#i think the REAL gendry would have been like

[angelltheninth]

Hey there!

I understand your requests are closed at the moment; that being said, I really enjoy your writing and would like to throw something out to you when you are at a point where you're taking requests again.

I would love to ask about reader losing her virginity to Jason. I love the idea of something similar to the Arya and Gendry situation, where Arya proceeds to ask him how many women he's slept with, just to make sure his experience is fulfilling to her for her first time.

If you don't feel comfortable with this please don't worry yourself. This was just an idea that I wanted to toss out there.

Thank you!

This is okay as a prompt, don't worry! Sorry it took me a while to get to it because it really is good.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, virginity loss, slight insecurity, gentle sex to rough sex, praise, clit stimulation, gentle dom!Jason Todd

Word count: 0.9k

A/N: I hope this was worth the wait!

"My body count?" Jason paused in the middle of lubing up his cock. "Depends on which one you mean. I'll tell you right now that one is higher then the other. And there's no overlap don't worry, I'm not a psycho." He wasn't a psycho anymore is what he meant to say. Well, only sometimes, when he wanted to scare his enemies.

Maybe you shouldn't have asked, maybe it was rude to him, maybe it was none of your business because you were already naked and ready to give him your virginity but you asked anyway, "The sexual one, Jason. I'm asking because, it's my first time ever doing it and... I want it to be good. Not that I don't think you're not! I want it to be good for us both and I want you to enjoy it and I hate comparing myself to the women you've already slept with but-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you don't have to explain. I'm not ashamed of my body count, neither of them. I was just curious cause no one ever asked me about it before. Not while I was about to fuck." Jason leaned down and pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips, his big, rough hand cupping your jaw and cheek, "I don't exactly keep track but counting the one-night stands, over 50. I was in a real bad place once as you know, sex was a good way to numb the pain."

That might be the only part of his past that he's truly ashamed off. He shouldn't be, but he was.

"Was it all... good experiences for you." You searched absentmindedly for his other hand and after locating it on the edge of the mattress you intertwined your fingers with his, reassuring him that he didn't have to share if he didn't want to.

"I guess? Some are more fuzzy then others, but yeah, I had fun with them, from what I heard after, they did too. Not to brag about my skill or anything but my cock is the subject of many women's dreams." He said, bragging a whole lot. "I know it's been the subject of yours."

"Mhm. And I'm ready to have my dream come true." You took his hand and pressed his fingers against your clit. Jason wasted no time rubbing, smirking as he felt your hips jerking up into his hand.

You whined when he moved his hand away but it was only for a second, the second it took him to press the tip of his cock against your entrance and push it in. His thumb was back on your clit, rubbing it in quicker strokes then before, "I think you're ready for me, sweetcheeks." To prove that you were you pushed him in deeper by using your legs, your heels digging against his tailbone, "Wow, okay, don't be impatient, you've already got me where you want me."

"Not yet." You whined, cunt tightening around his cock, trying to prompt him to thrust already, "Please Jason, I want all of it."

"I know, you have it, you have me." He kissed you, tasting the sweet drinks you had before, deepening the kiss, swallowing your groan, your breath hitching when he pushed past your hymen and sheathed his cock in your pussy. "You okay? Does it hurt a lot?" His eyes searched yours, worry seeping from him, the hand on your shaking hip rubbing up and down.

You bit your lip and gave him a curt nod. "It hurt for a second, but I think I'm okay. I've experienced worse."

"I know but that doesn't mean I want you to hurt." Jason put your words to the test with a slow and shallow thrust, barely pulling out at all. Your pussy clenched at the intrusion, at the dragging of his length along your sensitive walls, "You're doing so good, your pussy feels amazing, tight, wet, mine." He moved backwards again, and back in, dragging out every thrust.

When your body got used to the extra fullness inside you the pain began to fade, replaced by pleasure and anticipation of his next thrust. You met him half-way. Jason smiled down at you, his fingers starting to move on your clit once more.

Each thrust carried more speed, more force, more raw need until it was a symphony of moans, squelching sounds and sweaty skin against skin. Your heart raced as you tried to get closer to him, clawing at his shoulders, leaving deep red marks on them, "Baby... want more? Want it harder?" You moaned out a yes, you kept moaning it until his cock couldn't go any deeper, "It's so tight! You gonna come for me baby? Gonna give me your first orgasm now that you're no longer a virgin?"

"Jason, can we... together?" You didn't want to do it alone, you wanted to share this with him as much as possible. "I'm on birth control, so I don't you finishing inside."

"Thought of everything haven't you?" He preferred it this way, getting to experience this alongside you, hitting your inner walls with warm waves of cum as his body and yours locked up, hips flush together, his muscles bulging. "Holy fucking hell." Jason pressed his lips against yours, not ready to pull out, not ready to leave the warmth that your cunt provided. "It feels nice to have you like this."

"Part of your body count?" You teased, knowing that wasn't what he meant.

"This close. It might sound weird but being with you, it always felt like home." Who knew that Jason Todd got so sappy after sex. You, you knew now. "I love you, babe. I don't think I'll be upping this particular body count any more." There's always the other one to think about.

"I hope not." Hopefully you're the last name he'll ever add to that list, and he the first and last on yours.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #titans x reader #titans #titans smut #dc #dc imagine #dc fanfic #dc x reader #dc smut #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood fanfiction #red hood smut

[laurellerual]

Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass

My Featherbed has one of the most complete lyrics Martin wrote into the books. Its wiki page speculates that the 'real' title of the song may be Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass. I always thought this was the name of another Tom's song with similar themes, but that makes me wonder...

If this is true it could be an indication that we still don't know the full text of this song. It is in fact common for this kind of ballad not to have a real title, but to be known by one of their verses and Lay my sweet lass down in the grass sounds a lot like a lost verse.

In the first eight verses the lord explains to the lass how their relationship should be according to the traditional canons of marriage. In the next eight verses the lass explains to him what the relationship could be like, she rejects this canons and propose her alternative. Therefore the text as we know it closes with an open ending: will the lord accepts the lass for who she is?

Oh, lay my sweet lass down in the grass seems to be the positive answer to the lass's proposal. These words could be part of a final rhyming couplets, or a refrain, or two lines of a lost final stanza. Let's see:

One of the clues that My Featherbed and Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass may be the same song is the words repetition. In the known text of My Featherbed there are internal repetitions and by connecting these two lost verses other significant repetitions are added. Especially noteworthy is lay down which appear at the beginning and (according to my theory) close the song, with the reconciliation of the two lovers.

Another important clue usefull for interpretating the song in its entirety lies in the words the lord chooses to speak to the lass:

At the beginning of the song he says to the her: "I will dress YOU", almost without taking into consideration the lass' will.

And the lass responds reaffirming herself by telling him: "I will dress MYSELF", in a “this is the person I am and if your love is true you'll accept it” kind of way.

In the hypothetical lost final stanza it's againg the lord's turn to speak, but this time he has listened to her and learned his lesson. This time he doesn't say "I'll lay YOU down", but "YOU lay YOURSELF down". In this way he shows he understood her point and in fact he no longer calls her my lady love, but my lass because he accepted to be her forest love and gave up being her lord.

Conclusions:

I think this missing part of the song reinforce the idea of Arya and Gendry as an anti-parallel to Lyanna and Robert.

Also the missing verses thet tell us about the reconciliation of the two lovers, after overcoming the social expectations that separated them, may have been omitted on purpose. Why? If I'm right I expect that, after reuniting, Arya and Gendry will hear the song again, this time in its entirety, in a scene that may parallel Acorn Hall.

The end. I did my best with the analysis, but if anyone with more experience in English poetry than me would like to contribute to this post they are welcome.

#arya stark #gendry #gendrya #arya x gendry #asoiaf #asoiaf songs #asoiaf meta

[ghostlyturncloaks]

i don't know if you still answer asks since you're in more of a art-over-meta after the deactivation debacle (i do miss all the meta though! i hope you'll feel comfortable enough to speak up more eventually.) , but what are your thoughts on theon durden? for lucidity that's a theory that theon is the ghost in Winterfell responsible for the deaths and is repressing it, or at least 'A' ghost (along with the spearwives and big walder). personally i think it's kind of ridiculous and was literally disproven but i've been doing a reread lately and some things aren't adding up, like the credibility of the lords, some throwaway lines, and the mummer's play idea where roose is in the role of theon in ACOK and theon now is reek ii, who was already up to some murders then. so, what are your thoughts on this? have a lovely day!

hi! i do still enjoy asoiaf talk and asks! (i've mostly been pretty busy),

as for the theory that a dissociated theon is the secret murderer in adwd winterfell...

the pros:

as you said, adwd winterfell calls back to theon's acok situation: an 'illegitimate' ruling winterfell, his hold slipping, an increasing number of his men mysteriously murdered. lest readers forgot over the span of four books, grrm even goes out of his way to remind us:

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with sneak.

in acok, at least part of the murders are committed by ramsay, who is masquerading as reek. the fun parallel then would consist of reek, who is masquerading as theon, being a secret murderer, too.

adwd theon also calls back to acok arya: both are noble characters forced into a 'servant' position, made to serve roose bolton, both of them captives, torture survivors, eating vermin to survive starvation, moving as "ghosts" navigating sadistic abusers who constantly abuse them (and so on and so forth, i could go on).

again lest readers forgot over the span of several books, "the ghost of winterfell" will serve to remind us of "the ghost of harrenhal", and the threat in acok arya "he will cut off your feet" which plays such a plot-moving role (first terrorising arya and gendry into submission, then catalysing their escape) is recalled near verbatim by jeyne: "he doesn’t need to cut my feet off, I won’t try to run away, not ever".

the murders also call back to each other:

ryswell's man in adwd is "a drunk" who "pissed off the wall" then "slipped and fell" (they first assume) and broke his neck, whose face has been eaten off by grey jeyne* (*that specific dog, too! arya->jeyne, grey girl, etc). chiswyck, the rapist targeted by arya in acok, fell off a battlement, drunk, and broke his fool neck. mh! weese, (who parallels ramsay as local little sadist-bully), is eaten by his dog. hm! gelmarr, theon's man in acok, tumbled down some stairs and broke his back, rednose, a drunk, tries to drink less and takes a dog with him to protect him, yet dies. yellow dick in adwd is found with his dick cut off and stuffed into his mouth, while drennan is killed in acok with his breeches tangled around his feet. and squint was presumably eaten by direwolves.

well, there's only so many ways medieval people can get brutally murdered, i guess, but the sense of "hey, i read this one before" is certainly real and deliberate.

the thought then here essentially is: oh, in acok winterfell "reek" is causing murders and in acok harrenhall "the ghost of harrenhal" is causing murders, so wouldn't it be so poetic and beautiful and all of that if in adwd winterfell "reek" and "the ghost of winterfell" were in fact responsible for the murders?

which, sure, i can see the appeal, however:

the cons:

it is my opinion that parallels in asoiaf often serve to create an epic feel of cohesion across povs and subplots. multiple pov structures are not particularly unique in fantasy, but what makes asoiaf special is the extraordinarily high number of povs and the complexity of each, where even characters that aren't main characters, like catelyn or theon, or even third-tier characters like aeron, get complicated stories of their own. grrm once explained (i paraphrase from memory) that writing asoiaf is like writing multiple novels at once then finding a way to combine and balance them.

one way to bind these povs together, apart from the more challenging grind of wrangling the logistics and the plot of course, is using refrains, repetition, rhythm, little motifs played in variation across povs, callbacks, all of that. the sense created is that you are reading a mosaic of different tales that function near independently from each other and also form one coherent epic moving forward as one. very fun!

parallels can serve to tell us something about specific characters, yes, though not "character A is like character B", rather it's an invitation to pay attention to something: remember, you heard that one before! is this different now, if so, why? is this the same, what do you think? the aim here isn't always to connect two characters, it can serve to create a mood about the way or the state of the world.

it's also not foreshadowing: "if A parallels B, then to B will happen what happened to A". a lot of joy on the contrary comes from things being the same but different. same description, but used in a different context, but you remember it, so you enjoy it. same string of events, different outcome. same words, different meaning. same story different story, it's all connected, every individual counts-- the asoiaf mood.

well that was a lot of rambling only to make my point, which is that parallels do criss-cross adwd theon & acok arya & acok theon and none of this makes it appealing to imagine theon as secret assassin because "we already read this story twice so let's hear it again".

adwd theon is about theon's powerlessness and finding agency beyond this powerlessness, about theon as scapegoat for northern problems and desires which is tied to theon's lifelong role as hostage/sacrifice, about retribution as horror and questioning what theon 'deserves', (and so on).

if theon secretly had been able to act as avenger/warrior/killer all along that would imo break his adwd arc, undermine the whump of theon's bad state (barely able to hold his cup but he's doing all that), diminish the moving tale of finding his way back to action and the choices he makes: remembering his name, risking it all to help jeyne escape. it just wouldn't hit the same way had theon been crawling winterfell as avenger/brainwashed assassin for weeks beforehand. plus the need to explain how and why theon chose these particular victims. and i'm someone who is very excited in fic and daydream by an adwd/post-adwd theon that isn't all broken victim but also vengeful and causing problems. but this just doesn't appeal to me.

plus, grrm is quite decent at psychology, imo. characters make sense in how complicated they are. asoiaf plays with tropes including classic horror tropes, we have some dracula and some frankenstein and so on and so forth, so why not some jekyll and hyde, you might say. (that would be a pro i guess). but i want to believe that grrm wouldn't play it straight like that, and considering the way he writes extremely traumatised characters like tyrion or arya or dany or theon i want to trust him that he wouldn't then suddenly go: "ha! evil DID! bet you didn't see that coming, lol"

theon durden secret assassin theories pick up on the ways in which grrm writes theon's dissociated mind -- losing time, memory and perception and emotion being all jumbled, ambiguous encounters between psychosis and dissociation and reality, etc -- and instead of appreciating goes "oh this is a puzzle i must solve." no! just enjoy... this isn't to say that, should we ever get the next book, grrm won't use the pockets of time lost and fragmentation in theon's pov to fill them with additional knowledge that will shift our understanding of what happened (or tell us more about the hooded man). but it won't be a neat little personality split with a secretly skilled assassin hiding in theon's mind.

tldr; it's one of these theories so typical of asoiaf fandom in that they pick up on fun parallels and "cues" while dismissing character arcs and psychology. kind of like "wouldn't it be so poetic if arya killed jeyne" and all of these. playing with pattern recognition but uninterested in the characters themselves. not even enhancing the patterns... the theon-jeyne-arya & theon-roose-ramsay parallels are here anyway. this theory doesn't improve on them or add to them. it's just like, "ha! i noticed this!". not exciting, imo.

#theon greyjoy #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls

[ceescedasticity]

I started trying to clean up my Song of Ice and Fire SBURB/classpects thing for AO3 only to discover that, in fact, I may not have touched it for a year or more but that doesn't mean I'm actually satisfied with the most recent player roster or classpect sorting. Does not help that I haven't even been reading fic in this fandom lately but

What I do have is a beginning I like—

They were peddled as curiosities and toys -- trinkets after the style of Old Valyria! They were like large bronze eggs, about the size of an apple, which opened like lockets to reveal tiny mirrors on one side and some sort of intricate interlocking metal wheels on the other. Somehow it never occurred to anyone to take them apart for their valuable components. The people they were given to were very attached to them, and fascinated by them, and tended to keep them on their persons at all times. After a few weeks they mostly didn't even really notice they were wearing an oddly large pendant. No one else seemed to notice the eggs at all. Even under circumstances where they really should have. Even if they were pointed out, no one else ever tried to take them — they might take everything else, but never the bronze egg — and they forgot quickly. Certainly no one ever thought anything strange was going on. They were just toys, baubles, funny things to amuse children or girls or boys not grown up yet. Nothing of real interest. Any thoughts of how unnatural the lack of attention was just.… slipped away. (Later on the [Samwell classpect] would wonder if maybe they were Valyrian. In a bad way. But no one described the Doom of Valyria as flaming rocks falling out of the sky.) And then the [Daenerys classpect] in a house of Undying tripped a trigger she didn't know was there, and far away in a crypt, the [Bran classpect] awoke to a pendant gone suddenly warm.

—and then thoughts.

Daenerys is pretty solidly Witch of Rage.

Sansa is pretty solidly Maid of Hope.

Arya is the Time player, for associations with death (even though I'm sending her into the Medium before she can leave for Braavos). Class is probably Rogue, though I thought about Thief.

Bran is the Space player. Class might be Seer (for Seeing, plus "relates to other people in the abstract" and "try telling them they're wrong. I dare you.") or Bard (for the lack of boundaries and general WTFery of body-borrowing), or maybe Mage (active understanding).

Jon is probably Prince of Void, though Heir could do.

Robb is the/a Heart player, probably Heir, though I thought about Knight. He'd be Knight if the Game had grabbed him early enough in the plot.

Samwell is the/a Light player, and probably Mage. I've also considered noncanon class Gnome [passive accumulation class, tilts male, with a ''mythological role" similar to Sylph?] Or he could be Sylph, actually…

Theon is either Thief or Bard. (He has the selfishness for Thief but I don't know about the flair. Being kind of a creeper at times fits for Bard, and he can be embarrassing, and there's the general WTFery.) Aspect is either Blood or Breath, because he's desperate for both connections and freedom.

And I think that exhausts the list of 'people I would definitely include'. However, the gender ratio is unbalanced, and Danaerys is definitely the odd one out, and there are lot of other young-ish characters in the books with miserable fates that getting yoinked into a Game session never to return might actually improve…

Jeyne Poole would probably be Page or something noncanon, and maybe Life? Or maybe noncanon Aspect Bone [caution, indecision, taking a supporting role].

Gendry could be Rage or Doom, and maybe Knight? Or I have him as noncanon 'Clerk' in one of my drafts but I'm not sure what that's meant to signify…

Shireen I have down as Sylph, but Page might be better. For aspect I have Doom or noncanon Grief [conflict (vs. peace), struggle (vs. acceptance), chaos (vs. order)]… actually maybe she'd be better with Peace [peace (vs. conflict), order (vs. chaos), acceptance (vs. struggle)]?

Margaery would be the/a Mind player. She could be Sylph. She could also be Bard, or noncanon class Dame [mythological role "the dame walked into my office and I knew she was trouble"].

Jeyne Westerling would probably be Breath player, and either Page or something noncanon.

Quentyn I've considered for Mage, Seer, Knight, and Heir. I'm leaning Knight? I shouldn't be considering him for anything I did not read that book carefully enough. For Aspect, Doom? Or noncanon Stone [permanence, stability, not reactivity or responsiveness]?

Myrcella would probably be a Blood player, or I also have Life down apparently? Class either Maid or something noncanon.

Loras could be Heir or Prince? Or Knight, I suppose, or something noncanon. If we're repeating classes/aspects he's probably Heir of Mind. If not, something of noncanon Aspect Charm.

Arianne would probably be Breath or noncanon Fire [transitoriness, reactivity] or Nerve [Recklessness. Impulse. Decisiveness. Taking control.] Maid works well, but she could carry Thief.

Podrick is another candidate for Life. And another candidate for Page, for that matter. Or some noncanon possibilities.

And I don't even have that much of an idea for Tommen or Gilly but I'm not sure I don't want them included…

ahahaha this is ridiculous.

#crossover classpect #crossover classpects #things i'm not writing #apparently #writing babble

[fireismine]

ARYA STARK APPRECIATION MONTH 2022

Day 5: House Stark → Arya Embodying House Stark

The Stark look

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon's mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn't been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa's trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true. - Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

Frees Northern prisoners from Harrenhal

I need you to help me get those men out of the dungeons. That Glover and those others, all of them. We have to kill the guards and open the cell somehow—" - Arya IX, A Clash of Kings

Gives water to imprisoned Northern soldiers (even though she hates them for terrorising smallfolk)

Arya swung down from her horse. They can't hurt me, they're dying. She took her cup from her bedroll and went to the fountain. "What do you think you're doing, boy?" the townsman snapped. "They're no concern o' yours." She raised the cup to the fish's mouth. The water splashed across her fingers and down her sleeve, but Arya did not move until the cup was brimming over. When she turned back toward the cages, the townsman moved to stop her. "You get away from them, boy—" "She's a girl," said Harwin. "Leave her be." "Aye," said Lem. "Lord Beric don't hold with caging men to die of thirst. Why don't you hang them decent?" The bars were too narrow to pass a cup through, but Harwin and Gendry offered her a leg up. She planted a foot in Harwin's cupped hands, vaulted onto Gendry's shoulders, and grabbed the bars on top of the cage. The fat man turned his face up and pressed his cheek to the iron, and Arya poured the water over him. He sucked at it eagerly and let it run down over his head and cheeks and hands, and then he licked the dampness off the bars. He would have licked Arya's fingers if she hadn't snatched them back. By the time she served the other two the same, a crowd had gathered to watch her. "The Mad Huntsman will hear of this," a man threatened. "He won't like it. No, he won't." - Arya V, A Storm of Swords

Executes a deserter from the Night's Watch

The old woman's corpse was cool by now, the bravo's body stiffening. The girl was used to that. Most days, she spent more time with the dead than with the living. She missed the friends she'd had when she was Cat of the Canals; Old Brusco with his bad back, his daughters Talea and Brea, the mummers from the Ship, Merry and her whores at the Happy Port, all the other rogues and wharfside scum. She missed Cat herself the most of all, even more than she missed her eyes. She had liked being Cat, more than she had ever liked being Salty or Squab or Weasel or Arry. I killed Cat when I killed that singer. The kindly man had told her that they would have taken her eyes from her anyway, to help her to learn to use her other senses, but not for half a year. Blind acolytes were common in the House of Black and White, but few as young as she. The girl was not sorry, though. Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die. - The Blind Girl, A Dance with Dragons

#aryastarkmonth2022 #asoiaf #asoiafedit #valyrianscrolls #canonarya #arya stark #arya stark edit #book quote #agot #acok #asos #adwd #my gifs

[fromtheseventhhell]

since you finished asos, did you noticed a difference on Arya’s character? as in how george wrote her in this book. I feel like after rereading these books i noticed more and more and to me arya just was such a cliche-tomboy girl in this one,you know that type that antis love to say about arya? I felt that in this book which I didn’t in the previous ones. I don’t know but especially in the second book arya was so much more complex and deep and went through so much, and in asos for me it seemed like that went out of the window in a way, and just was portrayed in such a cliche way, without that emotional side and maturity that she achieved in acok. she is so young obviously but the internal thoughts and how she carried herself was a little more complex then in asos. don’t know if it makes sense.

So, I have to say I really disagree with this. Arya has never been written as a stereotypical tomboy and I think it really simplifies/reduces her character to say that she is. She certainly hasn't ever been written in the way antis, or the majority of fandom, claim she has. I'm not sure what measure you're using to judge but let's assume that it's the opposite of her being traditionally feminine. The real question is, where exactly does Arya have room to be more feminine? Her story in ASOS starts with her on the run and escaping Harrenhal, she subsequently gets captured by the BWB, and then by Sandor. The entire time she is traveling through war-torn land and in constant danger. Her behavior isn't her consciously deciding not to be "feminine" it's her adapting to her surroundings. TBH she has a lot more "feminine" moments than seems logical considering. She wears multiple dresses, bonds with Lady Smallwood and thinks about her throughout the book, she has romantic coded moments with Gendry, there's a romance song specifically related to her, and she even thinks of running away with Gendry like in the songs. This isn't specifically towards you but I would love it if people would stop labeling this little 9-11-year-old girl masculine. It's weird to try and judge her by such restrictive measures.

I also don't think she's any less complex, it's actually the opposite. I think this book does a lot more to show her state of mind and how things are affecting her. Arya is a character that George has always written beyond her years so I can see why some of her thoughts could be viewed as "childish" in comparison. Like you said though, she is very young. We really feel the weight of what she's been through and her desperation to simply make it back to her family. She is a very traumatized young girl and she's written as such. We still get to see her intelligence, her maturity, AND her emotional side. All of these things exist as part of her character but it doesn't make her any less complex. And how exactly does she go through less in ASOS? Was running for her life, being kidnapped, and witnessing the red wedding not enough trauma for her?

Hoping none of this came off as rude but because you didn't supply anything specific as to why you felt that way, I had to answer kind've generically. It just feels like Arya is held to a higher standard than other characters and criticized more harshly. Aside from Dany, I really never see characters being reduced and fit into restrictive boxes like she is. It's like people judge her based only on specific moments and don't look at the entirety of her character and development.

#ask #anon #arya stark #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #a storm of swords #asos #I have a feeling this wasn't the answer you wanted uh sorry #feel free to send another ask if you have any more specifics though if this hasn't annoyed you off #I just uhhh...why can't Arya just be a traumatized little girl sometimes without it making her less mature or complex? 😭 #her entire arc in this book culminates in her deciding to go to Braavos because so many of her family is dead and she has no way #to reach those who she thinks are the only ones who remain #she tried so hard to make it back to her mother and brother and because she was delayed by others she only manages #to arrive at the moment of their deaths...and then witnesses her mother's dead body being pulled out of the river... #she doesn't feel like she has a place with anybody else and feels abandoned by the pack she had in Gendry and Hot Pie #god she just goes through so much can she please get some rest or security in TWOW? probably not 😑

[thelustybraavosimaid]

@maisiestyle I took your screens but I wanted to comment on this properly. (Also not sure if you remember me from Reddit but hello again!)

There's something deeply hilarious about this take of hers.

A subset of Arya stans have convinced themselves that the purpose of her story is to show this poor underdog Cinderella heroine who is mistreated by her stepmother and wicked stepsisters

The whole point of Arya's identity crisis is just this, though. Sansa goes so far as to head to Catelyn with the premise that Arya is not her sister because she looks like Jon, and she thinks her mother must actually be *common* as a result:

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon's mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn't been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa's trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true. (Sansa I, AGoT)

For this, Arya didn't go to her mother, or her father, for reassurance. She went to Jon, and it was Jon who reassured her.

Arya does not have to be pretty enough to be the "prom Queen of the north", she needs to understand that *she was never ugly to begin with*. Better people than me, @maisiestyle included, have mentioned before about the ugly duckling motifs in her story. Will she be prettier than Sansa? No, and she doesn't have to be.

Moreover, one does not need to be the prettiest of them all to be a proper ruler of the North. This is what sets Arya stans from Sansa stans — beauty is not a major factor in her narrative and this is reflected in Arya stans' metas. What's more important is what is being learned. Lords of the north are joining Stannis in an effort to retrieve who they think is Arya, Ned's beloved little girl. Arya was called Underfoot because that's where people said she was often enough. She likes people of all creeds and is an extrovert by nature.

Her time on the road gave her a different, even broader perspective and she has an even stronger sense of justice as a result. She doesn't need to be the prettiest to understand the needs of the smallfolk and have empathy for those who are not her, or those who she would gain something from, she just does. Her experiences both before and after leaving Winterfell is proof enough. Mycah, Lommy, Gendry, Weasel, Layna, Harrenhal, Braavos, her time on the road shows how deeply she has learned and we suffer, and learn, and develop with her, every chapter.

But what is funny about this post of the OP's is this (I cannot respond directly, because I'm... unsurprisingly...blocked) is that Arya stans can't claim such and such because that is strictly belonging to Sansa.

The whole point of us as readers watching Arya's struggles and her development is to turn around the idea that duty and the roles of being a lady, a queen, etc, are skin-deep. It's not about looks, and never was. You need to have deep knowledge and know how to treat with people of all kinds, of different religions and languages, etc, and it would not do to uphold the status quo because the status quo is sexist. Standard Westerosi culture is not where a woman who does not fit the model thrives.

Ned indulged Arya with Syrio and the art of water dancing, and allowing her to keep Needle, but he did think that she would eventually have to settle down and marry (perhaps Lyanna flashbacks would serve here):

"You must," he said. "Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a southron court. In a few years she will be of an age to marry too."

Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran. "Yes," she said, "but please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven." (Catelyn II, AGoT)

It would serve as an important reminder that Arya and Sansa are *meant* to serve as polar opposites:

(3) Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite b/c too many of the Stark family members were getting along and familes aren't like that. Thus, Sansa was created; he ended by saying they have deep issues to work out.

[Source]

Therefore it is no surprise that George shows more deep development and analysis of the sexism of the Westerosi system with characters like Arya and Dany rather than Sansa. Therefore, it should not be understated the importance of her storyline and also the role she will serve/has served for both the North and for the endgame.

Jon Snow has me in him, and Sam Tarly. The women too, Lyanna and Shaara, and the girls, Arya and Adara . . . Daenerys Stormborn, searching for that house with the red door. And Tyrion Lannister? Oh, yes. The Imp is me in spades, the horny little bastard.

[Source]

Arya comes closer to being Sansa's wicked stepsisters (jealous, assaults her, calls her stupid, considered less pretty, unhappy Sansa gets the princes attention while she doesn't)

Arya was not jealous of Sansa, as @jackoshadows pointed out wonderfully [here]. She assaulted her because Sansa lied about her to defend Joffrey.

Also Arya never calls her stupid. Sansa only gives this:

"Rubies," Sansa said, lost. "What rubies?"

Arya gave her a look like she was so stupid. "Rhaegar's rubies. This is where King Robert killed him and won the crown." (Sansa I, AGoT)

A look is not a saying. And yet we have Sansa calling Syrio Forel stupid:

Arya was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. "Can we take Syrio back with us?"

"Who cares about your stupid dancing master?" Sansa flared. (Sansa III, AGoT)

--

while Sansa is much closer to being a Cinderella figure (beautiful, mistreated by her foster mother, associated with birds like Aschenputtel's doves, is given a beautiful gown by a mother figure, prays in front of a tree)

You will have to explain to me how any of these are even remotely singular to Sansa, as Arya has swan imagery in her narrative (and is called Squab to boot), is given the acorn dress by Ravella Smallwood, whom I consider a mother figure:

"I'm sorry, my lady." Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. "I'm sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty."

"Yes, child. And so are you. Be brave." (Arya IV, ASoS)

(who Arya remembers calling her pretty):

Arya spotted a yellow tent with six acrons on its panels, three over two over one. Lord Smallwood, she knew, remembering Acorn Hall so far away, and the lady who'd said she was pretty. (Arya X, ASoS)

and prays in front of the heart tree in Harrenhal and hears her father's voice:

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. "Tell me what to do, you gods," she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said. (Arya X, ACoK)

Not to mention that even before this moment, she thinks that the old gods sent Jaqen to her:

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. "How did you know I was here?"

"A man sees. A man hears. A man knows."

She regarded him suspiciously. Had the gods sent him? "How'd you make the dog kill Weese? Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell? Is Jaqen H'ghar your true name?"

"Some men have many names. Weasel. Arry. Arya."

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree. "Did Gendry tell?"

"A man knows," he said again. "My lady of Stark."

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. (Arya IX, ACoK)

All in all, though, their entire point makes no sense and I am *begging* these people to actually *read* these chapters every once in a while oh my fresh fuck

[mysticnightmarewrites]

the night we met - Ch. 8 & 9 (the two-part finale)

Having made the biggest decision of his life, Gendry comes face-to-face with Arya. Their pasts once took them in different directions, but now it's up to them to discover whether they can forge a new path together.

Read Ch. 1-9 on AO3

Read Ch. 1-9 on Tumblr

SONG: "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron PAIRING: Arya/Gendry LENGTH: 3.5k words WARNINGS: Explicit Sex (Minors DNI)

Chapter 8

Emotional vows gave way to a passionate kiss, and then everyone was seated around tables in the clearing beyond the heart tree. Before the servers started coming around with the food, the newlyweds took their seats at a high table, and Arya made her way to the portable stage.

She looked nervous for a moment, but then she looked over at her sister, and her nerves visibly faded away.

“When Sansa asked me to be her maid of honor, I was all, ‘Does that mean I’ve got to give a speech?’ Being the gracious woman we all know, of course she said I didn’t. But in the weeks that followed, I realized that I wanted to. But I didn’t quite know what to say. If you’d asked me to give a speech like this when I was 12, I would have gone on and on about how much of an annoyance my girly, older sister was and how snobby her friends were. But a lot has changed since then. Sansa changed. I changed. And our family changed when we lost our beloved father. I know Dad would be so proud of you and happy for you and Pod.”

With one hand, Sansa clutched the golden locket, and with the other, she held onto Pod’s hand.

“But if you’d asked me to write this speech last night, which is when I wrote this, I would have told you I didn’t have a lot to say. I’d been away in Braavos for most of Sansa and Pod’s relationship. And we all love Pod don’t we? So what is there to even say. But I realized as the midnight oil burned that I could, in fact, speak about love. I know what you must all be thinking. What does Arya Stark, the girl who was born with the wolf’s blood, know about love? Well, it might surprise some of you to know I’ve fallen in love before. And one thing I know about love is sometimes it finds you when you’re not quite ready. I was there when Sansa met Pod for the first time, in their senior year of uni, both going to different schools, but fate brought them together. The time hadn’t been right for them then. They went their separate ways after that week. But when the time was right, they found each other again, and their love has brought us all together today. A toast to all the days to come. To the happy couple!”

She raised her champagne flute and brought it to her lips, and the other guests followed suit.

The alcohol burned in the back of my throat as I tried to swallow it down without choking. It seemed like she’d been talking about more than just Pod and Sansa, and I couldn’t quite process it with all the cheerful conversations drifting around under the tent.

And when the dancing started, I watched her twirling around in the arms of a tall, curly-haired man, and I wondered if she’d found love again. I couldn’t watch for long. It hurt too much. But I took small bites of the pink wedding cake, and for the first time in years, the frosting tasted sweet, and I let it fill me up. There was a way forward now. A way to forgive the pain, but never forget.

I stood up, pulled on my spotless jacket, and sighed at the small stain on my dress shirt. There was nothing left to stay for. Soon, I’d never stand in the same space as Arya Stark again. This time for real. I turned to head toward the little bridge that led to the ceremony space when a hand tapped my shoulder. “Hey, there you are!”

I sized up the man behind me. He was tall, and his dark hair fell in curls around his shoulders. It was the same man. And at the same time, I realized, it was Jon all along. I’d only met him once, briefly, but he was usually off in the North working on his post-doctoral study on ancient and modern wolves. I hadn’t been sure he’d even come. Things were at times still tense between him and Catelyn, I knew, because raising the result of her sister-in-law’s teen pregnancy hadn’t won her any friends in high society, as if that had been Jon’s fault.

“Sansa made me come,” I spat out frantically, as if I needed an excuse to be there, not realizing the awkward double meaning until the words were already out of my mouth.

“Me too. ‘You just have to be there for my–’”

“‘Special day,’” I said, finishing his impeccable impression of Sansa. “So you got a phone call too?”

“I wish. She showed up at my door three days ago and drove me down. Said Arya’d be devastated if I didn’t come. She was right.”

“She usually is,” I sighed.

“Anyway, Arya mentioned you’re a really excellent mechanic and you own your own shop now.” Had Arya been keeping tabs on me? It felt like too much to hope for. “I was wondering if I could stop by your shop sometime this week. I’d love to learn how to work on engines. Our snowmobile keeps breaking down, and I need to be able to fix it in the field. What do you say?”

I nodded, mute, as I watched the woman in question walk toward us. My mouth went dry. “Is he bothering you?” she asked, just as sharp as I remembered her.

“Nah. Starks are always welcome at my shop. They always were.” I was amazed my mouth was able to form words at all.

Arya’s smile made the effort worth it. “Go on then, Jon. Tell Sansa I’ll see her off tomorrow morning at brunch. They’re going to Lys,” she said, turning back to me.

I watched Jon leave like he was my last lifeline, but it soon became clear it was just going to be me and Arya, alone, again.

“So…Gendry.” She said my name like a statement.

“Arya.” I said her name like a prayer.

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m glad you came.” The sincerity shined through her eyes.

“I was going to head out, but if you keep talking like that, I might have to stick around a bit despite everything. This place isn’t really my scene.” I felt stupid the moment the words came out of my mouth. “Want to get out of here, then?” she asked, and my heart dropped to the floor, open and exposed for everyone to see, especially her.

“Depends.” She tilted her head. “How do you feel about motorcycles?”

“You still have the old bull?” there was excitement in her eyes.

“He sputtered out a few years back. But I’ve got something better now.”

We made our way out to the front, where the wolf was waiting. The shape was emblazoned in silver along its side and on the matching helmets. Arya reached for one, but froze before she could take it from me.

“A wolf?” She looked incredulous. “I thought you’d hate everything Stark-related.” She laughed, but it was empty, not the laugh I’d grown to know over our years together.

“I couldn’t bring myself to. It hurt too much for it to have ever been hate.”

She got on behind me, and the moment we touched – for the first time in years – I melted into my seat. We sped off down the road, and I instinctively took the route we had taken on that very first night. It all looked so similar, touched by the lingering heat of summer, and I pulled up to the grassy hill just like I had before. Side by side, we lay down on the grass in the way we’d always done before, even though everything was different now.

“How was Braavos?” I finally asked, the words cutting through the silence.

Arya kept her eyes fixed on the few stars twinkling to life above us. “Wonderful. Better than I had ever imagined. You wouldn’t believe the kind of research I got to do over there. And there were the nude beaches too,” she added, turning to look at me.

“I’m glad you’re happy.” And I meant it.

“Heard you got your degree.” It sounded like she was deflecting away from herself.

“How’d you know?”

She shrugged. “I have my ways. I was proud of you for that, you know? I wished I’d been there to see you graduate.” When she rolled over, a hand carelessly started to wander over my chest, as if seeking out the beating of my heart.

“How long until you go back?” How much longer until I never see you again, I wanted to ask.

“I’m not going back. I got what I was looking for out of Braavos. My boss didn’t want to let me go, but I was all, ‘A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I am going home.’” At first, I couldn’t believe it, and there was a dumb smile on my face, but then I heard her odd phrasing. Arya could see the furrowing of my brow before I could ask. “Jaqen’s Lorathi. It’s just how they talk there.”

In my joy, I found myself turning on my side and pulling Arya into me. It was impossible to resist her, not with her hand drifting lower and lower as we talked. “I’ve never forgotten you, you know. Not for a single second. I never hoped to ever see you again. Definitely never hoped to lay here with you like this again.”

“Well here I am,” she said, definitively, placing a small kiss on my neck. But she pulled away shortly after. “You never got married or anything like that, did you?” She asked.

“No. No one ever lived up to a girl I used to date in college. You?”

“Nope. Couldn’t find anyone better than the stupid bull I left behind.”

“Good,” I said, heart soaring, as I dropped my lips to hers.

Chapter 9

I never liked to think too much about what my world had been like before Arya had touched me, emotionally and then physically. There was a before Arya and an after Arya, and even when she left, that clear line still settled firmly in my past. My childhood had been hard. I'd had no one that so much as gave a fuck about me. My foster parents pushed me out on the stoop of their brownstone the second I turned 18. I'd never even really had friends before. People always found me equally a little too blunt and a little too quiet. And the only thing I could talk about at much length was cars. And most people seemed bored of that after 30 minutes of in-depth detail about how engines run. But figuring out what made a car tick was a lot easier than figuring out people, and I had learned that lesson the hard way over and over.

There had been the occasional girl, who only stuck around for a quick go behind the school, but I had always been left empty, panting, back against a tree, with nothing but a soft cock to show for it. There had always been a longing in my chest for something more. And when I moved into a shitty five-bedroom house with a bunch of guys I barely knew, it wasn't easy to bring women over anyway.

But ever since the night I danced with Arya Stark on a dive bar's sticky dance floor, it finally felt like the piece I had been missing my whole life had clicked into place. It wasn't just about the magnetic attraction I'd felt for her even then, either. She was the best friend I had always longed for. We tossed popcorn at movie theater screens, skated down at the park, and she threw me the first birthday party I'd had since my mom died.

She had most of me those days, and the night we broke through the last wall between us and I took her on the grass at High Heart, she had all of me. And I had wanted to give that to her every day for the rest of my life. Before Arya was loneliness and isolation. After Arya was warmth and a sense of belonging. And now that I could once more touch her in every way I had once before, I felt those same feelings flooding through my body.

Roughly, I tugged her dress up around her waist, and she leaned up to help, her fingers already working on the buttons of my shirt. Once she pulled it off my shoulders, she reached down to trace her finger slowly against my clothed cock.

"Fuck, Arya. I've been fantasizing about you for almost a decade. You're gonna make me come in my pants."

"Then I suppose we should get them off you."

"Not yet," I said, batting her hands away when they went to the button of my pants. Instead, I reached for the hem of her dress again, almost ripping it in my haste to get it over her head. "Tell me, did you get naked on that nude beach?" It was the only thing I could think about with so much of her bare skin in front of me.

She played with the lace of her tiny bralette, as if she wanted to completely wreck me in the way that only she could.

"Why? Have you been fantasizing about that all this time?" I couldn’t help myself. I betrayed myself with a nod. “Did you picture me, on the beach, stripped down to just my underwear, just like this,” she said, sprawling out on the grass and arching her back. “I bet next I reach around like this and unclasp my bra.” The cups fell away, the straps slipping down her arms, a tantalizing nipple peeking out at me.

It was too much. I lunged forward, trying to pull that nipple into my mouth. It had been too long since I last tasted her there. But she met me with a firm hand. “Not yet. You weren’t there when I was on that beach, after all.” There was a new, sweet kind of pain burning in my eyes as I watched her slowly wiggle out of the last scraps of fabric on her.

“I did think about you that day, though,” she said, suddenly just as raw as I felt. “I laid on the beach, admired all the lingering looks I got, and wondered what it’d have been like if you were there, getting all jealous at all the eyes on me, my pussy bare to the sun and wet for you. I went back to my flat and touched myself for hours, just like this.” She swirled her finger around her clit, drawing my eyes to the warm center of her I wanted to bury myself in.

Suddenly, my mouth was on her with a hunger I hadn’t known I could feel before. She tasted like paradise, and I swiped my tongue from bottom to top.

“Gods, I forgot just how good you are at this,” she moaned as I sucked on her clit and reached a hand up to play with her nipple.

I waited until just the moment before Arya was about to come and pulled back. “Does my little wolf want to cum on my mouth?” She nodded desperately, pulling at my hair like she didn’t care if she pulled it out of my head. “As milady commands.” I dipped my head down again, giving in to the force of Arya’s desire, and played with her pretty pussy until she cried out in pleasure, her hips thrusting against my mouth as she lost control.

“Good girl,” I whispered as she came off the high.

“I haven’t had enough of those lately,” she admitted, lifting herself up on her elbows.

“Don’t worry. I’m not finished with you yet, Arya.”

“Remind me why I ever left you in the first place,” she said, breathlessly as she moved to kneel in front of me.

“You just needed a little time to grow on your own. Like a nice oak tree. But you’re here now.” I couldn’t take her feeling regret over a decision that had, at the end of the day, been for the best. “You’re here now,” I whispered into her neck.

“I’m here now.”

She tangled her fingers in mine like two sets of roots growing into each other, and slowly, she pushed me down into the grass. Her lips were soft and urgent, and her tongue wandered into my mouth, tasting herself on me. I floated in the sea of her kisses as they traveled down to my neck and lower still, her fingers working on opening my pants. When my cock, which was probably the hardest it had ever been, sprang free, she grabbed hold of it possessively.

“Is this still mine?” There was a note of uncertainty in the question.

“It never stopped being yours.”

She dropped a kiss on the head of my cock, driving me mad.

“I’m on birth control, but I don’t have a condom this time,” she said, looking up into my eyes.

“I don’t care. I need you.”

She slid her wet pussy over me, and I groaned loud enough that I was glad we were far enough from the main road that no one would hear it.

When she brought my tip to her entrance, she paused. “If you take what’s yours right now, Gendry, what’s always been yours, you’ll have all of me. I’ll never leave again.” She was a promise and she was truth.

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes as I gently pulled her down deeper onto me. It felt more sacred than any wedding ceremony in front of a heart tree. “Mine.”

She settled fully on me and smiled. It felt like it was always meant to, the way it only could when it was Arya touching me.

The feel of her tight heat around me sent all other thoughts out of my mind as I furiously thrusted up into her, meeting her rhythm. We had always fit together perfectly. Her little moans filled my body with fire, and I stoked the fire in her with a thumb at her exposed, little clit, and it only made her moans louder.

She rocked into me with a new fury, her hands reaching up to play with her hard, pink nipples, like a godsdamned vision.

“Love how you ride me.” The words came out broken, just barely recognizable, but they made Arya’s hips stutter all the same. “Come on my cock, Arya. Give me everything you got.” This new moan was different, more of a long, drawn out shout, as she tightened around me. “That’s my girl.”

Slowly, she lifted herself off me, but I could see in her eyes she wasn’t done with me yet. I followed as she rolled onto her back, teasing her nipple until she playfully swatted me away. “I’m so sensitive,” she moaned. “Now be a good boy, and cum in your goddess.”

I was amazed I didn’t spontaneously combust and had the presence of mind to line my cock up with her swollen hole. “Anything for goddess,” I agreed, and buried myself in her, and I knew I could do this a million times and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relentlessly, I drove my cock into her, loving all the little movements Arya made under me as she raised a leg up to my shoulder. The angle drove me mad, and my vision went white as I cried out the name of the only deity that I had ever worshiped. My cum filled her up, and I collapsed onto her, unable to let her go. She clung to me just as hard.

We lay in the grass side by side, catching our breaths, for what felt like forever. The sky was alight with stars in the moonless sky. Everything was new yet everything was eternal too.

“Where are you staying?” she finally asked, as if rational thought had finally returned to her.

“A little motel just a little ways down the road.”

“What size bed are we working with?” she asked, and I loved the way us spending the night together was automatic to her.

“How do you feel about a full?”

“I can make that work,” she said, but she didn’t make any moves to get up, her eyes fixed on the constellations above. “Do you ever think about the night we met?” she asked, voice quiet in the dreamy darkness.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m living that day all over again.”

“I could have laid here with you forever that day.”

I pulled Arya in to lay her head on my shoulder. “Let’s start now.”

#arya x gendry #gendrya #ao3 fanfic #arya stark #modern au #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #gendry #gendry baratheon

[esther-dot]

unpopular opinion maybe (?) but i don't think most people actually hated the ending of got because it was badly done or badly written. the show had been sloppy for years before the finale and most of us were still enjoying it, so i don't think it was really about that. i think we all tell ourselves we hated it because of that, but most of us probably wouldn't have minded it if only we'd gotten our preferred ending. d*ny fans would have been over the moon if they'd gotten an ending with her on the iron throne and jon as her devoted consort, regardless of how badly written, directed, and acted it was. sansa fans would have been equally over the moon if we'd not only gotten qitn but also sansa in a loving relationship with our preferred suitor, whomever that might be, quality of the writing be damned. arya fans would have been beside themselves with joy if they'd gotten their "queen arya with gendry as her lover" preferred ending, no matter how stupidly it was done. and so on and so forth, for fans of every character. the terrible writing certainly didn't help matters, but in my opinion the show's real failure was that it managed to leave literally EVERYONE unhappy and unsatisfied, and feeling that their fave had been cheated in some way.

Well, it’s kinda true for me! I was mocking D&D’s horrible choices and criticizing the show all season eight as I watched it, but if I had gotten Jonsa in the finale I would have definitely posted a “I have never said anything bad about D&D in my life” joke. 😂

This is why, even though I will never watch it again and I won’t watch the spin-offs, I’m not gonna pretend I stopped liking the show back in s5. There was a lot of “y’all thought the ending would be good? The show’s sucked since s4” stuff going around when we were all disappointed with the finale, but middles are hard! Lots of stories struggle there, and I was still caught up in what was happening and wondering where it would end until s7 just…made no sense to me. I was a show fan first so I wasn’t upset about their deviations from the books because I didn’t know about them at the time. I was still enjoying the show through s6. Honestly, s6 was a highpoint for me. Sansa and Jon reuniting, Sansa using LF, reclaiming Winterfell, Sansa finally being safe and happy, Jon becoming king….I understand hating the Ramsay plotline, being upset about Dorne etc, but as a Stark fan, a Sansa and a Jon fan, season six was very rewarding.

It wasn’t until after s7 aired that I started listening to Martin interviews/read the books, and at that point I learned that a) Martin has known the ending for the main characters for years, b) he told D&D, c) he expected the endings would be similar. So, I assumed that D&D had a plan and were working towards his ending and weren’t gonna just… plop his ending on whatever the hell it was they were doing without making it make sense. Silly me 😂

Thinking back though, I didn’t actually need Jonsa to be ok with the ending. The main complaint for most of us is how they wrote Jon. If they confirmed that Jon bent the knee because he had to and was afraid of Dany/trying to manage her the whole time, that he wasn’t disloyal to the North/his family and lying to cover his own ass, I could have eventually reconciled myself to the ending because there are a lot of ideas it’s touching on. I think that’s why I didn’t just drop the show/fandom completely after the show ended because there are so many things that I think one good kick would have allowed the whole thing to shift and settle into stuff from earlier seasons and things from the books and would have, as much as we wouldn’t want it to, worked. Instead it felt like D&D were waging a war of retribution on the fans and just wanted to destroy all the relationships they could. They really should have let Bryan Cogman have more sway in the final season or rewrite their finale script or something. You could feel the love in his episode, D&D’s felt intentionally cruel.

I agree with you though that no vocal part of the fandom (Jon fans, Dany fans, Arya fans…) getting what they wanted, none of the big ships (Jonerys, Jonsa, Gendrya, Braime…) getting a good ending, that’s why the show was so decried by fans and so hated. There was nothing truly redeeming in the ending on an emotional level/for the characters and their relationships, so even for someone like me, a Sansa fan, a character who got the best ending and “won” in a way none of the other characters did, it felt very empty. But, I have to say, I’ve seen a number of fans who are happy with the ending. Some people really liked the fact that the ending was so different from traditional fantasy. They appreciated Jon going beyond the Wall because they didn’t want him or Dany to rule. And with the success of HOTD and fans returning to GOT (indicated by the rewatch numbers on HBO Max), maybe there are a lot more of those fans than I realized.

#ask dot #< tag to filter

[hello-nichya-here]

How do you think GRRM would resolve the potential Jonrya vs. Gendrya love triangle in the books? I think Jonrya is endgame because Arya has more fondness and closeness with Jon than with Gendrya but other people think Gendrya is endgame (probably because of the lack of incest). Realistically, how do you think Gendry would react to Arya being love with Jon and do you think Gendry will be killed off like Gale from The Hunger Games?

Okay, so there are two different answers here:

Will this potential love triangle even be a thing in the books for it to need to be resolved?

No. Martin seems to no longer want to make Jonrya a thing and has been very clear when saying that Jon will eventually meet and fall for Daenerys (though it's unclear if they'll be endgame).

As for Gendry, I honestly have no idea what are Martin's plans for him. There were hints of a mutual romantic interest and I do think he'll see Arya again, I'm guessing in Winterfell, but them being a couple is not a sure thing.

So yeah, he won't "resolve" this love triangle because it likely wouldn't exist.

Would this love triangle have even been a thing in Martin's original plan for the series for it to need to be resolved?

I don't know if Gendry even existed in this original version, let alone what role he would play in the story and what kind of dynamic he'd have with Arya if they were to meet. In fact, we know Arya would be in a love triangle with Jon and Tyrion. That's how different things were.

To the surprise of no one, Arya would be with Jon because their connection was such a set-in-stone thing that it is VERY clear (and makes them real easy to ship) even in the version of the story we actually did get.

So even IF Gendry and his mutual crush with Arya were ever going to be a thing in that version of the story, it'd likely be a quick, not that significant part of the story, that would pose no real threat to Jonrya, so need for him to be killed off, or go the Gale route and have a major falling out with Arya because he accidentally killed someone she loved through some cruel war tactic that was desgined to kill innocents.

Bonus: My personal opinion on that "love triangle"

I like Gendrya, but come on. It could only ever be a thing in a world where Jon and Arya's connection is purely platonic/familial (which Martin tried to do in the books, but didn't fully accomplish if you ask me) because if Arya EVER had choose between Jon and literally anyone else on Earth, she's choosing Jon.

Hell, even in canon that's already the case. She lets go of everything that reminds her of her old life in Winterfell - except Needle, because it was the sword Jon gave to her.

Jon doesn't give up on making his vows to live on The Wall forever when he realizes life there is shit. He is tempted to break said vows for Ned, Ygritte and even to be Lord of Winterfell, but he always decides against it in the end - except when he believes Arya is in danger.

Any love triangle that involves Jonrya as one of the potential pairings is pointless and inevitably short-lived because Jon and Arya would choose each other the second they realized the feeling is mutual.

#asks #jonrya

[cellsshapedlikestars]

I have this idea that I´ll never write, so if you could do something with it, it would be a dream come true and an absolute honor.

A Rhaegar wins AU, and when they were children, the parents decided Jon and Arya were a good match, and they were like well we like the same shit so that sounds cool.

FAST FORWARD TO ADULTHOOD and they are like I really don't wanna do this thing cause I might throw up but I don't wanna hurt the other person's feelings.

Arya is like, I don´t wanna get married at all, or maybe she likes Gendry or a girl.

And Jon is absolutely head over hills for Sansa, he's so charmed by her, he dances with her even if he doesn't like dancing.

And Sansa also loves him but she does not wanna hurt Arya.

AND NOBODY SAYS ANYTHING.

LITERALLY WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME ANON.

look, this wasn't the first prompt I got, and when I first read it, I went, "oh, I don't know if I can write that", and then I couldn't stop thinking about it and here we are, 5k words later.

1. this obviously turned out much longer than I intended for a prompt fic, 2. I got real into my emotions at some point? 3. I wrote this in a fever dream, where grammar and logic don't apply. 4. this isn't EXACTLY the prompt, so I am sorry about that.

read it on ao3 here:

ephemera, chapter 18

“Lyanna come again,” Rhaegar had murmured, looking at the small five year old standing before him, a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips.

And so it had been decided, all those years ago. Rhaegar would match his son with a Stark daughter, and this time, it wouldn't end in tragedy.

Jon looks back now and thinks – perhaps Targaryen and Stark were always meant for ruin.

…

When he is eleven, when talk of a betrothal first happens, he doesn't think much of the five year old, though Aegon says cruel things about her – how young she is, how short, how unruly her hair. It only makes Jon decide, stubbornly, that they will get along. They will have a good marriage. The best marriage. Certainly better than Aegon's.

He likes little Arya. He learns to like her even more when he goes to spend time up in Winterfell when he is fifteen and she nine. She wants to learn the sword, she can shoot better than her brothers. She gives as good as she gets, and Jon thanks all the gods in existence that they are to be matched. He has always dreaded the idea of marriage – of being stuck with some girl for his whole life. But he and Arya are so alike, it is bound to be a perfect match.

Much better than Lady Sansa, with her sewing hoops and her singing and her poetry. She makes them listen to it, reads the poems aloud to her family in the evening, before the hearth. Lady Catelyn smiles and Lord Stark sits stoic and Robb does his best to feign interest and Bran and Rickon are too young to care, but Jon and Arya make eye contact during it and neither can help when they burst into laughter (though he does feel awful when Sansa closes her book shortly after and says she is done her recitation, though he doesn't think she was. She never tries to read her poetry to them again while he is visiting).

(He tells himself he doesn't feel bad, though, when the next day Arya storms into the stables in tears and tells them Sansa said something mean to her. He decides then that it was alright for him to laugh at her poetry. Arya says she's a bully, and so it must be true.)

…

He runs into her once, in the godswood.

He's gone to see if he can feel the gods in the trees like his uncle says. Jon was raised with the Seven, but being in Winterfell makes him want the gods his mother carried. He had stood before her statue when he arrived and promised her, silently, that he would try.

Instead of the gods, though, he runs into Sansa. She's here - sewing, as usual.

“Oh,” she says, looking up at him with her wide eyes and lowering her hoop. “I came for a bit of peace, I did not realize you-”

“No, it's fine,” he says, uncomfortable. He's never been around Sansa alone before. “You were here first.”

“Oh, no,” she gets up, smoothing her skirts down and then gathering up her sewing. “You may stay, of course, your grace.”

“Jon,” he frowns. Everyone else calls him that, why can't she?

He watches the color rise in her, a red flush that creeps up her neck and into her cheeks. It should clash with her hair that shines near copper in the sunlight, but it doesn't. It makes something go through him, almost like a shiver, except he's not even cold.

“It is not proper,” she says, and he lets out a huff at how stubborn she is.

“Who cares about proper?” he spits, because he feels off balance and he doesn't know why. “If I wanted proper, I'd be back in King's Landing.”

Her face hardens - her eyes narrow, her lips press into a thin line - but she bows slightly and says, “of course, your grace,” and then she walks past him with her head held high and her shoulders back and her spine straight and she won't even look at him.

He turns to watch her go, anger and confusion and something all twisting together in his gut

…

He and Arya write to each other, almost as often as he and Robb do.

Almost as often, because Arya is terrible at sitting still long enough to write a letter, and if Jon is being honest, her penmanship is atrocious. Her writing turns into a puzzle for him, trying to piece it together letter by letter. When they are married, he will need to write all their correspondence, he realizes. The thought exhausts him. He hates writing letters, especially formal ones. He's no good at it, never has been.

Every once in a while, he receives a letter from Lady Sansa, usually around his name day, wishing him another year of joyous good health or some other nonsense. Her writing is perfect, and so courteous that he wonders if she thinks she is actually writing to the king himself, and not just the king's second son who caused a war with his birth. (The shame of the kingdom, wrapped up in an almost-bastard.)

Somehow, her letters always seem to smell faintly of perfume, he doesn't know how she manages, and he despises her for it, because of course she would dab perfume on her letters.

It lasts for days after he receives them, and every once in a while, he'll pick it up and press it to his nose, a tug down low in his gut. A stirring he refuses to think about.

He's always disappointed when it fades, though he pretends he isn't.

…

He knows he is supposed to wait until marriage for this, but he doesn't.

He meets her on the road, while they're traveling for a royal hunt. She works at an inn that they stop at, right outside the city. She's a skinny thing, her hair a wild mass of orange curls, and he hears her telling the men who try to touch her to fuck right off, her accent low and thick and common.

But then when the singing starts, he watches her close her eyes and her head tilt back and her lips curve into a soft smile, and something pangs deep in his chest.

Looking back, he's never quite sure how it happens, but he ends up in her bed, and he keeps going back.

Their affair does not last long, though. His father sees to that.

…

“Jon!” Arya grins and runs at him, throwing herself into his arms. He catches her easily, swings her around and then sets her down, ruffles his hand in her hair until she swats him away.

“Oi, enough of that,” she huffs, running her fingers through to sort out the tangles.

“It was already a mess,” he teases, and gets a scowl in return, but she can't hold it for long.

Jon looks up just in time to see Lord Stark's attempt to hide his smile – and behind him, Septa Mordane's frown.

“Uh oh,” he murmurs, just for Arya's ears. “Mordane's upset.”

“When is she not?” Arya rolls her eyes.

“Prince Jon,” Lord Stark greets, and Jon grimaces.

“Please, uncle, you know better than to call me that.”

Lord Stark grins and moves forward to embrace him, and Jon closes his eyes and wishes, for just the briefest moment, that Lord Stark was his father.

“Your grace,” he hears when he disengages from his uncle, and he turns to find Sansa bowing to him – bent down the perfect amount for someone of her station.

“Uh, Lady Sansa,” he greets, that same awkwardness that he remembers washing over him. He's always awkward around Sansa. He's a prince of the realm, for Seven's sake. He lives in King's Landing, he talks to Lords and Ladies all the time, and yet he never feels more like a bumbling fool than when he's presented with Sansa's courtesies.

“I suppose we should go in,” Lord Stark sighs, eyeing up the gate to the Red Keep. Jon had met them outside, before they would have to face the royal court.

He knows Lord Stark holds no love for Jon's father, and he's grateful that his uncle does not hold this against him. Lord Stark still loves Jon's mother. They used to visit her in the crypts while Jon was there.

“You can't run away now,” Jon says back, and it makes Lord Stark smile.

…

“She's turned into a beauty, at least,” Aegon snorts, and Jon resists the urge to tell him to get out of his room. “Didn't think she had any hope, last time I saw her.”

“The last time you saw her, she was five,” Jon grits out, reaching forward to take his inkwell from Aegon, who is tossing it idly back and forth between his hands.

“Shame it's not the other one, though,” Aegon's smile is a sly, predatory thing. “Talk about beauty.”

The anger he'd felt while Aegon spoke of Arya grows, morphs and twists into something ugly.

“You're betrothed,” Jon reminds him. He doesn't know why he has to remind Aegon – he's set to marry the Lady Margaery, and Jon cannot fathom why his eye would wander, for Margaery is also beautiful.

“Are you eager to finally be betrothed, yourself?” Aegon asks, as if he didn't hear the bite beneath Jon's words. “I can't believe father agreed to wait this long.” Lord Stark's requirement was that his daughter must flower before any sort of betrothal happened. But he cannot put it off any longer, for father is eager to prove to his kingdom that the Targaryens and the Starks are united once more

“She's barely more than a child,” Jon hears himself say, and he grimaces at his own statement.

But it's true. Jon is twenty, and Arya has just turned fourteen. A child still, though his father had verified that she has, in fact, flowered, before summoning them to King's Landing.

The thought makes Jon a little bit sick.

She will get older, he reminds himself. And Aegon is right, she has grown beautiful. It will be fine.

…

“It is not appropriate that you spar with her,” Lady Sansa whispers to him as they move about the floor.

Courtesy means that he must dance with the elder Stark daughter before the younger, because his betrothal to Arya is not official yet. Once it is, perhaps he will never have to dance with Lady Sansa again.

“She likes sparring,” he says back, forcing his hands not to tighten in annoyance around her waist.

“It is one thing for it to happen in Winterfell, but here?” she keeps whispering, keeping her face neutral so that no one watching can tell she is upset. “People will talk.”

“Let them talk,” he says, distracted. She moves so fluidly that it takes all his concentration to keep up. He's not the best dancer, but he has been trained in the art since birth, and he has never had this much trouble keeping his steps. It's like his brain has gone dumb, all his limbs heavy and useless. He has to stare past the long, slender line of her neck to keep any sort of thought in his head. The perfume she wears is the same one from her letters.

“Let them talk?” she hisses, eyes flashing – and this is the Sansa he rarely gets to see. She was always so guarded around him, back in Winterfell, but every once in a while, he had caught her and Arya fighting. And that one time, in the godswood... “Perhaps you do not care about your reputation, but may I remind you that youare a prince, your grace? The rules do not apply to you like they do Arya.”

Jon is still reeling from the seething way she says your grace. His heart has started hammering inside his chest, and he tries to look anywhere but the intense blue eyes that bore into him.

“I cannot always be around to protect her. That will be your job,” she keeps going, not waiting for his response.

“Where are you going?” Jon asks, eyes snapping back to hers, suddenly focused. Suddenly razor sharp. “Are you leaving?”

“Well, I cannot stay here forever,” she says, her voice faltering for the first time, the fight draining from her features. “Once father has found me a match-”

“A match?” Jon asks. His muscles feel on edge, filled with too much energy. “Lord Stark did not want betrothals for either of you until you are-”

“I am seventeen,” she cuts in. “Now is exactly the time I should be finding a husband. And once I do, of course I will leave King's Landing. That is my duty.”

“Your duty?” he snaps, seething, though he cannot fathom where this anger is coming from. “Can you do anything else?” No, he thinks. She's too proper to do anything but her duty. Never says what she's actually thinking – so polite and kind and warm to everyone because she must be. Only reserves the truth for a few – Arya. Him.

Gods, but he loathes her.

“Excuse me?” she asks, and that same, familiar color rises in her. Up her throat, into her cheeks. Down to the neckline of her dress.

“I can't wait until you leave,” he mutters, and soon the song ends and he can finally get away from the torture of dancing with Lady Sansa. It is so horrible that he must excuse himself for air after, and he steps outside, until his head stops spinning.

…

Joffrey.

The little shit looks so smug as he leads Sansa around by the arm. He looks like a girl, what does Sansa even see in him? It's just her courtesies, he decides, as she smiles and ducks her head over something Joffrey has said. Jon has met Joffrey before, and he's never seen a single thing to smile over.

“Oi,” Arya punches him in the arm, and Jon rips his gaze away from the couple up ahead.

“What?”

“I asked - what do you think is west of Westeros?” Arya huffs with a glare that tells him she isn't happy to have to repeat herself.

“Water?” he says, distracted as Sansa's annoying laugh trickles back from up ahead. He glares at the back of her, the spill of copper hair. Sometimes he just wants to fist his hands in it and-

He blinks, and forces himself to focus back on Arya, who's frowning at him.

“What?” he asks, feeling hot under the glaring sun and Arya's stare.

“You're not even listening to me,” she says.

“Yes I am.”

“Then answer my question.”

His mind races to try and think back – water, he had said. Then a laugh, copper hair... and Arya asking a question.

“I can't,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn't be allowed,” he tells her.

“You aren't the heir,” she whines. “Why can't we go sailing and see? We could discover anything!”

“When Aegon takes the throne, I will be,” Jon says, unease sparking in his chest. It's not something he likes to think on. “Until Aegon has a son, I'm his heir. I'll be Lord of Dragonstone.”

He can tell Arya doesn't like that answer. She ponders this for a while as they walk – something she also isn't happy about, having to walk the gardens with Aegon and Margaery leading the way, Sansa and Joffrey behind them, and him and Arya bringing up the rear.

Finally, she nods to herself, then says, “well, let's hope he has a son soon. Once he does, we'll go see what's west of Westeros.”

No, they won't, Jon thinks. He'll be wanted here, in King's Landing. He's a prince of the realm, he isn't allowed to do whatever he wants, no matter what Arya thinks. If he was, he would have stayed in Winterfell with them.

But he doesn't want a fight, and so he lets it go, and she takes his silence for agreement.

…

“Joffrey, please!”

Jon freezes, the desperate whisper barely audible in the dusk of the gardens.

There's more whispering, but Jon doesn't hear it as his vision narrows in the direction the voice came from.

He'd come out here for a peaceful walk. Time alone, that he so rarely gets in the Red Keep. Precious, glorious time alone.

Except he clearly isn't alone.

He moves through a hedge and sees them – that prick Joffrey, and Sansa, pressed back against a tree with her eyes wide and her hands pushing at Joffrey's chest.

“You'll be my wife, soon,” the boy sneers, hands groping at her, “it's my right.”

Jon feels a swell of rage rush through him, making him hot, making his thoughts blur, and-

“Jon! Jon, stop, you're killing him!”

Jon blinks, and suddenly he isn't where he was. He's got Joffrey by the throat, pressed back against the same tree he'd been cornering Sansa with, the boy's eyes bugged out and his face turning red.

Beside him, Sansa tugs at his arm, her own eyes wide as saucers. Fearful and gripping his tunic and saying, “Jon, please!”

He relaxes his grip and Joffrey slides down the tree, hands at his throat, gasping for air, but all Jon can think is that it's the first time he's ever heard Sansa say his name.

Joffrey lets out a pathetic whimper, and Jon turns back and looks down at him.

“If you ever touch her again, I'll kill you,” he says, the anger rushing back through him, though duller now. Controllable. “Don't even look at her. Do you understand me?”

Joffrey nods, then scrambles up and away, towards the castle.

“You shouldn't have done that,” she sniffs, voice wobbly and low, and Jon turns back to her as she wipes at her nose. “You'll get in trouble.”

“Hey,” he says, reaching for her and the moment his hand rests on her arm, she moves in and presses herself against his chest and the ground falls out from beneath his feet. Except – no, it doesn't. He's still standing, with Sansa softly sniffling into his shoulder. “I won't get in trouble,” he tells the top of her head, lips brushing against her soft hair, “I'm a prince, remember? The rules don't apply to me like they do to everyone else.”

She lets out a sob – or a laugh, he can't tell, and she pulls back from him and gives his chest a good shove.

“You idiot,” she makes that noise again, and this time he's certain it's a laugh, because her lips pull up into a reluctant smile.

“Did the Lady Sansa just call a prince an idiot?” Jon gasps, putting his hand to his chest and staggering back.

“Oh,” she huffs, “you're insufferable.”

He's laughing now, a grin stretching his lips, feeling suddenly light as air. He rarely laughs here in King's Landing, not like he did up in Winterfell. Though never with Sansa before.

Suddenly, her glare at him fades, and he watches despair take over.

“What if he tells someone?” she asks, bringing a hand up to her throat. “I know I shouldn't have gone walking with him alone, I know, but he was so insistent...” she looks as though she is about to cry again, and Jon's delirious joy crashes down around him.

“He won't tell anyone, if he knows what's good for him,” Jon says. “Your reputation will be fine, I won't let anyone say otherwise.”

“That's not how it works,” she tells him, voice thin and trembling, and he knows she's right. It doesn't matter what the truth is – if anyone finds out she went with Joffrey alone into the gardens at dusk, her reputation will be ruined.

“He won't tell anyone,” Jon says again. He thinks that is true, at least. Joffrey may be a prat, but he's also a coward. “Come on, let's get you back before anyone notices you're missing. I know all the secret passageways, I promise no one will see you.”

He holds out his hand, though he cannot fathom why, and he ignores that pull in his gut – in his chest – when she takes it.

“Thank you, Jon,” she whispers.

“Anything for you, Lady Sansa,” he says. It's meant to be a joke, meant to rile her up, but it comes out low and gravelly and nothing like a joke at all. He thinks he should let go of her hand before she gets the wrong idea, but he never does as he leads her back into the castle.

…

Aegon marries Margaery in an elaborate display.

A time for celebration, he knows, but Jon feels lost. Like a pit has opened up beneath him, ready to swallow him whole.

“Soon it will be your turn,” Margaery tells him as they dance, a look in her eye that means she's up to no good. She's right – father had decided to announce his betrothal to Arya after Aegon and Margaery were wed.

Jon doesn't answer, but his eyes flit across the room, to where Sansa is dancing with one of the Martells.

He cannot find Arya in the crowd.

…

There is no happy ending here, he thinks, as father rages.

The meeting room is clear of everyone except Ser Arthur, Lord Stark, Aegon, and Jon.

“Missing?” father seethes. “How could she go missing?”

“I do not know,” Lord Stark starts, his face pale, shadows under his eyes. He has been awake for days, Jon thinks.

“Where were her guards?” father cries.

“Where were yours?” Lord Stark snaps, clearly at his end, though he realizes his error as soon as he makes it. “I'm sorry, your highness-”

The shock of seeing Eddard Stark lose his temper seems to be enough to pull father out of his dramatics, because father's shoulders slump, and he sits down at the table, the energy drained from him.

“This cannot get out,” father says, closing his eyes.

It isn't often that Jon sees the weight of the crown on father's head. Rhaegar Targaryen is a good king, everyone says – especially after the madness of his father. Good and calm and easy to laugh and joke. Loves music and dancing and hosting elaborate feasts. But every once in a while, Jon sees it – the shadows that plague him. Aerys. Elia. Lyanna. A war started by his own, selfish wants.

And now, for a second time, a Stark girl has run away.

Arya. Disappeared two days ago, on the eave of their betrothal announcement, no sign of her since. It doesn't matter how many guards they put on her, Jon thinks to himself. She's always been sneaky. He has no idea where she could have gone, or-

What is west of Westeros?

The docks! Jon almost cries, but the words catch in his throat. She'll be at the docks, finding a boat that will take her on an adventure.

Part of him wants to tell them so that they can find her, bring her back safe.

Part of him wants to stay silent, let her run.

Let her be free.

…

Arya is dragged back to court three weeks later, dressed in boy's clothes, with her hair chopped off up to her ears.

Jon has never seen his uncle so broken as he was in those weeks, wondering where his daughter had gone. Even now, Lord Stark trembles as he hugs Arya to his chest. Sansa is sobbing, though trying to keep it under control and constantly wiping at her eyes, aware that it is not just her family present, but the king and the crown prince, as well.

Arya glares at the king in defiance when she is finally let go, when she finally turns to face him. Rhaegar looks resigned. Defeated.

“I don't want to get married,” she says. Jon recognizes the stubborn clench of her jaw, the way her feet plant apart. Ready for a fight.

Father stands silent for a while, and Jon sees those shadows in him.

“There was a time,” father finally says, “that a Stark maiden did not want to get married.”

The words hang in the air, a terrible silence as old grief grips at Jon's throat. He never got to meet his mother, and yet he has dreamed of her. He has thought of her, every day.

“I will not make the same mistakes twice,” Rhaegar's voice is raw, that same grief clouding his words. “You are a lady of House Stark, and your father can do what he sees fit with you, but I... I will not be a part of it. You are released from your promise.”

Arya stares, then looks from the king to Lord Stark, as if she cannot believe it.

“We will-” Lord Stark's words catch, and Jon can tell there is grief in him, too. Memories turned to shadows and ghosts. “We will let it be known that House Stark stands with House Targaryen, even without a marriage. Let the past be in the past.”

“Yes,” father nods, though his eyes are far away.

“There can still be a marriage,” Arya says, and it is enough to pull everyone back to the present.

“Make up your mind,” Aegon sighs.

“Not me,” Arya wrinkles up her nose, then turns to look at Jon. “I mean no offense,” she says, softening.

“I have not taken any,” Jon says back, and for the first time, he notices that a great weight has been lifted from him. Relief, heady and dizzying.

“But if you want an alliance, we've still got a perfectly good unmarried Stark lady. And she's even a proper one, with manners and everything,” Arya snorts, turning to look at Sansa, who's red-rimmed eyes are now wide with surprise.

“That is true,” father says, though he sounds hesitant. “Though I will keep my promise, and I will not force this. But if both are amenable...”

Lord Stark looks at his daughter, Sansa's face now flushed. It creeps up her neck and into her cheeks, like he's seen countless times.

“I-” she says, looking around the room, voice barely more than a whisper. “I would be amenable.”

Jon's heart is doing that thing again – pounding so hard in his chest he feels as though he has been sparring for hours.

She would be amenable to marrying him?

He doesn't mean to – what he means to do is say that this is madness and walk away, but instead his stupid mouth has it's own mind, it seems. “I would also be amenable,” he says, the words a rush. His tongue trips over them, because he is a bumbling fool whenever he is around her.

“I cannot believe Margaery was right,” Aegon groans, letting his head tip back as his eyes squeeze shut. “She is going to be impossible from now on.”

…

He finds her in the stables, up in the loft above, surrounded by hay. He climbs the ladder and sits next to her, their feet hanging over the edge, the horses whinnying and shuffling below.

“You're not mad at me?” Arya asks, kicking her feet out.

“Never,” he says.

“I just... Margaery kept talking about what marriage was like. The things we'd have to do to make babies, and I...” her nose scrunches up, and a shiver goes through her. Jon lets out a soft laugh.

“You'll find someone that you want to make babies with, some day,” Jon tells her, bumping her shoulder with his, but it doesn't make her laugh, and it doesn't make her argue. Instead, she frowns. Serious.

“I don't know if I will,” she says. She won't look at him, worry clear across her face. “I don't get it,” she says finally. “I hear Sansa talk about... about boys and I don't understand it. Jeyne, Beth, Margaery. I think I was born wrong.”

“You weren't,” Jon says, and he feels that same anger he had in the gardens, holding Joffrey by the throat. “You aren't wrong. You're... you're just...” he huffs out air through his nose in annoyance, because he can never get his thoughts into words properly. He isn't Sansa, who can always seem to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. “You're just Arya.”

“But I don't know what that means!” she cries, hands balled into fists at her side.

“You'll figure it out,” he tells her.

He can't know that for sure, but what he does know, is that if anyone can do it, Arya can.

…

Prince Jon's betrothal to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell is a message.

The war is over. Leave the past in the past.

Arya promises to stay for the wedding, at least. After that, Jon doesn't think she will last very long before she disappears again.

What is west of Westeros?

Sansa will be upset when she leaves. Arya will too, he thinks, though both of them are too stubborn to admit it.

“Be nice,” Jon tells her as they walk through the gardens behind Aegon and Margaery – who keeps looking back at them with a smug, knowing smile.

“I'm always nice,” Sansa says, not looking at him, her chin lifted in defiance. Jon lets out a snort of disbelief.

“And if Arya shows up to our wedding in breeches?” he teases.

That earns him a side-eyed glare, but she doesn't break. “I shall allow breeches, but she will dance, and I won't have her whining about it the whole time, either.”

Jon wants to keep this up, keep teasing her, because it makes her blush and her breathing go shallow and rapid and it makes him nearly weak in the knees to see it, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls her off the path and just past a large rosebush that hides them from view.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, eyes darting back to where they have lost sight of Aegon and Margaery, but she makes no move to leave.

“I was hoping to steal a kiss from my betrothed,” he grins at her.

“This is highly improper,” she breathes, but still does not try to leave.

“I'm a prince,” he shrugs. “The rules don't apply to me.”

“I shall regret ever saying that,” she says, her face scrunching up in dismay.

“Do you regret anything else?” he steps closer to her, his tone serious. Her face softens and she shakes her head.

“No.”

“Neither do I,” he murmurs, and leans down to capture her lips in a kiss, and he knows in that moment that he has wanted to do this from the first moment he saw her.

From the way she kisses back, he thinks she has, too.

“Lyanna come again,” Rhaegar had murmured, looking at the small five year old standing before him, a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips.

And so it had been decided, all those years ago. Rhaegar would match his son with a Stark daughter, and this time, it wouldn't end in tragedy.

Jon looks back now and thinks – perhaps Targaryen and Stark were always meant for ruin.

…

When he is eleven, when talk of a betrothal first happens, he doesn't think much of the five year old, though Aegon says cruel things about her – how young she is, how short, how unruly her hair. It only makes Jon decide, stubbornly, that they will get along. They will have a good marriage. The best marriage. Certainly better than Aegon's.

He likes little Arya. He learns to like her even more when he goes to spend time up in Winterfell when he is fifteen and she nine. She wants to learn the sword, she can shoot better than her brothers. She gives as good as she gets, and Jon thanks all the gods in existence that they are to be matched. He has always dreaded the idea of marriage – of being stuck with some girl for his whole life. But he and Arya are so alike, it is bound to be a perfect match.

Much better than Lady Sansa, with her sewing hoops and her singing and her poetry. She makes them listen to it, reads the poems aloud to her family in the evening, before the hearth. Lady Catelyn smiles and Lord Stark sits stoic and Robb does his best to feign interest and Bran and Rickon are too young to care, but Jon and Arya make eye contact during it and neither can help when they burst into laughter (though he does feel awful when Sansa closes her book shortly after and says she is done her recitation, though he doesn't think she was. She never tries to read her poetry to them again while he is visiting).

(He tells himself he doesn't feel bad, though, when the next day Arya storms into the stables in tears and tells them Sansa said something mean to her. He decides then that it was alright for him to laugh at her poetry. Arya says she's a bully, and so it must be true.)

…

He runs into her once, in the godswood.

He's gone to see if he can feel the gods in the trees like his uncle says. Jon was raised with the Seven, but being in Winterfell makes him want the gods his mother carried. He had stood before her statue when he arrived and promised her, silently, that he would try.

Instead of the gods, though, he runs into Sansa. She's here - sewing, as usual.

“Oh,” she says, looking up at him with her wide eyes and lowering her hoop. “I came for a bit of peace, I did not realize you-”

“No, it's fine,” he says, uncomfortable. He's never been around Sansa alone before. “You were here first.”

“Oh, no,” she gets up, smoothing her skirts down and then gathering up her sewing. “You may stay, of course, your grace.”

“Jon,” he frowns. Everyone else calls him that, why can't she?

He watches the color rise in her, a red flush that creeps up her neck and into her cheeks. It should clash with her hair that shines near copper in the sunlight, but it doesn't. It makes something go through him, almost like a shiver, except he's not even cold.

“It is not proper,” she says, and he lets out a huff at how stubborn she is.

“Who cares about proper?” he spits, because he feels off balance and he doesn't know why. “If I wanted proper, I'd be back in King's Landing.”

Her face hardens - her eyes narrow, her lips press into a thin line - but she bows slightly and says, “of course, your grace,” and then she walks past him with her head held high and her shoulders back and her spine straight and she won't even look at him.

He turns to watch her go, anger and confusion and something all twisting together in his gut

…

He and Arya write to each other, almost as often as he and Robb do.

Almost as often, because Arya is terrible at sitting still long enough to write a letter, and if Jon is being honest, her penmanship is atrocious. Her writing turns into a puzzle for him, trying to piece it together letter by letter. When they are married, he will need to write all their correspondence, he realizes. The thought exhausts him. He hates writing letters, especially formal ones. He's no good at it, never has been.

Every once in a while, he receives a letter from Lady Sansa, usually around his name day, wishing him another year of joyous good health or some other nonsense. Her writing is perfect, and so courteous that he wonders if she thinks she is actually writing to the king himself, and not just the king's second son who caused a war with his birth. (The shame of the kingdom, wrapped up in an almost-bastard.)

Somehow, her letters always seem to smell faintly of perfume, he doesn't know how she manages, and he despises her for it, because of course she would dab perfume on her letters.

It lasts for days after he receives them, and every once in a while, he'll pick it up and press it to his nose, a tug down low in his gut. A stirring he refuses to think about.

He's always disappointed when it fades, though he pretends he isn't.

…

He knows he is supposed to wait until marriage for this, but he doesn't.

He meets her on the road, while they're traveling for a royal hunt. She's works at an inn that they stop at, right outside the city. She's a skinny thing, her hair a wild mass of orange curls, and he hears her telling the men who try to touch her to fuck right off, her accent low and thick and common.

But then when the singing starts, he watches her close her eyes and her head tilt back and her lips curve into a soft smile, and something pangs deep in his chest.

Looking back, he's never quite sure how it happens, but he ends up in her bed, and he keeps going back.

Their affair does not last long, though. His father sees to that.

…

“Jon!” Arya grins and runs at him, throwing herself into his arms. He catches her easily, swings her around and then sets her down, ruffles his hand in her hair until she swats him away.

“Oi, enough of that,” she huffs, running her fingers through to sort out the tangles.

“It was already a mess,” he teases, and gets a scowl in return, but she can't hold it for long.

Jon looks up just in time to see Lord Stark's attempt to hide his smile – and behind him, Septa Mordane's frown.

“Uh oh,” he murmurs, just for Arya's ears. “Mordane's upset.”

“When is she not?” Arya rolls her eyes.

“Prince Jon,” Lord Stark greets, and Jon grimaces.

“Please, uncle, you know better than to call me that.”

Lord Stark grins and moves forward to embrace him, and Jon closes his eyes and wishes, for just the briefest moment, that Lord Stark was his father.

“Your grace,” he hears when he disengages from his uncle, and he turns to find Sansa bowing to him – bent down the perfect amount for someone of her station.

“Uh, Lady Sansa,” he greets, that same awkwardness that he remembers washing over him. He's always awkward around Sansa. He's a prince of the realm, for Seven's sake. He lives in King's Landing, he talks to Lords and Ladies all the time, and yet he never feels more like a bumbling fool than when he's presented with Sansa's courtesies.

“I suppose we should go in,” Lord Stark sighs, eyeing up the gate to the Red Keep. Jon had met them outside, before they would have to face the royal court.

He knows Lord Stark holds no love for Jon's father, and he's grateful that his uncle does not hold this against him. Lord Stark still loves Jon's mother. They used to visit her in the crypts while Jon was there.

“You can't run away now,” Jon says back, and it makes Lord Stark smile.

…

“She's turned into a beauty, at least,” Aegon snorts, and Jon resists the urge to tell him to get out of his room. “Didn't think she had any hope, last time I saw her.”

“The last time you saw her, she was five,” Jon grits out, reaching forward to take his inkwell from Aegon, who is tossing it idly back and forth between his hands.

“Shame it's not the other one, though,” Aegon's smile is a sly, predatory thing. “Talk about beauty.”

The anger he'd felt while Aegon spoke of Arya grows, morphs and twists into something ugly.

“You're betrothed,” Jon reminds him. He doesn't know why he has to remind Aegon – he's set to marry the Lady Margaery, and Jon cannot fathom why his eye would wander, for Margaery is also beautiful.

“Are you eager to finally be betrothed, yourself?” Aegon asks, as if he didn't hear the bite beneath Jon's words. “I can't believe father agreed to wait this long.” Lord Stark's requirement was that his daughter must flower before any sort of betrothal happened. But he cannot put it off any longer, for father is eager to prove to his kingdom that the Targaryens and the Starks are united once more

“She's barely more than a child,” Jon hears himself say, and he grimaces at his own statement.

But it's true. Jon is twenty, and Arya has just turned fourteen. A child still, though his father had verified that she has, in fact, flowered, before summoning them to King's Landing.

The thought makes Jon a little bit sick.

She will get older, he reminds himself. And Aegon is right, she has grown beautiful. It will be fine.

…

“It is not appropriate that you spar with her,” Lady Sansa whispers to him as they move about the floor.

Courtesy means that he must dance with the elder Stark daughter before the younger, because his betrothal to Arya is not official yet. Once it is, perhaps he will never have to dance with Lady Sansa again.

“She likes sparring,” he says back, forcing his hands not to tighten in annoyance around her waist.

“It is one thing for it to happen in Winterfell, but here?” she keeps whispering, keeping her face neutral so that no one watching can tell she is upset. “People will talk.”

“Let them talk,” he says, distracted. She moves so fluidly that it takes all his concentration to keep up. He's not the best dancer, but he has been trained in the art since birth, and he has never had this much trouble keeping his steps. It's like his brain has gone dumb, all his limbs heavy and useless. He has to stare past the long, slender line of her neck to keep any sort of thought in his head. The perfume she wears is the same one from her letters.

“Let them talk?” she hisses, eyes flashing – and this is the Sansa he rarely gets to see. She was always so guarded around him, back in Winterfell, but every once in a while, he had caught her and Arya fighting. And that one time, in the godswood... “Perhaps you do not care about your reputation, but may I remind you that youare a prince, your grace? The rules do not apply to you like they do Arya.”

Jon is still reeling from the seething way she says your grace. His heart has started hammering inside his chest, and he tries to look anywhere but the intense blue eyes that bore into him.

“I cannot always be around to protect her. That will be your job,” she keeps going, not waiting for his response.

“Where are you going?” Jon asks, eyes snapping back to hers, suddenly focused. Suddenly razor sharp. “Are you leaving?”

“Well, I cannot stay here forever,” she says, her voice faltering for the first time, the fight draining from her features. “Once father has found me a match-”

“A match?” Jon asks. His muscles feel on edge, filled with too much energy. “Lord Stark did not want betrothals for either of you until you are-”

“I am seventeen,” she cuts in. “Now is exactly the time I should be finding a husband. And once I do, of course I will leave King's Landing. That is my duty.”

“Your duty?” he snaps, seething, though he cannot fathom where this anger is coming from. “Can you do anything else?” No, he thinks. She's too proper to do anything but her duty. Never says what she's actually thinking – so polite and kind and warm to everyone because she must be. Only reserves the truth for a few – Arya. Him.

Gods, but he loathes her.

“Excuse me?” she asks, and that same, familiar color rises in her. Up her throat, into her cheeks. Down to the neckline of her dress.

“I can't wait until you leave,” he mutters, and soon the song ends and he can finally get away from the torture of dancing with Lady Sansa. It is so horrible that he must excuse himself for air after, and he steps outside, until his head stops spinning.

…

Joffrey.

The little shit looks so smug as he leads Sansa around by the arm. He looks like a girl, what does Sansa even see in him? It's just her courtesies, he decides, as she smiles and ducks her head over something Joffrey has said. Jon has met Joffrey before, and he's never seen a single thing to smile over.

“Oi,” Arya punches him in the arm, and Jon rips his gaze away from the couple up ahead.

“What?”

“I asked - what do you think is west of Westeros?” Arya huffs with a glare that tells him she isn't happy to have to repeat herself.

“Water?” he says, distracted as Sansa's annoying laugh trickles back from up ahead. He glares at the back of her, the spill of copper hair. Sometimes he just wants to fist his hands in it and-

He blinks, and forces himself to focus back on Arya, who's frowning at him.

“What?” he asks, feeling hot under the glaring sun and Arya's stare.

“You're not even listening to me,” she says.

“Yes I am.”

“Then answer my question.”

His mind races to try and think back – water, he had said. Then a laugh, copper hair... and Arya asking a question.

“I can't,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn't be allowed,” he tells her.

“You aren't the heir,” she whines. “Why can't we go sailing and see? We could discover anything!”

“When Aegon takes the throne, I will be,” Jon says, unease sparking in his chest. It's not something he likes to think on. “Until Aegon has a son, I'm his heir. I'll be Lord of Dragonstone.”

He can tell Arya doesn't like that answer. She ponders this for a while as they walk – something she also isn't happy about, having to walk the gardens with Aegon and Margaery leading the way, Sansa and Joffrey behind them, and him and Arya bringing up the rear.

Finally, she nods to herself, then says, “well, let's hope he has a son soon. Once he does, we'll go see what's west of Westeros.”

No, they won't, Jon thinks. He'll be wanted here, in King's Landing. He's a prince of the realm, he isn't allowed to do whatever he wants, no matter what Arya thinks. If he was, he would have stayed in Winterfell with them.

But he doesn't want a fight, and so he lets it go, and she takes his silence for agreement.

…

“Joffrey, please!”

Jon freezes, the desperate whisper barely audible in the dusk of the gardens.

There's more whispering, but Jon doesn't hear it as his vision narrows in the direction the voice came from.

He'd come out here for a peaceful walk. Time alone, that he so rarely gets in the Red Keep. Precious, glorious time alone.

Except he clearly isn't alone.

He moves through a hedge and sees them – that prick Joffrey, and Sansa, pressed back against a tree with her eyes wide and her hands pushing at Joffrey's chest.

“You'll be my wife, soon,” the boy sneers, hands groping at her, “it's my right.”

Jon feels a swell of rage rush through him, making him hot, making his thoughts blur, and-

“Jon! Jon, stop, you're killing him!”

Jon blinks, and suddenly he isn't where he was. He's got Joffrey by the throat, pressed back against the same tree he'd been cornering Sansa with, the boy's eyes bugged out and his face turning red.

Beside him, Sansa tugs at his arm, her own eyes wide as saucers. Fearful and gripping his tunic and saying, “Jon, please!”

He relaxes his grip and Joffrey slides down the tree, hands at his throat, gasping for air, but all Jon can think is that it's the first time he's ever heard Sansa say his name.

Joffrey lets out a pathetic whimper, and Jon turns back and looks down at him.

“If you ever touch her again, I'll kill you,” he says, the anger rushing back through him, though duller now. Controllable. “Don't even look at her. Do you understand me?”

Joffrey nods, then scrambles up and away, towards the castle.

“You shouldn't have done that,” she sniffs, voice wobbly and low, and Jon turns back to her as she wipes at her nose. “You'll get in trouble.”

“Hey,” he says, reaching for her and the moment his hand rests on her arm, she moves in and presses herself against his chest and the ground falls out from beneath his feet. Except – no, it doesn't. He's still standing, with Sansa softly sniffling into his shoulder. “I won't get in trouble,” he tells the top of her head, lips brushing against her soft hair, “I'm a prince, remember? The rules don't apply to me like they do to everyone else.”

She lets out a sob – or a laugh, he can't tell, and she pulls back from him and gives his chest a good shove.

“You idiot,” she makes that noise again, and this time he's certain it's a laugh, because her lips pull up into a reluctant smile.

“Did the Lady Sansa just call a prince an idiot?” Jon gasps, putting his hand to his chest and staggering back.

“Oh,” she huffs, “you're insufferable.”

He's laughing now, a grin stretching his lips, feeling suddenly light as air. He rarely laughs here in King's Landing, not like he did up in Winterfell. Though never with Sansa before.

Suddenly, her glare at him fades, and he watches despair take over.

“What if he tells someone?” she asks, bringing a hand up to her throat. “I know I shouldn't have gone walking with him alone, I know, but he was so insistent...” she looks as though she is about to cry again, and Jon's delirious joy crashes down around him.

“He won't tell anyone, if he knows what's good for him,” Jon says. “Your reputation will be fine, I won't let anyone say otherwise.”

“That's not how it works,” she tells him, voice thin and trembling, and he knows she's right. It doesn't matter what the truth is – if anyone finds out she went with Joffrey alone into the gardens at dusk, her reputation will be ruined.

“He won't tell anyone,” Jon says again. He thinks that is true, at least. Joffrey may be a prat, but he's also a coward. “Come on, let's get you back before anyone notices you're missing. I know all the secret passageways, I promise no one will see you.”

He holds out his hand, though he cannot fathom why, and he ignores that pull in his gut – in his chest – when she takes it.

“Thank you, Jon,” she whispers.

“Anything for you, Lady Sansa,” he says. It's meant to be a joke, meant to rile her up, but it comes out low and gravelly and nothing like a joke at all. He thinks he should let go of her hand before she gets the wrong idea, but he never does as he leads her back into the castle.

…

Aegon marries Margaery in an elaborate display.

A time for celebration, he knows, but Jon feels lost. Like a pit has opened up beneath him, ready to swallow him whole.

“Soon it will be your turn,” Margaery tells him as they dance, a look in her eye that means she's up to no good. She's right – father had decided to announce his betrothal to Arya after Aegon and Margaery were wed.

Jon doesn't answer, but his eyes flit across the room, to where Sansa is dancing with one of the Martells.

He cannot find Arya in the crowd.

…

There is no happy ending here, he thinks, as father rages.

The meeting room is clear of everyone except Ser Arthur, Lord Stark, Aegon, and Jon.

“Missing?” father seethes. “How could she go missing?”

“I do not know,” Lord Stark starts, his face pale, shadows under his eyes. He has been awake for days, Jon thinks.

“Where were her guards?” father cries.

“Where were yours?” Lord Stark snaps, clearly at his end, though he realizes his error as soon as he makes it. “I'm sorry, your highness-”

The shock of seeing Eddard Stark lose his temper seems to be enough to pull father out of his dramatics, because father's shoulders slump, and he sits down at the table, the energy drained from him.

“This cannot get out,” father says, closing his eyes.

It isn't often that Jon sees the weight of the crown on father's head. Rhaegar Targaryen is a good king, everyone says – especially after the madness of his father. Good and calm and easy to laugh and joke. Loves music and dancing and hosting elaborate feasts. But every once in a while, Jon sees it – the shadows that plague him. Aerys. Elia. Lyanna. A war started by his own, selfish wants.

And now, for a second time, a Stark girl has run away.

Arya. Disappeared two days ago, on the eave of their betrothal announcement, no sign of her since. It doesn't matter how many guards they put on her, Jon thinks to himself. She's always been sneaky. He has no idea where she could have gone, or-

What is west of Westeros?

The docks! Jon almost cries, but the words catch in his throat. She'll be at the docks, finding a boat that will take her on an adventure.

Part of him wants to tell them so that they can find her, bring her back safe.

Part of him wants to stay silent, let her run.

Let her be free.

…

Arya is dragged back to court three weeks later, dressed in boy's clothes, with her hair chopped off up to her ears.

Jon has never seen his uncle so broken as he was in those weeks, wondering where his daughter had gone. Even now, Lord Stark trembles as he hugs Arya to his chest. Sansa is sobbing, though trying to keep it under control and constantly wiping at her eyes, aware that it is not just her family present, but the king and the crown prince, as well.

Arya glares at the king in defiance when she is finally let go, when she finally turns to face him. Rhaegar looks resigned. Defeated.

“I don't want to get married,” she says. Jon recognizes the stubborn clench of her jaw, the way her feet plant apart. Ready for a fight.

Father stands silent for a while, and Jon sees those shadows in him.

“There was a time,” father finally says, “that a Stark maiden did not want to get married.”

The words hang in the air, a terrible silence as old grief grips at Jon's throat. He never got to meet his mother, and yet he has dreamed of her. He has thought of her, every day.

“I will not make the same mistakes twice,” Rhaegar's voice is raw, that same grief clouding his words. “You are a lady of House Stark, and your father can do what he sees fit with you, but I... I will not be a part of it. You are released from your promise.”

Arya stares, then looks from the king to Lord Stark, as if she cannot believe it.

“We will-” Lord Stark's words catch, and Jon can tell there is grief in him, too. Memories turned to shadows and ghosts. “We will let it be known that House Stark stands with House Targaryen, even without a marriage. Let the past be in the past.”

“Yes,” father nods, though his eyes are far away.

“There can still be a marriage,” Arya says, and it is enough to pull everyone back to the present.

“Make up your mind,” Aegon sighs.

“Not me,” Arya wrinkles up her nose, then turns to look at Jon. “I mean no offense,” she says, softening.

“I have not taken any,” Jon says back, and for the first time, he notices that a great weight has been lifted from him. Relief, heady and dizzying.

“But if you want an alliance, we've still got a perfectly good unmarried Stark lady. And she's even a proper one, with manners and everything,” Arya snorts, turning to look at Sansa, who's red-rimmed eyes are now wide with surprise.

“That is true,” father says, though he sounds hesitant. “Though I will keep my promise, and I will not force this. But if both are amenable...”

Lord Stark looks at his daughter, Sansa's face now flushed. It creeps up her neck and into her cheeks, like he's seen countless times.

“I-” she says, looking around the room, voice barely more than a whisper. “I would be amenable.”

Jon's heart is doing that thing again – pounding so hard in his chest he feels as though he has been sparring for hours.

She would be amenable to marrying him?

He doesn't mean to – what he means to do is say that this is madness and walk away, but instead his stupid mouth has it's own mind, it seems. “I would also be amenable,” he says, the words a rush. His tongue trips over them, because he is a bumbling fool whenever he is around her.

“I cannot believe Margaery was right,” Aegon groans, letting his head tip back as his eyes squeeze shut. “She is going to be impossible from now on.”

…

He finds her in the stables, up in the loft above, surrounded by hay. He climbs the ladder and sits next to her, their feet hanging over the edge, the horses whinnying and shuffling below.

“You're not mad at me?” Arya asks, kicking her feet out.

“Never,” he says.

“I just... Margaery kept talking about what marriage was like. The things we'd have to do to make babies, and I...” her nose scrunches up, and a shiver goes through her. Jon lets out a soft laugh.

“You'll find someone that you want to make babies with, some day,” Jon tells her, bumping her shoulder with his, but it doesn't make her laugh, and it doesn't make her argue. Instead, she frowns. Serious.

“I don't know if I will,” she says. She won't look at him, worry clear across her face. “I don't get it,” she says finally. “I hear Sansa talk about... about boys and I don't understand it. Jeyne, Beth, Margaery. I think I was born wrong.”

“You weren't,” Jon says, and he feels that same anger he had in the gardens, holding Joffrey by the throat. “You aren't wrong. You're... you're just...” he huffs out air through his nose in annoyance, because he can never get his thoughts into words properly. He isn't Sansa, who can always seem to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. “You're just Arya.”

“But I don't know what that means!” she cries, hands balled into fists at her side.

“You'll figure it out,” he tells her.

He can't know that for sure, but what he does know, is that if anyone can do it, Arya can.

…

Prince Jon's betrothal to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell is a message.

The war is over. Leave the past in the past.

Arya promises to stay for the wedding, at least. After that, Jon doesn't think she will last very long before she disappears again.

What is west of Westeros?

Sansa will be upset when she leaves. Arya will too, he thinks, though both of them are too stubborn to admit it.

“Be nice,” Jon tells her as they walk through the gardens behind Aegon and Margaery – who keeps looking back at them with a smug, knowing smile.

“I'm always nice,” Sansa says, not looking at him, her chin lifted in defiance. Jon lets out a snort of disbelief.

“And if Arya shows up to our wedding in breeches?” he teases.

That earns him a side-eyed glare, but she doesn't break. “I shall allow breeches, but she will dance, and I won't have her whining about it the whole time, either.”

Jon wants to keep this up, keep teasing her, because it makes her blush and her breathing go shallow and rapid and it makes him nearly weak in the knees to see it, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls her off the path and just past a large rosebush that hides them from view.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, eyes darting back to where they have lost sight of Aegon and Margaery, but she makes no move to leave.

“I was hoping to steal a kiss from my betrothed,” he grins at her.

“This is highly improper,” she breathes, but still does not try to leave.

“I'm a prince,” he shrugs. “The rules don't apply to me.”

“I shall regret ever saying that,” she says, her face scrunching up in dismay.

“Do you regret anything else?” he steps closer to her, his tone serious. Her face softens and she shakes her head.

“No.”

“Neither do I,” he murmurs, and leans down to capture her lips in a kiss, and he knows in that moment that he has wanted to do this from the first moment he saw her.

From the way she kisses back, he thinks she has, too.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #prompt fic #this is so long and i'm so sorry

[welt-verbessererin]

Kink in the South

a little preview of what you can expect from chapter 3:

Arya 8:32 whatcha up to, handsome?

Gendry 8:32 you know exactly what I'm up to

Arya 8:32 You're right. Don't let your boss catch you sexting at work.

Gendry 8:33 We're not sexting.

Arya 8:33 We're about to. 

Arya 8:33 What are you wearing?

Gendry snorts at the cliché question and tries to think of a good reply. 

Gendry 8:34 nothing but black stockings and a fur tail butt plug

Arya 8:34 *sweating emoji* I envy my customers today

Gendry 8:34 lmao

Arya 8:35 ...but would you for real 

Gendry 8:35 what?

Gendry 8:35 wear stockings?

Ignoring the butt plug part may have been on purpose.

Arya 8:36 yeah

He's a bit stunned. Wearing lingerie (or butt plugs) is not something he's ever considered before.

Gendry8:36 Idk. Do you want me to?

Arya 8:36 only if you want

His face is heating up. Knowing Arya might like to see him in it felt… new, strange and -dare he think it- exhilarating. But he's definitely not there yet. 

Gendry 8:37 let me get back to you on that.

Arya 8:37 noted

Arya 8:38 back to our regularly scheduled program

The only reason he's not dropping his phone when the photo comes through is because he's frozen. No need to ask Arya what she's wearing.

Casting a look towards the door to make sure no one's about to enter, he zooms in on it.

#gendrya #arya x gendry #gendry x arya #welt's fics #kits

[castle-in-the-air0]

Hello my love! Currently re-reading tmttw because I have no self control and I just have a few questions — more so to understand you as a writer than anything else, in truth. First, do you draw more inspiration from Book Canon or Show Canon? The complexity with which you write Jaime and Tywin in terms of their prioritising of legacy VS family is one of my absolute favourite things ever and I see hints of the book characterisation. Cersei is another character you write so well, I am absolutely floored with how you manage to capture the way she stitches narcissism and love into this multi-dimensional hybrid!

Anyways, lemme chill with the fangirling (I literally just now downloaded tumblr and made this account just to rant to you about this fic LMFAO)

My other question is also to do with dynamics, but moreso with which ones you're excited to delve into and further explore. Any little headcanons you can feed us about Alysanne's relationships with the people in her life? Targs, Starks, maybe even my baby boy Gendry? Idk lmfaooo im just way too hyped rn

Hello! So sorry for how long it took me to reply to this, but I wanted to make sure I had time to really think about it. And you downloaded tumblr just to send this???? Excuse me while I go cry, I'm blushing and kicking my feet fr.

(also, you're rereading??? that's so sweet and i'm actually for real crying)

I LIVE for questions like these, so thank you so so much for sending it in! I think I probably unconsciously draw from show cannon more, just because it was my first exposure to asoiaf and I've rewatched the show more than I've read the books. But I do try to keep a healthy mix of both! I always turn to the wiki based off the books, as well.

And I'm absolutely !!!!! that you think I write Cersei well 🥺 She's one of my favorites to write and her level of unhinged is so entertaining, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! Jaime and Tywin are a hard balance to strike, and I do work hard to capture them so thank you for that as well!

I think that Tywin will always put legacy above family, given his father and the way he detests him. It's similar with Jaime, I think, who grew up with a father who put legacy over family and it's something that he desperately wishes to not repeat, but ends up playing into anyhow. If there's one thing that asoiaf does well it's generational trauma and that cycle, and in this AU it's almost fallen to Alysanne to break the cycle in her family as we know Joffrey won't. Perhaps Tommen and Myrcella will as well, but that remains to be seen.

And Alysanne definitely feels this dynamic and pressure (here we go into my little head cannons! thank you for asking me this I'm so excited to delve into this). I think that had she not gone north, she 100% would have followed in the path of Jaime and Tywin. Not only does she have Tywin's legacy weighing down on her, but the entirety of the Targaryen legacy. We already see her efforts to break away, it would have been worse under Tywin's direct influence. Having a healthy influence (Starks 😊) for sure curbed that.

I mean, before she learned of who exactly her grandfather was, she idolized him. Even after she discovered what he’d done to Elia and Rhaenys (and Aegon, so she thought), she had a difficult time equating one of the only members of her family to come visit her with this monster from the history books. It wasn’t until she was older that her disdain for him grew, once she realized he only saw her as a pawn.

And that brings us to Jaime. Alysanne is more like her father than she cares to admit to herself. They both are utterly devoted to those they love, and both she and her father reflect both sides of that coin in a way. With Alysanne and Robb it’s in a supportive manner, but with Jaime and Cersei it’s toxic. I think they’re also really similar in that they both have a deep desire to prove to Tywin that they’re more than his puppet. Jaime does this by refusing to remarry/joining the kingsguard, Alysanne by siding with the Starks and ultimately taking Casterly Rock. Jaime tries to not be his father, and Alysanne tries not to be like Jaime. 

And CERSEI. Man, had Alysanne grown up in King’s Landing, they would have been such a fun combination to write. In her early years, Alysanne absolutely looked to Cersei as kind of a mother figure. Even when she visited King’s Landing from Winterfell, I liken her to season 1 Sansa in the way she viewed her aunt. Especially since Cersei views (or viewed, rather) Alysanne as a kind of “what could have been” had she married Rhaegar. A twisted part of her mind sees Alysanne as the daughter she never had with him. In a different world where Alysanne remained in King’s Landing, she 100% could have been Cersei’s puppet, at least for a time. 

On a lighter note, Tyrion visited almost as often as Tywin. He’s a major reason why she was able to come to terms with who her grandfather really was. Tyrion is by far one of her favorite Lannister’s, and I’m really excited to reunite them. It was Tyrion who introduced her to the wonders of a good Dornish wine or Arbor gold, and the first time she got truly, horribly drunk was with him on her fourteenth name day, late at night in the godswood. I think they have a sort of kinship that goes beyond blood. He’s always felt discarded by his family, and Alysanne felt similar. It’s a large reason why Tyrion visited so often. 

As for an even lighter, lighter note, the Starks hold Alysanne's entire heart (aside from dear Myrcella and Tommen). There's Bran and Rickon of course, who she's known for the entirety of their lives and who she loves as brothers. Sansa, and Arya of course. I think a part of Alysanne resents her father for letting her go, and part of her is thankful for the family she's found. And that same part feels guilt for what she's found.

There was a brief period in her early teens where she resented the easy family bond the Starks have, and that's the point she really bonded with Jon, who also felt some level of detached from them.

Thank you again for the question, I really enjoyed getting a chance to share some of this! I have so much more, so maybe I'll share those someday.

And thanks for reading (and rereading! it's crazy to think that people read, let alone CHOOSE to read again). Hopefully I'll have a new chapter out this week! It's so close to being done.

#thank you thank you thank you #with my whole heart #anon #answered

[kellyvela]

Arya and Sansa age difference is 3 years

Sansa born in 286 A.C

Arya born in 289 A.C

Gendry born in 284 A.C

Daenerys born in 284 A.C

Shireen Baratheon born in 289 A.C

Robb Stark born in 283 A.C

Jon Snow born in 283 A.C

Margaery Tyrell born in 283 A.C

Not exactly. They were born in those years but they are not three years apart. I mean, more than two but less than three years.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon's mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn't been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa's trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

#anon asks #sansa stark

[agirlofwinterfell]

Just realised in THAT SCENE 

Gendry pulls Arya’s hand to help him undress himself

I’ve still got to write metas for how it gives them both agency, and that y’all reaching. 

“I’m not the red woman. Take your own blood pants off.” 

Arya’s giving him room to make his own decision, to consent to her with his actions. She gives him time to push her away. 

The real problem people have that they don’t want to address is that Arya was an 18-year-old virgin, having agency over her own sexuality, her own virginity, and her own nudity. That that scene wasn’t for the audience. And it wasn’t for Gendry. It was for Arya. Arya’s nudity was for Arya alone. That Maisie was the one who got to decide how much was shown. That Maisie decided on how her body was to be portrayed. That Maisie got the agency in a scene that many actresses never had. Many actresses never will have. 

That Maisie, who’s first sex scene was so uncomfortable for her at 17/18, that she didn’t enjoy making it. That she got to enjoy making this one, having fun with this one, have a hand in crafting it. She was 17/18 being rutted against by a 26-year-old actor in the Falling (released 2014, Maisie born in 1997), and she didn’t enjoy it. I don’t recall the complaints then? Was it because she didn’t get naked? Maybe.

In a show where Dany was raped at 15 (implied and then brutally on screen), Sansa was raped at 17 (on screen), Robb Stark lost his virginity at 16/17 (in a fit of passion parallel to Gendrya), Jon lost his at 17/18? Missandei was a slave, Doreah was said to be 12... Of all our leads this is the one people have a problem with... when y’all still congratulating Pod having such skills when he was coded being 15/16 in s3. Wonderful shit guys. 

And if your problem is with Gendry’s trauma. That’s fine. Although I would say, Arya was not aggressive with it. In fact, Gendry pulls Arya to help him undress. The line of questioning she took was very important for what she wanted. How much experience does he have? Does she need to make it more special for him? Is his only experience the red woman? He implied sexual assault. Arya’s not knowledgable enough to fully understand what that means, but the hint was there in tied me down stripped me, and she made her behaviour appropriate. She forces nothing. If Gendry wanted her to stop asking he would have told her to stop- and she would have stopped. Arya’s not one to treat Gendry like shit. They have banter, he calls her milady. in the books she calls him a STUPID BULLHEADED BASTARD BOY. It’s not so off beat for her to say earlier “Even a smiths apprentice can do better than that.” If it was Jon failing to describe wights she’d say “Even a Man of the Night's watch can do better than that.” She’s called everyone in her life Stupid before. Because Gendry was a smith’s apprentice. She asked if he was with her. That’s medieval for did sex happen. He is quick to say no. He still knows what it was, and I think it’s about here that Arya STARTS to fully come to grips with it. With just what he was telling her. So she changes it up, other women only until comes time she wants to give him a chance to leave again, change his mind. “I’m not the red woman.” She’s not her. This is Arya, and Arya loves Gendry, and she doesn’t want to make him do something he doesn’t want to. 

 It wasn’t even aggressive questioning, it was three lines of questioning. “Was that your first time?” “Your first time with a woman. How many others? One? Two? Twenty?” She gets her answer, he tells her. Three. coincidentally the same amount of times Arya got stabbed by the waif. The same amount of arrowheads she threw. The number of scenes they have in the season where they make love. The season they separated. She gives him time to push her away, to say no, to leave. She would’ve accepted that. She pauses twice to let him to this. Before she kisses him, when she tells him to take his pants off. Her pants are still on then. They can leave now and stop. The sexual assault hasn’t been brushed over from Gendry’s end. He mentioned it in s7, he implied it to Arya now in ep 2. Arya didn’t gloss over it either. I’m not the red woman. 

If we’re giving Arya shit for this, let's give Jon the same shit for approaching the woman who- for the first time ever confessing to being raped- announced to him she had been raped, for... what specifically felt like sex when I watch that. Arya didn’t know until that scene. Jon knew episodes before. Daenerys said as such explicitly. Gendry implied it.  

I actually asked a friend who watched the J*nerys scene and how that felt to watch “ ... weird, and forced. like? the writing leading up to that point didn't make me feel like there was much chemistry between them at all “

Compared to the build-up of Gendrya “ A bit better. There was precedent for it, at least. It's a well-established ship, and the relationship between the two of them was developed enough to the point where it didn't seem like it came out of nowhere”

If the problem’s with Gendry’s age? Y’all didn’t have a problem with Bronn’s age in s8 ep 1 when he started having sex with three gratuitously naked girls young enough to be his daughters, or at least playing his daughters. Gendry’s in his early twenties. People ship Sansa with men twice her age - Jai.me, Tyr.ion, Little.finger, Wil,las Ty.rell. People ship her romantically with Ramsay. The guy who raped her on the show. People ship Da.ny and Dr.ogo when even in the show she’s still some 15 years younger than him, and he raped her. Again, not judging that, ship what you want, but really? That’s the one that’s okay?

It was mutually consensual and desired, touched on Gendry’s trauma with the characters both actively showing this is not the same. “I’m not the Red Woman.” I’m Arya. “Take your own blood pants off.” If you want this to continue, you have to do that. I’m not making you do this, and I’m not forcing your pants off. She wants his consent as much as he has hers. Because we know Melisandre yanked them off. Arya gave him a choice. And he chooses he wants to continue. He undoes his own pants. 

The gravity of the situation? They could die in minutes, in hours, they don’t know, and Arya wants to do this before that happens. Gendry wants to do this. There’s urgency, they need each other, they want each other. She pushes him on the sacks- but he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t at any point stop her. We know he wanted her too, and that he understood that this is arya, and arya likes to be a leader- likes to be in control

Arya undressed herself for her. Not Gendry. Not the audience. Herself. Arya took control because it was her virginity. Not Gendry’s. Her’s. Gendry shouldn’t be the one in charge just because he’s been a victim. Arya needed to be in charge because it was HER VIRGINITY. She needed control over this. And as an 18-year-old virgin, do you know how much that meant for me to see? A virginal woman taking control, and not being demure for the man having her virginity.

In a world where people aren’t as offended by the rape, misogyny and murder in the show... a consensual act between an 18 year old and the guy she likes is too far? 

Where were the cries that Arya’s too young when she was stabbing Meryn Trants eyes out? When the Hound smacked her over?  When she was blinded? When she took out House Frey? When she was beaten? When she was stabbed?

Of course not.

Was dialogue clunky? yes? Could it have been different and better? yes. But I’m happy with what we got. As someone who loves Gendry, and loves Arya, and can differentiate my muse from the writing of the showrunners, and even sometimes the decisions that george makes and continue to love her. 

No complaints about much that Arya does when she’s killing... Because sex is only for the pleasure of men, I forget. If she was a boy, and Gendry a girl, people would be celebrating her. Just like people congratulated Jon for sexing up Dany. 

I’ve seen that too “If the situation was reversed there would be petitions”  who the fuck petitioned for Jon//erys to not happen again? Because that’s what Jon did. He approached the sexual assault survivor Dae..nerys for sex bc uwu they’re in love, and all that was talked about was the incest and boat sex. I don’t remember a criticism of Jon doing that. Guy shows up at your doorstep for sex and he’s in control of it? Gendrya did the opposite. Guy showed up at doorstep probably to confess love, girl takes control of what she wants. 

Anyway tldr: Both characters had agency in this scene. Gendry had the agency to reject Arya’s advances, to stop them, she gave him the chance, he decided he wanted to continue and be naked. Arya had the agency over her sexuality, over her nudity, over her own virginity. Maisie had agency over her nudity, and it was so tastefully shot. Most actresses never get that. 

And you know what? I liked it. I liked it a lot. Shout out to Maisie and Joe for doing so fucken fantastic. Shout out to Bryan Cogman and David Nutter for giving a shit about Maisie’s comfort. Shout out to Bryan Cogman for recognising parts of these characters. The fact it feels straight out of a fanfiction shows the general lovers of Arya, Gendry, and Gendrya felt it was done well. No shout out to Bryan for not giving more tact to the situation of Melisandre. 

And you know what? It was. 

Update: Wrote this in 2019 and it’s been stuck in my drafts since 

#queue #i wrote this in 2019

[asoiaf-source]

Ned Dayne calls Arya ‘My lady’

Often Arya likes to deny she is a lady (adjective) or being called a Lady or m’lady (nouns) but, people often quote it without noting the context in which she protests this.

Sometimes she feels inadequate in comparison to ‘real’ ladies and thus not ladylike enough, it is the adjective use of the word she is objecting to.

Arya looked down at her ragged clothes and bare feet, all cracked and callused. She saw the dirt under her nails, the scabs on her elbows, the scratches on her hands. Septa Mordane wouldn't even know me, I bet. Sansa might, but she'd pretend not to. "My mother's a lady, and my sister, but I never was."  [ACOK - Arya V]  

Sometimes it is in frustration in being forced into a role she doesn’t feel she can live up to, and resents being constantly found lacking. Again the adjective use, as she doesn’t want to made into one.

"That's enough." Her father's voice was curt and hard. "The septa is doing no more than is her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady." "I don't want to be a lady!" Arya flared.  [AGOT - Arya II]  

Sometimes it is to encourage herself, to give herself strength - which she never learned to associated with the word ‘lady.’

I'm not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I'm a wolf. [ASOS - Arya IV]    

A common societal belief in Westeros of ladies being weaker, less capable or important, which is another reason she bulks against wanting to be seen this way.

"The woman is important too!" Arya protested. [AGOT - Arya I]

And how she feels when she is defeated and made to feel weak.

"Yes." That he was not Robb's man, she understood well enough. And that she was his captive. I could have stayed with Hot Pie. We could have taken the little boat and sailed it up to Riverrun. She had been better off as Squab. No one would take Squab captive, or Nan, or Weasel, or Arry the orphan boy. I was a wolf, she thought, but now I'm just some  stupid little lady again.  [ASOS - Arya III]

Sometimes it is because she doesn’t want to be elevated above others, like Gendry and Hot Pie. Feeling like it is a separator (which it is) between herself and others that she likes as friends. She doesn’t like to acknowledge the difference, perhaps something she learned observing Jon and not wanting to make him or others feels less than, like he must have felt at times - I’m sure she would have notice that.

"Lem didn't think so," Arya said glumly. Then it was time to go. When Hot Pie asked if he might kiss milady's hand, she punched his shoulder. "Don't call me that. You're Hot Pie, and I'm Arry."

- - -

"Would m'lady permit? Could I shoe your horses for you, and make swords for your lordly brothers?"

Sometimes he made her so angry. "You stop that!"

But then, you get this conversation in ASOS - Arya VIII between Ned Dayne and Arya that (to me) informs the reader on how Arya thinks about being called a lady in normal interactions.

No judgements, no mockery, no criticism, just two people having a polite conversation.

"My lady?" Ned said at last. "You have a baseborn brother . . . Jon Snow?"

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall."  Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even  though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little  sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. "How do you know about Jon?"  

Arya just meet Ned, she doesn’t consider him a friend or anything, he is politely making conversation (about her favorite topic Jon, can’t hurt) and she never bulks at being called a lady by him. Even when Gendry mocks them for it.

"You have a House?" That was stupid; he was a squire, of course he had a House. "Who are you?"

"My lady?" Ned looked embarrassed. "I'm Edric Dayne, the . . . the Lord of Starfall."

Behind them, Gendry groaned. "Lords and ladies," he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off  his thick bull head. "Ow," he said. "That hurt." He felt the skin above his eye. "What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?"  

"The bad kind," said Arya, suddenly contrite. She turned back to Ned. "I'm sorry I didn't know who you were. My lord."  

"The fault is mine, my lady." He was very polite.

Not only does she never bulk at being called a lady numerous times, she even calls him ‘My lord’ in kind. She was taught correct noble etiquette, she knows how to act in a polite conversation and reacts accordingly.

In fact, the Brotherhood in general call her ‘my lady’ quite often, and she doesn’t respond negatively to it. She knows they know who she is and takes it as a matter of course most of the time, probably used to the people about Winterfell calling her ‘my lady’ all the time, again in normal interactions where she isn’t being judged.

Anyway, I always thought this little interaction with Ned was enlightening, but I never see people comment on it or use it as a reference. But, it is one of the few times in the series when Arya is dealing with someone with a title having a normal conversation and she has no problems defaulting to polite speech.

#asoiaf #book!arya #topic titles #topic character analysis #Arya Stark #asoiaf-fanworks #asoiaf meta #Arya Stark Meta