaring at Arya. “Will speak when she is finished. Until then, be quiet if you know what’s good for you.”

Arya took a deep breath, before diving into her story. When she got to the part where she threw Joff’s sword in the river, Lord Renly could no longer contain himself. Cersei could sense Robert’s temper rising – after all these years together and concealed bruises, she knew it well enough to know.

“Barristan, escort my brother outside.” “No need, Barristan. I can see myself out.” Renly turned and bowed to Joff. “Perhaps later you’ll tell me how a nine-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river." His laughter remained in the room as he left, like a poisonous scent. Cersei hoped he would stumble in the dark and break his neck.

Her son’s face was pale but despite this, he spoke without his words shaking. That was good- it was important never to show weakness. When her son was finished, Robert rose from his seat with the air of the man who would rather be anywhere else in the seven kingdoms.

“Seven hells! What am I supposed to do with this? He tells me one thing; she tells me another!”

“They were not the only ones there.” Ned Stark replied. Cersei felt herself start as she realized that the eldest Stark girl had joined them. Ned gestured to his girl, who like Robert, looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.

“Sansa, come here.” Cersei felt her eyebrows raise. He was really getting sweet Sansa to speak? Did he not care about her shaming his betrothed? Cersei knew full well how men hated to be shamed. All men were alike, even when they were still cubs like her son. She herself understood how shame could burn within you.

She watched as the girl cast two frightened looks – first at her sister, then at Joffrey. “I d-don’t know. I didn’t see, it all happened so fast-“ She said tearfully.

“LIAR!” Before anyone can stop her, Sansa’s sister starts striking her with tiny, angry fists. “Arya, stop it!” Ned Stark shouted, while his man pulled his daughter off his eldest. Sansa’s face was ashen and she was shaking from her sister’s assault. “Are you hurt?” Ned Stark asked, but his words did not seem to reach her.

Still, the girl’s outburst gave Cersei what she wanted. “That girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers," Cersei spoke. She turned to Robert. “I want her punished.”

“Seven hells, Cersei.” Robert rubbed his sweaty brow. “What would you have me do? Whip her? Children fight.”

My father had my grandfather’s mistress stripped naked and paraded through the streets because she dared wear my lady grandmother’s jewels. Cersei lifted her chin, defiant. “Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life.”

She saw Robert’s contemptuous eyes on Joffrey. Later, she would think how Robert rarely looked at Joffrey with pride. “So, he will. Well, all men must have scars- just don’t tell others how you got yours. Ned, see that your girl is dealt with. I’ll see to my son myself.” Stark sighed with relief. “Gladly, Your Grace.”

Cersei was not done here. “And what of the direwolf? What of the beast that savaged your heir?” Robert frowned. “I’d forgotten the damn wolf.” Stark’s man, who had remained silent until then – spoke up. “We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” 

"No? So be it.” But Cersei was not so easily shaken. The lovely idea struck her like a whip.

“We have another wolf.” She could almost taste the triumph. It took them a moment to understand, but when they did Robert only shrugged. “Do as you will.”

“Robert, you cannot mean this.” Stark protested. Her husband had reached his limit. "Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later, it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it."

“He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” Sansa’s eyes were scared. She saw her father’s answer on his face, and you could almost see something crumble within her. Cersei felt something dangerously close to pity stir within her- but she had to do this.

She did not like Stark. She did not like that Robert had asked him to be his Hand. She did not like that his girl made her son look weak. And what better way to send a message than by killing the sigil of his house?

"No," she said. "No, not Lady, Lady didn't bite anybody, she's good . . . " "Lady wasn't there," Arya shouted angrily. "You leave her alone!"

Her son’s betrothed had lost control of herself now. "Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise . . . " Ned Stark took his sobbing daughter into his arms. His eyes, begging, were on Robert. "Please, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please."

Cersei dug her fingernails at Lord Eddard’s mention of Lyanna Stark. Robert looked at his friend for a long moment, before turning to her. “Damn you, woman.”

He was so weak; Cersei couldn’t help but thinking. And I thought you loved Ned Stark well, husband. “Do it yourself, then.” The iciness had returned to Ned’s voice. “At least be man enough to do it yourself.”

Instead, Robert looked at the man who he had fostered and rebelled with, before storming from the room.

Cersei smiled. “Where is the direwolf?”

“Chained up outside, Your Grace.”

“Send for Ilyn Payne.” “

No.” Ned’s voice gave Cersei a start. "Jory, take the girls back to their rooms and bring me Ice."

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some sort of trick?” “The wolf is of the North,” Stark responds. “She deserves better than a butcher.”

Stark keeps his word. Although it vexes her that she never got the pelt – Stark having gotten the sentimental notion to have the wolf taken North, Cersei savours the memory of Stark's face the rest of the way to Kingslanding.

They were lions, and sooner or later, lesser beasts like dire wolfs, would have to bow to them.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #cersei lannister #sansa stark #arya stark #ned stark #robert baratheon #got #house lannister #house stark

[yougottalovegameofthrones]

Almost Home Pt. 7 (Robb Stark x Reader)

A/N: Wowza, this one ended up being longer than I thought! But it’s pretty angsty, so get ready. XD  Thanks for reading!

-M <3

----

I never knew how much love could hurt, until it finally did.  Every morning and every night that past following that dreadful encounter were bitter and painful. I could only wish that I had the sanctuary that I found in sleep.

At first, it seemed that Robb Stark felt the same pain as I did.  We saw each other nearly every day, and whenever our eyes met, the sense of loss lingered between us. His lips parted to speak, but I always found an excuse to leave before the words could be heard. My heart always told me to go back… go back to him and apologize for rejecting him so harshly a few weeks previous. 
But I didn’t.

In nearly every moment except for when I was in my chambers, I knew that Catelyn Stark was watching, whether if it was through her own eyes or through one of the many people working around Robb and I.

If we were to be caught together again… my life would be over. And although my life was not much at this moment in time, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing it to… that ogre, Ser Larris Smallwood.  Who knew what he would do to me before he ended it all?

With the potential dangers that came with even talking to Robb, I couldn’t risk it. And as much as my heart hurt for watching his face fall every time I said I had to leave,  it was for the best. He would find happiness again… in someone who truly deserved it.

“Y/N, once you finish starting the bath, would you please come join me out here?” Catelyn Stark called from her perch on the balcony, her voice almost humorous as the words left her lips.

“Yes, my Lady.”  I finished what she required before walking to stand by her side. “What is it?”

“I want you to look down there, and tell me what you see.”

My eyes followed her extended hand, and my heart began to ache at the sight of Robb down bellow, laughing with a group of men. “My Lady, I thought you didn’t want-“

“I asked you to look.” Her tone was more clipped. “Look again.” 
When my eyes fell back to the group of men bellow, I noticed that a maiden was now amongst them. Her hair was long and tied back into a braid, her dress covering her body modestly, and the charming smile on her face drawing all of the men in… and from the looks of it, she seemed to be catching Robb’s attention as well.

If my heart had been hurting before, it was nothing compared to how it was feeling now. Shattered, crushed, split in two. A lump grew in my throat as I watched the woman approach Robb and begin to speak with him, her hand moving to rest on his arm before slowly moving up to his chest.

“Her name is Lady Lylian Wythers.” Catelyn Stark’s voice commented quietly, but contently. “I have a feeling that she will make my son very happy.”

My body frozen in place, unable to move as I watched Lady Lylian draw closer to Robb, eventually leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.  My head began to spin, my eyes growing blurry with tears that I so desperately wanted to shed, and my hands began to shake.

After a few moments, Robb pulled away from the kiss and looked up towards where Catelyn and I stood. His face went slightly pale and he began to move towards where we were, but his mother grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back into the confines of her room.

“He may of thought that he found his happiness in you…” She whispered in my ear, her grip on my arm tightening. “But it turns out that any young woman can make a King happy.” She let me go. “Off to bed.”

I slipped out of her room and walked down the hall, praying to the Gods that I would not encounter Robb Stark in the way. Another hand grasped onto my arm and pulled me to the side, causing me to gasp. I came face to face with none other than the King of the North.

“What is it with you Starks about pulling people around by their limbs?” I snapped, yanking myself free from his grip.

“Y/N….” His voice was soft, as if he was afraid to break me with his words.

“What?!” At that point, the idea that I was talking to the King of the North did not matter. I was angry. No, I was beyond angry. I was devastated, and it would take more than a few kisses and gentle words to heal this wound.

“I didn’t know you were there.” Robb’s eyes were lit with remorse, and I had to restrain myself from feeling sympathy for him at this moment.

“So you would’ve kissed her if I wasn’t there, then?”

“I didn’t want-“

“Do not give me that load of bullshit, Robb Stark.” Judging by the surprised expression on his face, I don’t think he knew I had the confidence to say that sentence to his face. “You seemed perfectly content with having a pretty young Lady kissing you.”

“I don’t want her!” His voice was exasperated, and I rolled my eyes.

“Who do you want then, Robb? Or what, to be more exact? If it’s pleasure you want, I’m sure there are plenty of young women who would love to visit you in your chambers.”

For a split second, anger crossed his face.. But after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards his chambers, despite my protest. Once the door closed behind us,Robb turned around and pulled me into his embrace, pressing his lips against mine eagerly.

Without even thinking, I found myself kissing him back and the sound of satisfaction that Robb made had me wanting this moment to last forever. But after a few moments, he pulled away, his eyes gazing down at me wearily. “Does that give you your answer?”

“I don’t deserve you.” I shake my head sadly, and his eyes grow hard.

“Has my mother been telling you that again? Is that what she said to you the night that you ran from me?”

“And other things.” My eyes fall to the floor, but his fingers tipped my chin up, forcing me to look up at him.

“What other things?” Robb’s voice was gentle, and I felt the wall I built up around myself slowly begin to crumble.

“She wrote a letter to my family, telling them that I abandoned them because I didn’t want to marry, and of my location. Your mother said if I continued to be with you, that the letter would be sent out immediately, and my fate would rest in the hands of…” I shivered slightly. “My husband.”

It was silent for a few moments, and I looked back up at Robb. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were ablaze with anger. My hands moved to cup his face and his eyes met mine again. “You cannot tell confront her about this.”

“Why not?” His tone was filled with disbelief.

“She will still send out the letter. I’m sure she made plenty of other copies in the incident that you found out.”

“Even if she is my own mother…” His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I cannot stand for her to use her power to mistreat people that way. If she sends the letter, I will not let that man take you away. I’m the King of the North.”

“I don’t think this man will play fairly.” I whispered quietly. “He might come when we aren’t ready. Maybe even in the middle of night.”

“That’s why I need to confront my mother, and that is why you will be staying in here with me from now on.”

“But-“

“No buts.” Robb shook his head gently. “Your safety is not something to argue about. And at this rate, my mother will eventually find out again about us. I’d rather know you are safe than risk it by sending you back to your chambers.”

I let out a small sigh, and nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m glad you didn’t try to argue with me this time. “ A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “It would’ve been a much lengthier conversation if you had.”

“I’d rather not argue with you anymore. It’s a rather nasty affair.”

“I agree.” Robb leaned down and kissed me gently before adding, “I’ll talk to my mother in the morning. For now, I think we should get some rest. “

—-

The old man  had watched from afar as Robb stopped the handmaiden down the hall, his voice hushed but desperate. Eventually, the King of the North had taken her back to his chambers, and that led the old man towards Lady Stark’s chambers.

“My Lady… I have news.”

“I hope it’s good. I was just getting into bed.” Catelyn Starks voice was irritated as she approached the door to find the man standing there. “What is it?”

“Your son took your handmaiden back to his chambers. They were fairly quiet in their conversations, but I don’t think it’s good, My Lady.”

Catelyn Stark retreated silently back into her room, grabbing the addressed letter off of her table before turning back to the old man at the door. “Give this to the fastest rider, and get him on his horse, now. I want that letter delivered before sunrise.”

“Yes, my Lady.” The man nodded before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. Catelyn shut the doors, shaking her head with a smile as she walked back towards the bed. She had given that young girl a chance to make a life her. But she had made one too many mistakes, and for that… she would have to pay the price.

#Robb Stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robbstarkxreader #robbstarkimagine #robb #gameofthronesimagines #gameofthrones #game of thrones x reader #robbstarksxy/n #robb stark x you

[brbaabs]

The Dornish Bird - Chapter 3

Hey there! Guess who’s back? Our dearest (Y/n)! Today’s chapter is a little longer than the others, I hope you don’t mind. This is an angsty one too, I watched 02X01 again to get in the vibe. Bran is one of my favorite characters, I was shocked when Jaime pushed him from that tower. I tried to put strong feelings in this chapter, let me know if it was too much.

.Today’s song is also something to increase the angst levels, this one is a really special song to this story too. I hope you guys like it, here you go!

Word count: 2.759.

(Y/n) was done with the royal family.

She hated to admit it, and would never dare to say it out loud, but that was the truth.

She was done of Joffrey’s sharp words and Cersei’s stares. She was done with Robert’s manners - or the lack of them. She wanted to play darts with Jon or run around the woods with Arya, Brandon, and Rickon. The girl yearned for the royal's departure, but it wouldn't happen as soon as she desired. 

“Please Jon, let’s run away now! The king is hunting with your father, that’s the best opportunity we’ll ever have!”.

The boy hit a dummy with his sword.

"You know it wouldn't work." He said.

(Y/n) frowned, unconvinced. She was sitting on a fence, watching Jon's sloppy blows.

"It is better than waiting  any longer."

He swept his weapon again.

"You should read something, it would make the time pass faster."

(Y/n) deepened her frown.

"And since when do you like to recommend me to read anything?" She asked.

Jon snorted, hitting the dummy again.

"I don't know, (Y/n). Just go look for something else to do." He replied.

The girl examined his figure cautiously. Jon looked stressed, almost in a defensive stance. He never behaved that way in her presence, only when Catelyn was nearby. When they were alone like that, Jon would relax.

"You're avoiding me." She concluded. "Why?"

Jon tensed more with her statement. (Y/n) was far more observant than he anticipated.

"I am not." He said.

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You are." The girl insisted. "Did something happened?"

Jon dismissed her question with a nod. He avoided glancing at her, hoping that she would drop the subject. To his misfortune, his gesture only made (Y/n) more suspicious.

"You dare to lie at my face like this? Please, we know each other better than that. Tell me what is the problem." She stated firmly.

Jon's chest ached, but he didn't say anything. He hated to ignore (Y/n) like that. She was his only friend, aside from Theon. She was the only girl in Winterfell who didn't look at him with disdain. She enjoyed his company, laughed at his jokes and tended to his wounds when he had one. (Y/n) was important to him, he cherished her happiness. Her voice eased his stress and her gentle touch suited his tension. She was like a curative balm made just for him. He hated to treat her that way.

"Right, you won. I won't bother you anymore." She said, annoyed.

Jumping down from the fence, walking away from Jon as soon as she could. The boy watched her leave, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He hated that situation, loathed his actions. She didn't deserve being treated like that, especially from a person like him. He was the worst, he knew it.

'I'll warn you once, stay away from (Y/n)', he remembered lady Catelyn's words when she confronted him in the last night. 'You're not worthy of her affections.'

Sadly, he agreed. Even though (Y/n) made him feel normal, he was still what everyone liked to remind him.

He was just a bastard.

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

Bran fell from a tower.

Since her father’s death on the road, (Y/n) hadn't cried a single time. Not in the presence of others, at least.

Yet now, the girl wept silently beside Arya. Every soul in Winterfell was shocked by Bran's fall. He was a great climber, his quick feet never missed a single step. There was just no way he could've lost his balance. The girl could not accept that cruel reality.

(Y/n) couldn't believe her eyes were seeing the young boy like that. Unconscious, lying completely still in his bed. His chest barely moving from his silent breath. His brown eyes shut. His skin pale as snow.

"Just how could this happen to him?" The girl said, her voice shaking. "Have the Gods no mercy? He is just a boy!".

Arya sighed, worried. It was the middle of the night, the two girls should be long asleep. But the Stark girl heard (Y/n)'s footsteps through her chambers' door. She was having trouble to fall asleep, then she decided to follow the older girl. Arya was not surprised when (Y/n) entered Bran's chambers, she knew her friend wasn't taking the news well. The two of them spent an hour like that, watching Bran's sleep. Arya's heart ached with the sight. She couldn't believe her little brother could never wake up again.

"I can't believe it neither." She mumbled.

(Y/n) sobbed. Her hand caressed Bran's cheek lightly, she was afraid of hurting him even more.

"He's only sleeping, isn't he?".

Her voice was weak. Arya stared at her friend, frowning. She had never seen (Y/n) so sad. The girl's eyes were puffed and her face was red. She seemed frail, like a tiny flower shaken by the wind.

"He is." Arya said, trying to sound convincing.

(Y/n) gulped hard, taking a deep breath to calm down. Her gaze never leaving Bran's face.

"You should go to sleep, dear." She spoke to Arya.

The young girl bit her lip, uncertain. She didn't want to leave (Y/n) alone in that condition.

"What about you?"

(Y/n) smiled a little, turning her gaze to Arya's figure.

The youngest Stark girl was strong, (Y/n) knew that fact. And yet, her expressive dark eyes showed her concern. She was far too young to deal with that pain. Even holding so much strength in her soul, she was still a child.

"I'll be going soon, don't worry." (Y/n) answered. "I'll just sing him a lullaby, he needs a good rest to get better."

Arya hesitated for a while but decided to give her friend a moment alone. Her head was hurting, she needed to sleep too.

"Don't stay for too long." She said.

(Y/n) smiled softly, nodding one time. Once Arya left, (Y/n)’s smile disappeared. She felt like her heart was being crushed by an invisible hand made of iron. She felt helpless. There was nothing she could do to change what happened. There was no way she could help Bran. All the girl wanted was to wake him, but she knew it was impossible. In her thoughts, she could see the small boy lost in a dark forest. She could feel his fear. In her soul, she could hear him begging for help.

The only thing she could do to ease her spirit was the very thing she did to overcome her father's loss.

She sang.

The same song she sang to her father as his life slowly faded. 

Now she chanted as a tribute to Bran's life. She wished her call was able to reach his soul somehow. Perhaps her voice could lead him back to life.

When the song ended, (Y/n) closed her eyes. The girl had faith in the Old Gods because of her father, but her mother taught her about The Seven as well. At that moment though, she prayed without addressing her pleas to a specific god.

Suddenly, the girl felt a hand softly touching her shoulder. Her body tensed in shock, she raised her head. Who she saw though wasn't anyone she'd presume.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, surprised.

Robb's blue eyes stared at her face intensely as he approached Bran's bed.

"Sleep evaded me like a disease." He said. "You?"

(Y/n) dried her tears with he robe's sleeve. She lowered her face, trying to hide her sad feature from Robb's clever eyes.

"The same." The girl answered. "Why come here, though?"

Robb pondered for a while, (Y/n) waited for his reply.

"I wanted to see if he was fine." He said. "What is your excuse?"

She snorted, biting her lower lip before avoiding his question.

"I just presumed he might want a lullaby."

Robb sighed. He could sense a lie in her answer, but decided to let it go for the time being.

With slow movements, the boy took a seat beside (Y/n). The girl shivered a little with the proximity between them but did nothing to move away from his body. She was cold and his form offered some heat. She craved for a font of warmth without even knowing it.

"Do you think he can hear us?" She mumbled.

Robb sensed the worry in her voice, his chest hurt. Even without properly saying it, (Y/n) showed her pain through her words.

"I hope he can't." Robb said softly. "We're surely sounding like idiots with these odd sleepy voices."

A muffled laugh left (Y/n)'s mouth.

"That sounds like something Theon would say, I guess you are spending too much time in his company."

Robb's lips flashed a light grin.

"I guess you can say that." He said.

His works made (Y/n) smile, Robb sighed in relief.

The pair held their silence for a moment. (Y/n) could feel her composed mood returning to her as Robb kept her company. He was usually training, hunting or helping his father his Warden's duties. When the girl met Robb, he was sixteen. They didn't grow up together, but their relationship was so intense and strong that it made them feel like they had known each other for years. She felt calm around him, and she made her personal goal to make him laugh. Robb adored her as well. When they had time to spend together, it would always be full of jokes and joyful smiles. Seeing the two kids getting along so well, Eddard even considered marrying them in the future. The only person who knew about the Warden's plans was Catelyn, and it gave her another reason to love (Y/n) as her daughter. If everything occurred well, she would become part of the Stark family soon.

"I know that now is not a perfect time to talk about it, but I feel like I need to ask." Rob started. "What happened between you and Jon?"

The girl visibly tensed with his question. Robb mentally cursed himself for his stupidity.

He knew that (Y/n) and Jon shared a strong friendship. The Young Wolf suspected about Jon's affections towards the girl, but he never questioned his half brother about it. He enjoyed teasing him about girls, sure. But somehow, the boy avoided the idea of his brother and their Dornish Bird being romantically involved.

"I wish I had an answer for you." She said. "Jon's behaving strangely, I think he is upset with something."

Her answer made Robb think deeply for a moment. If (Y/n) did not know what was making Jon act that way, perhaps the reason had something to do with Ned's new position as The Hand of King Robert. That was the only thing that happened recently, and considering Jon’s odd behavior, perhaps he was aware of something. Somehow, (Y/n) would get involved.

(Y/n) concluded almost the same thing as Robb did. She could not comprehend precisely what was happening at the time, but she had a feeling in her heart that Jon was hiding something from her.

"He must be just stressed about the Royals' presence." Robb said.

His words weren't sure as he liked them to be, but that phrase was all he could manage to say. (Y/n) smiled a little.

"I bet he is." She said. "Aren't we all? I swear I'll die if I have to sing one more song about King's Landing."

Robb chuckled. He gazed at (Y/n), studying her face from up close.

He had always considered her as a beautiful girl, but something was calling his attention about her looks lately. As they grew older, Robb couldn't help but analyze her body as a man would do to an attractive woman. Her form was very appealing in his eyes. The way she moved, her skin's smell, her gentle voice. It all attracted him. He had experience with women before, but no other girl looked like (Y/n). 'Are all Dornish women like her?' He used to think.

"Robb? Are you listening?"

Her sweet voice woke him from his wandering state. The boy blinked once, trying to remember what she had said. He couldn't, though. All his mind could focus on was her graceful expression as she looked at him with her (Y/c) eyes.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" He asked.

The girl giggled softly. Strangely, the sound of her laughter sent shivers down Robb's skin.

"It seems my Lord is too sleepy to hear me." She said with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Robb rolled his eyes.

"You know you don't have to call me that way when we're alone." He said.

(Y/n) winked at him.

"And you know I'd never stop teasing you." The girl spoke.

Without preparing the boy of her following actions, (Y/n) threw her arms around Robb's neck in a sudden embrace. His eyes widened as his brain sent an automatic response to his muscles. His arms wrapped around her thin waist, bringing her body closer to his. As a consequence of the proximity between them, Robb could feel her frantic heartbeat. Even feeling confident about her actions, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel nervous.

Hugging Brandon and Rickon was one thing. Being held in Robb's arms was something completely different. 

"What is that for?" Robb said.

His voice was calm and low. His tone alone was sufficient to run a deep shiver down (Y/n)'s body, while his warm breath fanned the hair of her neck. She bit her lip, feeling something strange twisting inside her.

That was the first time she hugged Robb. Her body had never been so close to a masculine form. No man had ever embraced her so tightly against his chest. It felt like his body could fit in hers perfectly.

"I'm not sure." She breathed. "But it feels right, doesn't it?"

He couldn't agree more. His body was already responding to her womanly body.

"It does."

(Y/n)'s heart fastened its pace. She bit down her lower lip, closing her eyes to process the mix of sensations that were taking over her soul. Robb inhaled deeply, his right hand began to caress the girl's back. She hummed light in appreciation of his touch.

"Can we stay like this forever?" She mouthed her wish without realizing how it would sound.

Robb grinned at the thought of holding (Y/n) in his arms for the rest of his life. That idea was appealing.

"I guess we'll have to find out." He said.

(Y/n) smiled, blushing lightly and taking a deep breath.

At that moment, Robb's arms were the best place she could yearn to be.

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

Catelyn walked silently towards the wooden door of her son's chambers. The Lady of Winterfell tossed and turned in her bed to the point of disturbing her husband's sleep. Her mind was full of worries about her son's life. The uncertain future was shattering her mind harshly, and she could not stop praying.

Her mother heart wanted to watch Bran sleep to make sure he was still breathing. She feared to wake up the next morning and find the boy lying cold in his bed, dead because of his mother's absence. What if he needed her during the night? Catelyn would never let that happen.

Her bony fingers grabbed the door's handle, and she pushed the door slowly to avoid making any sound. She peeked through the opening before entering, expecting to find Bran's form still unmoving.

What she found, however, was not what the Stark Lady anticipated.

Catelyn saw Robb's back and sleeved arms wrapped around his neck. She couldn't see the person's face, but she recognized the (H/c) hair. It was (Y/n), her dear protegé, snuggling her face in Robb's neck. Bran's sleeping figure was forgotten by the couple, that was so immersed in their embrace to notice Catelyn's presence. Their gip seemed tight and strong as if none of them wanted to let go of the other.

That sight brought a grin to Cately's lips. Immediately, she stepped back into the hallway, closing the door without calling attention. She retreated to her chambers, holding her right hand tightly upon her heart. The satisfaction she felt was overwhelming, she couldn't stop smiling as a young girl.

That was exactly what she planned.

She was victorious.

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

That’s it for today, thanks for reading!  Reblog to help me, leave a comment if you liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reading <3

Tag list: @aspiring-fangirls-world, @evilunicorns4minions, @ aristocracy-y, @ black-widow-fangirl, @thedeacywaltz

I hope I’m not forgetting anyone.  If you wish to be tagged as well, please tell me. Thank you all!

~ See ya!

#got fanfiction #got imagine #GOT #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #reader insert #reader #dornish reader #bard reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #sansa stark imagine #sansa stark x reader #tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister x reader #jaime lannister x reader #jamie lannister x reader #more ships coming #long fic

[katlyn1948]

Firestorm: Part One

Firestorm

Katlyn1948

Summary:

London, World War II

Arya received her letter for evacuation while Gendry receives his to serve.

A confession leaves a lot of unanswered questions and one blissful night before one of the deadliest air strikes in history.

Notes:

For TO EVERYONE.

So...yeah.

I had to split this up into two parts.

The first is about family dynamics in the middle of a war while the next part will be about Arya and Gendry. I didn't get this up sooner because some issues have arisen, but writing is a good distraction. I hope to get the next part up on Wednesday or Thursday.

I just want to say thank you to everyone that follows me on Tumblr that have sent their love and support of what transpired this weekend. I truly appreciate all the kind words and spiritual hugs. I hope you enjoy reading the first part. It is funny and witty. It is a good part to read before the true emotions and action happen!

Chapter Management

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Chapter 1

: Part OneChapter Text

Firestorm

September 3rd, 1939

The soft buzz of static radiated throughout the room as the Stark family gathered around console radio. It was a large thing with a square body with a rounded top. Sir Eddard Stark had bought the monster just a few months prior in order to keep up with the wartime effort. His wife, Mrs. Catelyn Stark, thought it a waste of money, distracting the young children from their schoolwork. For the most part, she had been right.

Bran and Rickon would come bounding through the door, tossing their school satchels to side to catch their favorite afterschool program before their mother would return from whatever gossip circle she had attended. It was a welcome distraction to what was going on in the other parts of the world around them.

Sansa had not cared for the thing and Arya thought it interesting.

She had not seen an object so shiny and mystifying in her life. Often, she would sneak away from her mother’s teatime to listen to the radio shows that her younger brothers would commonly speak about. They were crude, rambunctious, and definitely not meant for a young woman’s ears, but Arya had been used to such humor. Her brother and cousin out aged her by five years and their conversations with other men their age would turn quite dirty on occasions.

Her mother would chastised her for frolicking with the older men, but she found it pleasing.

Robb and Jon had not minded their little sister tagging along; so long as she minded her business and didn’t insert herself in things, she did not know about. Theon, Robb’s longtime friend would often tease her for playing with the ‘big boys’ while Gendry, Jon’s best mate, would protect her from his snarky remarks.

She had much more in common with them then she did with the other girls her age and enjoyed their company, but when she began to develop hips and breasts, her mother was quick to put a stop to her outings.

Arya hated teatime and gossip. She was convinced it was a punishment strictly meant for her alone. Her sister reveled in her disposition, causing friction within their relationship and Arya would often tease Sansa about her lack of social interests aside from the boring conversations with other prima donnas.

That day was no different.

They were bickering, and had been the whole way home from school. Arya had tried to convince Sansa that there were more important things than what dress she would wear to the end of year gathering. Sansa of course called Arya a prude and stomped off ahead of her, leaving Arya to snicker with laughter behind her.

Now the laughter had ceased and there was only the radio with its disembodied voice announcing the one thing that sank the heart of millions across London.

“On this day, the 3rd of September, 1939, the United Kingdom has formally declared war against that of Germany. Parliament has enacted the National Service Act, conscripting all men between the ages of 18 to 41, with some exemptions…”

The sobs from her mother were piercing, while the fear across her sister’s face echoed that of hers.

Arya new what this news meant.

Father, Robb, Jon, Theon…and Gendry would have to fight in this bloody war.  

29th December 1940

The tiniest sliver of daylight had escaped the blackened curtains, shining through the small crack directly onto Arya’s face. The warm heat from the sun’s rays were welcoming and ushered in yet a new day in this war that had taken nearly everyone Arya held close to her heart.

She cracked open her eyes, squinting at the piercing light and quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She pulled herself up and glanced over to the form of her sleeping sister. Since the war, their mother had insisted that they share a room, ensuring that the other was safe, but Arya believed it was to keep her from sneaking out after curfew.

Sansa was a notoriously light sleeper and even the tiniest creak of a floorboard would wake her.

Arya pushed her duvet from her body and slipped out of her bed, wincing at the sudden shock of the cold floor upon her feet. Heat was scarce these days, due to rationing, and the luxury of such amenities was something that her mother could hardly afford. They barley had enough to stay in the house, not to mention food for five people, so things like gas for heat, or even the automobile her father had bought months before the war were not important.

Their mother had to sell a few of their fancy things just to be able to make ends meet.

Luckily, the extra shifts at the factory her mother had been working at helped offset the costs.

It was strange seeing her mother work. For as long as Arya could remember, she always saw her mother tend to the house or host important guests from her father’s work, never once had she seen her mother lift a finger to willingly work with dirt and grim. But this was war time and the factories needed workers. The only ones left to do it were able-bodied women, no matter what class they belonged.

Arya sighed as she sat upon the edge of her bed. Sansa looked so serene sleeping under the layers of duvets. There were times were Arya would climb into her sister’s bed just to stay warm at night, cuddling against her back, basking in the warmth her body emitted.

She felt almost guilty for having to wake her from her peaceful slumber. Almost.

Grabbing her nearby pillow, Arya chucked it across their room, hitting Sansa square in the head.

“Wake up. Mother has already left, and we have to get the boys ready.” Arya groaned as she stood fully, stretching her aching muscles.

Sansa let out an audible yawn as she popped her head from under her duvets, “Do we have to? It’s our last day in London, can we just enjoy it?”

“You sound like me,” Arya smiled, “But, no, we cannot. We have to pack and Bran and Rickon cannot do it themselves.”

Sansa scoffed, “Bran is perfectly capable of packing is own trunk. He has a broken leg, not a broken back. And Rickon…well, he will need our help.”

Arya nodded, “Right and we have to pack our own things. I want to finish before noon.”

She dared a glance over to Sansa and saw the knowing look in her sister’s eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t leave without saying goodbye and the only time I’ll be able to see him is right when his shift ends at the coal factory.”

Sansa sighed, “Mother will not allow it. If she finds out—”

“She won’t find out...because you won’t tell her.” Arya shuffled her way to her sister’s bed, taking a seat on the edge. “Make up something...I’ve gone to the library or to the market place...something!”

“Arya, I cannot lie to mother, it’s near impossible. She knows when something is amiss and she’ll see right through me. Besides, all the libraries have burnt to the ground.”

“Not Cambridge.”

“In last week’s raids.”

“Harrington?”

“Two months ago.”

“Mmh...Citadel?”

“That...well I think that one is still standing.”

Arya smiled, “Perfect. After we pack and we get Bran and Rickon situated, I’ll take a trip to The Citadel.”

Sansa groaned, “You’ll be the death of me, Arya Stark.”

“No, this bloody war will be.” Arya gave a quick pat on Sansa’s leg and shuffled out of their bedroom.

The house creaked with chills as Arya made her way to the shared bathroom her and Sansa used. The boys were still tucked away in their bedroom, warm under their duvets. There were times when Arya wished that the outcome of certain circumstances where different. Since the war, hundreds of thousands of men, women and children have died, her brother and father included.

When the conscription occurred her father and brother, along with Jon, Theon and Gendry had make their way to the registrar’s office to sign up to fight for their country.

Months went by and neither of them had received the letter.

That is until the New Year rolled around.

Eddard Stark was the first to be dispatched to some part of Germany undisclosed to them. With a week, Robb and Jon had both received their assignments and Theon was not far behind. The only left was Gendry, a low class bastard boy with only two cents to his name. Arya was sure that his letter would follow shortly after Theon’s, but it never came. There was some sense of relief that at least he was safe, but the worry she had for her father and siblings was insurmountable.

It was like this cloud of darkness hovered over her and her remaining family, just waiting to unleash the deadliest of tempest upon them.

On the evening of the 19th of June came her worst nightmare.

A solider at the door holding, not one, but two letter of condolences from the Prime Minister himself. One was for her brother Robb, his plane crashing somewhere in the middle of the ocean, and one for her father, a bomb mangling him beyond recognition. The only identifiable item were his tags of service.

Her mother wailed for days, clutching at her heart, trying to find some way to live beyond that night. Sansa’s soft sobs were echoed throughout the house and her brothers grieved in their own ways.

Arya had shut down. She didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, she had nothing left within her.

Her daily life was that of routine.

She woke, helped Sansa prepare what breakfast they could find, assisted with her brothers and make her way to the market with whatever money her mother would leave behind. It was mundane and that of a girl who truly was no one.

It wasn’t until a simple trip to the market place began her process of healing.

She hadn’t seen Gendry in months, yet there he was unmistakable as ever. His hair was shaved down, no doubt for the military and his clothes were covered in soot. He’d been working at the coal factory making wages to live his life. Even when Arya had meet him when she was 10, he was working the factory. It was a miracle that Robb and Jon even became his friend, for he only had an education of that of a 7 year old. But he was humble and kind, and had gotten her brothers out of tough binds, bonding them for life.

He was haggling with a street merchant for a loaf of bread, but by the looks of it, the street merchant wasn’t breaking. She had a few coins left over from her haul and was more than happy to help with the situation. It helped ease the tension that was rising and Gendry was truly grateful for the help.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said to him.

“Let me help you.” He replied.

He had carried her bags all the way to her front door, setting them down gently on the front patio.

Since then, she had made it a point to meet him every day in the market right after his shift, whether it be him walking her to her door, or to talk their minds off about anything than the war around them; a welcome distraction allowed Arya to heal the wounds that the war had already caused.

Shaking her head of the memory, she splashed cold water of her face, fully waking her from the slumber of last night. Shuffling out of her robe and night shift, Arya tugged on her work dress, securing the waist with a thing belt. She pinned her unruly hair from her face and slipped on the brown leather loafers her mother had gotten her just before the new school year approached. Her stockings laid upon the sink side table and all Arya could do was grimace. She hated wearing the torture device and cursed the person who invented such atrocities.

They were uncomfortable and unnecessary and she never understood the purpose behind them.

Giving herself a once over in the mirror before her, she nodded in liking and exited the bathroom, letting an annoyed Sansa in.

“It’s about time. I’ve been waiting to take a piss.” She scowled.

Arya shrugged, “Oh come off it! Just get ready and help me with breakfast. I’ll get the boys up.”

Sansa stocked off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Arya chuckled and cross the hallway to where her brothers were sleeping. Bran would be easy to wake, but Rickon proved difficult. Often times, Arya would have to dump ice-cold water of his head just to rile him up from slumber.

“What took you so long?” Bran scoffed as Arya pushed their bedroom door open.

“You know, I don’t have to help you. I could just let you fend for yourself.” She hummed.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Bran challenged.

Arya smirked, “Try me. You may be near a head taller than me, but I’m quicker and will knock your arse straight on the floor.”

“That’s not fair; I have a broken leg and a sprained foot.” He whined.

“Well whose fault was that? Mother told you plenty of times not the climb the banisters, yet you did, causing your misfortunes.”

Arya glided towards her brother’s bed and pulled the duvet from his body. The sudden chill of the air sent gooseflesh all along his exposed skin, causing him to shiver.

“My god, it’s cold!” He huffed as he outstretched his hands for Arya to grasp.

With a quick pull, Bran was upright and Arya was gathering his clothes for the day.

“Well when it’s near freezing outside and we have no heat, then yes, it will get quite cold. Now come one, I don’t have all day. I have to help you get dressed and packed and try to get Rickon up all before noon.” She chastised.

“I can get dressed myself, you know. I’m not a kid.” He said matter of fact.

He was right, Bran was just two years younger than Arya and was more than capable of dressing himself, but with a broken leg and bad foot, Arya was sure that he would topple over when he tried to shuffle his trousers over his cast.

“I know that, but if you fall then mother will blame me for not helping. So, please let’s hurry.” She gestured for him to stand and he managed the best as he could while Arya gathered his clothes. She tossed his shirt and sweater vest his way, allowing him to pull the garments over his head himself.

She walked over to him as he leaned on his bedpost, trying his best of shimmy out of his pajama bottoms. Arya chuckled at her brothers misadventures and strides to where he stood, helping him clothe.

Sansa joins the room as Arya his helping Bran into his trousers, quickly buckling them in place.

“Is he up?” Sansa asks as she points to the sleeping red head boy in the next bed over.

Arya scoffed, “What do you think?”

Sansa gave a curt nod, “Right, well I suppose there is only one way to do this.” She turns on her heel and exits the room as quickly as she entered, returning just a few short minutes later.

Arya is already trying to suppress a laugh while Bran looks on, shaking his head at his little brother.

In her had was a pot of cold water ready to pour on top of his head, “Rickon, I know you’re awake, so please save me the trouble of having to pour this on your bed. I’d rather not explain to mother why your mattress is drying on the front patio.”

Rickon shot straight up from his bed, rubbing his eyes in the process, “I’m up, I’m up.”

Sansa’s lips curved into a smug smile as she beamed with pride. There weren’t many times when she could out best their little brother, but whenever she did, Sansa would gloat the entire day if given the opportunity.

“Lovely.” Arya watched as Sansa turned in her direction. “There is a pot of potatoes boiling for breakfast and the toast is already set out.”

Arya nodded, “We will be down in a few. I have to help this one--,” she pointed towards Bran, “—down the stairs.”

Sansa gave a quick nod before turning on her heel and exiting the small bedroom. Rickon was in the corner, pulling his sweater over his head, messing his hair in the process. He hobbled on one foot while the other was sliding into the leg of the slacks Arya had laid out for him to wear the night prior.

“Be careful, we don’t need two of you with broken legs.” She chastised as he stumbled over his own feet.

“I’m always careful.” He smiled.

Arya chuckled as she passed the smiling boy, grasping onto Bran’s arm in order to stabilize him.

Their way down the stairs was sloppy, but effective. Arya had time to perfect their maneuvers, considering she had to do it every day for the last three months. He still had a couple of more week left in the cast, according to the doctor that came by every other week to see him, and Arya couldn’t wait to be free of the physical work. If she had a say in the matter, then Bran would have remained in his bed for the entirety of the day, with only a few bathroom breaks. Her mother nearly chocked when she mentioned such things.

Once Bran was placed firmly on the floor below, Arya left him to fetch his crutch so that she could be free to move about the house without having to worry about him.

He was a perceptive kid and could hobble from place to place when need be.

Arya shuffled quickly to the kitchen and began placing the plates upon the table. Sansa was preoccupied with the boiling potatoes and making sure, they were cooked to perfection before serving.

“Are those the last of the potatoes?” Arya asked as she finished placing the silverware.

Sansa nodded, “Yes, mother wanted them gone before we left. It’s be a waste of her if there were six potatoes left for just one person.”

Arya filled several glasses of water and placed them on the table, with Bran sipping his as soon as it hit the smooth wood. Rickon bounced down the stairs just as Sansa was depositing one potatoes on each of their plates.

“Potatoes again?” Rickon whined.

“Yes, again.” Sansa chimed. “They are good for you. Now eat up.”

Rickon grumbled as he stabbed is fork into the soft flesh of the vegetable. “Do we at least have salt this time?”

“Rickon when have we ever had salt? Since this war broke out, we are lucky if we get the damned potato itself!” Arya huffed in frustration. She would never admit it openly, but she was sick of eating potatoes. It was the only thing they had for breakfast in the last month and the same constant taste began to bore her palate. Of course, she was grateful that she had something to eat, for there were plenty of people who did not have so much as a crumb of bread.

Their lunch and dinners were quite modest as well.

Whenever her mother would leave the money for her to go the market, it was always the same items on the list. Cans of beans, stocks of celery, potatoes, and a pound of meat (if they had it). Their mother would come home and make the same soup, always preserving a little left over incase their rations dwindled.

It was difficult to adjust to such rations and often made Arya wonder what those who already had so little were doing just to make it through the day. She wondered about her friend, the butcher’s boy, who relied on outsourced goods to keep their business going or about the little girl, her sister used to watch when her mother would work double shifts at the factory. They barley had two pennies to rub together before the war started, and now she was sure they were dead.

But the worst of the what this war had to offer were the mandatory curfews and blackouts. Not a single light could be on after dark. Curtains were provided to block the ambient light, making the streets of London look desolate. Eating by candle light had provided issues and there was a time that Rickon nearly set the whole house on fire with his carelessness.

That’s why, when morning came, Arya would be the first up.

She wanted to bask in the sunlight and enjoy the hours of normalcy before having to cower in the shadows come night.

The market trips was only reprieve she had, so when her mother had abruptly stopped asking her to do this simple request, it nagged at her inner being. That was her time to spend outside with Gendry, her time to feel like a normal girl again.

“Are you packed?” She asked Rickon who had given her a scowl at her earlier outburst.

He nodded his head, not meeting her eyes.

“And what about Bran? Did you help him pack?”

Another nod.

“So you are all set to head to the train station come tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” It was a quick response that left matters solidified.

The rest of the family remained quite as they munched at their bland potato.

Most mornings consisted of the same old routine and this one was much the same. They would eat, read, and play a few games. Then Arya would head to the market, while Sansa watched the younger siblings. Then when Arya returned home, usually with Gendry at her tails, their mother would be coming through the door just a few hours later. The only difference was that instead of heading to the market to meet with Gendry, Arya would sneak to the coal factory where he worked. She was sure her mother had eyes at the market, so if she risked meeting him there then her mother would know before she even got home.

“When do you plan on going to the library?” Sansa questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Arya cleared her throat, glancing between Bran and Rickon to see if they were aware of the sudden change in plans, “As soon as breakfast is cleaned up.”

“The library? Why would you go to the library?” Bran suddenly chirped.

Arya cursed under her breath and tried to think of a good excuse to sway her brother in another direction. She could be sure that Sansa would at least try to keep her secret, but Bran was a differently matter entirely. If he wanted to rat her out then he would, unless there was something in if for him.

“Does there have to be a reason to go to the library?” Arya countered.

Bran shrugged, “I suppose not…but aren’t most of the libraries burned to the ground from all the air raids?”

“Not all of them. The Citadel is still standing, last I heard. I want to be able to take a piece of London with me, that’s all.” She assured.

“And you plan on stealing a book from the library?”

“More like borrow…” She shrugged.

Bran nodded, and then his eyes went wide, “Wait! The Citadel is on the same side of town as the coal factory. You’re going to see Gendry.”

Arya groaned, “Name it, whatever it is, that will keep you quiet.”

“When we get to the host’s house. You do my chores for a month.” He smirked.

“Deal, no shake on it.” Arya outstretched her hand for him to grasp. Bran had a smug smile as he spit into the palm of his hand, clasping it tightly with hers.

“Deal.”

#gendry x arya #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #arya/gendry #modern era #wwii au #firestorm #stark family #sibling bonding