#robert baratheon daughter

[axelsagewrites]

Heya this is kind of Robb Stark but more of a friendship one where y/n is Robbs wife (Robert Baratheons only real child and is very nice a sweet and was in a arranged marriage to Robb but fell In love. She is famous for being beautiful has songs written about her and all that jazz)and it’s when Caytlen comes to camp with Brienne of Tarth and y/n is kind of amazed by her and finds her very beautiful. They end up having a conversation where y/n compliments her but Brienne thinks she’s joking but y/n is quick to correct her. y/n gives her a very encouraging speech about how she admires her . Not that Brienne would show it but she’s very touched by it and grows a soft spot for y/n just a very nice moment. If you don’t do these types of pens that’s fine ❤️

Queen in the North and South

Main Pairing: Platonic Brienne x f!reader

Second Pairing: Romantic Robb x f!reader

Summary: Brienne and the reader discuss to pros and cons of beauty and where to find it

Warnings: Mentions of creepy men

Word count: 2842

Masterlist Here

When you first arrived at Winterfell you were hesitant of your new life being forced upon you but soon grew to love it. In Kingslanding you had felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You didn’t share the same Lannister locks with your siblings nor your mother’s affiliation with wine. As your father’s oldest child, he adored you but as you grew, he began to show you off and flaunt you to the lords around.

“Gather round my lords and see the greatest beauty in all of Westeros!” He would cheer drunk on his ale and those around would join in. over time you learned to hide your embarrassment at the attention, and the glares your mother would give you for it and smiled politely. Men would come to court simply to play the songs they wrote for you, or lords would attempt to rhyme off pretty sonnets in your honour. It felt nice to be loved but as you grew you noticed the lust in many eyes and began to feel disgust.

But you smiled politely like you did when you first met Robb. He was of course very handsome himself; a true Tully look about him with all the Stark courage and honour. However, you tried not to obsess over looks like many had done with you and insisted on getting to know him as a person.

As it turned out Robb was more interesting than you first assumed however far too trusting of people. Something you tried to educate him on. Robb was just relieved that his wife was not just a pretty face, not that he complained about your looks since he adored them. Once you were wed you began to talk late into the night, discussing opinions and having debates. even when you told him his opinion was wrong, he couldn’t help but smile at the way you delivered the punch line.

You had learned one thing from your mother and that was that you wanted to be the opposite of her in every way. In Kingslanding you would often venture into the city to teach the small folk how to read or hear their folktales. It was how you first heard the songs they sang about you. The beauty of all the kingdoms. That’s what they called you and it meant so much more from then that it did the lords at court.

In Winterfell you spent time meeting and talking to everyone and anyone you could. Often you played hide and seek with the younger Starks and Sansa flocked to you like a mother hen. You also managed to gain the favour of many lords and ladies in the North as the South had taught you what to say and how.

When Ned Stark died it was not just the Young Wolf they rode out for and died for. It was you. While northerners cheered for Robb to be their king, Kingslanding silently begged for you their true queen to return and take the throne from your monster of a brother. You had even received letters from Dorne backing your claim. The king in the north and queen in the south.

However, you weren’t the only one who had a claim, a claim you had yet to announce you were fighting for to the world. Renly Baratheon also believed himself king. You couldn’t understand your uncles reasoning in the slightest. Stannis’s claim was the only logical one if Joffrey was a bastard and the lords sought a king not a queen. Why not join Stannis as his heir? Then you could never quite understand your uncle.

You hoped Lady Catelyn would however when she left to see his camp. Robb had insisted you did not go meet your uncle personally. While you had not announced your claim many rumours flew around about it and Robb was not prepared to send his wife off to a camp filled with your rivals’ men. Despite your marriage being a political one it had grown into love and admiration for each other. Little did Tywin know that it was not politically wise for him when he suggested it to your father who jumped at the chance to join houses with the Starks.

Every night she was gone you prayed for Catelyn’s return and your men’s safety so when you saw her arrive back at camp you began to thank them profusely. However, she returned with an extra man at her side. Or woman you should say.

Brienne of Tarth stood tall beside Catelyn, her hand always close to her sword. You were tending to the wounded when she arrived and did not have time to meet her just yet but as you gazed at her from across the camp you saw her eyes turn to you. when your eyes met you smiled and gave her a small wave. She was beautiful. Not in the typical sense you knew. But she was.

Robb was the one to tell you more about her. “Wait she was in his Kings guard? Like a knight?” You asked as you walked with your husband to the food area of your camp.

“Not a knight darling,” Robb had his hand linked with yours which kept your other free to wave to the Lords and soldiers who waved at you. even during war, they admired your elegance. “But she was his guard apparently. She beat Loras Tyrell in the tourney,”

“That couldn’t have been hard,” you joked, “that boy was all spindly legs when I saw him last,”

“He’s one of the best knights in the Kingdom,” Robbs laughed made your stomach flutter the same way it had the first night you met, “I don’t even know if I believe that she did,”

“I can believe it,”

“You see the good in everyone love,”

You snorted at his words as you took a bowl of stew from one of the men, “No,” you retorted as Robb got his own, raising an eyebrow at your words, “I just don’t announce my distrust to the world. Have I taught you noting?” you teased.

Robb rolled his eyes with a smile. You glanced over to where Brienne was sat alone and foodless. “You wanna go sit with her, don’t you?” he asked, and you nodded sheepishly, “Go on, make some friends,” Robb chuckled as he handed you another bowl of stew to give to the woman, “I’m gonna go eat with Lord Karstarks to talk battle plans,”

“Okay have fun, if that’s possible,” You grinned. Robb rolled his eyes before pressing a brief kiss to your lips and walking away.

You turned your attention to Brienne who was whitling a piece of wood with a knife. You smiled and nodded to all the men as you walked across the camp to where she sat on a log. “May I join you lady Brienne?” you smiled as you held out the bowl to her.

Brienne looked up quickly, her eyes wide, “It’s just Brienne. I’m no lady. I’m sure you would enjoy someone else’s company more your grace,” she said. You held the bowl out further his she finally took, “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” you said before sitting on the log beside her, Brienne looking at you as if she had three heads, “I thought your father was lord tarth?” you mused as you began to eat your stew, handing Brienne a spare spoon for hers.

Her eyes faltered between yours and the food, “Um he is,” she started as she turned her attention to stare into the camp, “I am a lady by birth right your grace but not by actions,”

“Life would be far more interesting if there were more ladies like you,”

“You don’t know me your grace,”

“Then what do I need to know?” you asked as you set your spoon down. “I’m all ears,”

Reluctantly Brienne began to tell you her life so far though not the personal bits of course. She told you how she found herself at Renly’s camp, how she fought for him, swore an oath to him, and became a king’s guard. You laughed at her stories, a genuine laugh that touched Brienne as you actually seemed to care. perhaps it was fake she thought. Perhaps that’s why people sang songs about you.

None the less she decided to enjoy your company at least for dinner, “It was about time someone knocked down Loras a leg or two. When I was eight, he spilled his father’s wine all down my dress because I told him his hair was ugly,”

Brienne couldn’t stop herself from laughing at your antics, “Maybe you shouldn’t have insulted him,”

“Oh, im sure he started it,” you joked as you set the now empty bowl on the ground, “if not him then it was defiantly Margaery. I refuse to accept it was my fault,” Normally Brienne would judge your words but the way you laughed made it clear unlike many you could handle a joke.

Something she appreciated as you laughed at hers. “I must say your grace you’re not what I expected from the songs,”

You groaned at her words, “Oh gods what do they sing about me over there?”

Brienne laughed at your fake agony, “Just the usual. That you’re beautiful and kind,”

“Have I offended you?” you joked turning to face her straight on, “Have I not been kind?”

Brienne flushed at your words, “Forgive me your grace. It’s just most Ladies I know aren’t as kind as you,”

“Or you,” you agreed, “Then again, I’ve never met another lady like you. it’s refreshing honestly. And for the record I hate those songs,” You confessed your longest running lie to a stranger, but Brienne moral code was stronger than the Starks.

“How can you hate being called beautiful?” she asked, and you could feel the resentment from her. the same feeling you got from many other ladies who would push you as a child or gossip about you as an adult.

You sighed as you placed your arms on your knees to lean forward, thinking before you spoke, “When Robb calls me beautiful I feel a warm feeling in me that spreads across me like a love struck plague,” you began, recalling the butterflies you had felt the first time he kissed your hand when you met. “The first time I heard one of those songs yes sure it made me feel good. Then I saw the way the lords would look at me. Then I heard what they sang and said when they thought I wasn’t around. They didn’t view me as a person,” you sighed as you recalled all the pervy comments and creepy stares.

“Im sorry you had to deal with that my lady,” Brienne placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You turned your head to look at her and sat back up, “it’s not your fault. Besides everyone’s beautiful in their own way,” you mused.

Brienne barked out a laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong my lady,”

“You can find beauty everywhere. All you need to do is look,” you said as you looked out over the camp. “See him over there? With the dried blood covering his face?” you nodded towards one of the Karstarks boys and Brienne couldn’t help but noted how the battles must have harmed his face, “He has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. Better than all the singers in Kingslanding and him,” you nodded towards another unassuming man by the fire, “Whittles these wooden figures that have so much detail and grace in every carving. Even him,” you nodded at the most closed off, grumpy one of your fighters who constantly looked ready to spit on someone, “has the biggest most beautiful smile when he laughs. Just because you can’t see the beauty at first glance doesn’t mean it’s not there,”

Brienne looked around the camp at all the different men and how they spoke, laughed, and moved. “Do you know all of your men?” she asked.

“I try to,” you answered as you took both your dirty dishes to take to be washed but one of your men stopped you to take them from you, “Thank you lord Umber,” you smiled at him before turning back to Brienne, “People respond far better to kindness than cruelness,”

“It’s a shame that most find it easier to be cruel than kind,” Brienne said as you both continued to walk around the camp. She enjoyed your company more than she’d like to admit.

You glanced to where Catelyn sat alone with her food in deep thought, “Hurt people hurt. While it does dismiss their actions it can help to explain them,”

“I suppose,” Brienne agreed, “But it’s hard not to hate them for it,”

“I know. trust me,” you said as you linked your arm with the woman who flinched initially at your touch. However, Brienne found comfort in the way you held her arm as you guided her around camp. “The sky’s so beautiful tonight,” you broke the comfortable silence.

“It is,” Brienne paused as she thought. She wanted to ask but worried you would think her weird. “Can you truly see the beauty in everything?” she asked. Brienne was mocked constantly growing up for her looks and how she acted. Men flinched when they saw her, but you looked at her with deep admiration.

“Everyone can. If they take the time,” you knew what she was thinking without her saying. You heard your own men mock her in the shadows and how they laughed. Some people were cruel, but you refused to be to those who had done nothing to deserve it. “I used to dream of knights as a child,” Brienne raised an eyebrow as you began your tangent. “Of how they rode their horses with such expertise and how they didn’t even have to look to know where their knife was about to strike. I used to admire their honour and their duty. Of course, I also dreamed about their armour and how imposing it made them look. I wanted to surround myself with them so that the men in their armour and imposing nature would protect me out of honour and morality.

Those dreams died the first time a knight made a pass at me at 14,” Brienne screwed her face up at the idea that anyone, any man, would dream of hurting you, “I remember how his head rolled off his body when my father executed him for it. so, I stopped dreaming of knights,” You stopped walking to turn to Brienne, taking her hands in yours. Your hands were soft and tender while hers were rough and scarred, “You however are the truest knight I have ever met. And that Brienne is far more beautiful than hair of black silk or just another pretty face. You’re the most handsome, beautiful knight I have ever laid my eyes upon so don’t let silly boys ruin what you see in the mirror,”

Tears lined Brienne eyes, but she had taught herself not to let them fall even when you gave her hands a gentle squeeze, “I am no knight my lady,”

“Not yet,” you said as you removed your hands from hers, “But when I am queen, I will make sure you are,”

Brienne had already sworn her loyalty to Renly but her king was dead and now she was stood before someone equally as kind as he had been to her, “You would make a fine queen your grace of the north or the south,” You smiled at her words, “But what of your brother?” she asked.

“That boy is the cruellest person I have ever met,” you said as you stared off into the distance, “He will only be beautiful when he is dead,”

Brienne had assumed by your appearance you knew nothing of politics and war but as she saw your jaw clench and your eyes gaze into the distance, she knew she had been wrong. The sound of her unsheathing her sword brought your attention back to her and you could hear the camp go silent at her actions. Your men’s hands flew to their own sword hilts as they watched her but relaxed slightly when Brienne went on one knee, holding her sword out to you, “It would be my honour to serve you your grace,” Brienne said, “As queen in the north and in the south,”

You smiled at her words, a genuine smile of love and compassion, “You honour me greatly Brienne of Tarth,” your hand came to rest on her shoulder, “When the war is won and Kingslanding has been saved and Ned Stark avenged I will have you knighted before the iron throne before the gods and the realm,”

Brienne looked up at you, her eyes wet with happy tears. You smiled down at her with love and sincerity, something even Renly’s eyes failed to offer at times. “A good day that’ll be your grace,”

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth imagine #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #brienne imagine #platonic brienne of tarth #robert baratheon daughter #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark

[sansas-amythest-hairnet]

Rhaelle Baratheon neé Targaryen

The youngest child of Aegon V and Betha Blackwood, she was married to Lord Ormund Baratheon. When all four of her elder siblings broke their betrothals to the great houses, the Baratheons were amongst those spited. After a short rebellion and a trial by combat, she was betrothed to Ormund and sent to Storms end to act as cupbearer to Lord Lyonel. She married Ormund and had her son Steffon a year later. She’s marriage to House Baratheon helped lead to the downfall of House Targaryen as her grandson Robert Baratheon used his relation to her as his claim to the Iron Throne after he rebelled against and nearly decimated House Targaryen. I like to think that she was still alive in the current timeline.

Sneak peek of what’s next: Rhaenys Targaryen daughter of Rhaegar

#asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #asoiaf fanart #asoif fanart #house of the dragon #house targaryen #rhaelle targaryen #house baratheon #ormund baratheon #Lyonel baratheon #aegon v targaryen #betha blackwood #steffon baratheon #robert baratheon #stannis baratheon #renly baratheon #rhaenys targaryen #daughter of Rhaegar

[gotham-at-nightfall]

The Royal Families of The Seven Kingdoms: Part 6

By Jota Saraiva

#a song of ice and fire #viserys targaryen #elia martell #lyanna stark #robert baratheon #stannis baratheon #renly baratheon #rhaenys (daughter of rhaegar) targaryen #aegon (son of rhaegar) targaryen #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #khal drogo #hizdar zo loraq #cersei lannister #selyse baratheon #joffrey baratheon #myrcella baratheon #tommen baratheon #shireen baratheon #margaery tyrell

[atopvisenyashill]

What would've happened if Cersei and Jaime only had daughters?

To be completely honest, I think Robert goes hard in the PAINT for his daughters to inherit after him. Joffrey (Jocelyn, perhaps) will almost definitely be a handful the realm is not prepared to deal with because if we think a son of Robert, Cersei, and Jaime was going to be insane that's nothing compared to what an oldest girl and heir presumptive is going to be like. She's not likely to be as strong willed and kind as Myrcella because Mycrella is like that due to the abusive behavior of her parents and older brother; more like, we'd have a sort of mini-Cersei who believes other women are weak, that might makes right, and that as the heir presumptive she is worth more than all others around her. She's not likely to be quite as violent as Joffrey but Saera Targaryen did just fine torturing the court fool instead of innocent cats, so it's likely our Jocelyn Baratheon is going to act similarly.

At the same time - if Tommen comes out a girl, Cersei is going to start getting desperate to have a boy. Maybe she and Jaime get riskier and start fucking more often, where they're more likely to get caught. Maybe Cersei switches to other men and if Jaime gets wind of that (if the main series is anything to go by) he is going to react badly. While all this is going on, Jon Arryn and Robert are discussing succession. I'm saying it again but I think Robert is stubborn enough in the same way Balon and Stannis are, and would push his daughter to be named Crown Princess over Stannis or Renly, and that brings up all the issues that Rhaenyra (and Rhaena and Daenerys the First and Rhaenys) would bring up, the main issue of which is: CAN THE IRON THRONE PASS TO A WOMAN???

Slight historical detour here: Despite Maester Munkin's bitch ass opinions (if you recall, when debating whether Baela or Rhaena should be Aegon III's heir, Munkin simply says that a woman can't sit the Iron Throne because even though there is no other option but the dragon twins, because as Rhaenys says, men would rather put the realm to the torch than let a woman rule over them), and yet after the Dance there is a point where the Crown's heir is a woman despite male relatives being alive. Aerys I acknowledges Aelora (daughter of his next closest sibling, Rhaegel) as his heir but when Aelora dies, he doesn't then acknowledge Daenora as his heir (even though she's Rhaegel's youngest) but Maekar as his heir. And mind you, little Maegor is put forth not as Daenora's heir but as Aerion's heir instead (and then dismissed on account of being a literal infant). So women can be heirs potentially, if the King feels like it, but they can't inherit nor can their children. You can see where the problem is here, lol, lmao.

I think Jon Arryn is going to continue pushing for a male heir but at the same time, Jon has his female line backup heir ready in Harry Hardyng and the Vale has been ruled by an heiress turned Ruling Lady before in Jeyne Arryn. If Robert pushes for it, there's certainly a chance Jon agrees that from now on the Iron Throne will follow Andal law, wherein a daughter comes before an uncle. Indeed, Stannis also sticks by Andal law (he tells Renly directly that Renly would be heir over Shireen, because it's assumed Shireen would be his heir. After that, he makes sure to tell his men directly that Shireen is the new heir. Stannis, at least, also feels that Andal law should prevail so it's not a far stretch that Robert would agree and fight Jon Arryn over this). That makes the marriage match for Jocelyn Baratheon 100% more important because her husband's family must be aware that they may have to help fight for her claim AND it gives Dorne a potential in to push for absolute primogeniture.

This ripples out to Dany and Viserys in Essos. If Dany can make an actual claim to inherit something (because right now, her claim is tenuous at best under Targaryen rule! Women are not allowed to sit the throne!!) because the Throne is now a bit more egalitarian AND she has dragons? I do think she catches Varys' attention a little earlier in that scenario.

(if Robert really wants to he can engage Joffrey to Robb. You'd run into the same issues with Corlys/Laenor/Lucerys though since there haven't been enough prince-consorts to explain what an heir would do if he's consort, vs an heiress like Myriah was required to give up her seat to her younger brother. This would mean an earlier - and likely longer - conversation with Ned about betrothals. If Robert really wants his heir to marry a Stark, he can tell Ned that Robb can marry Jocelyn and either his second born inherits or Bran can inherit and Robb gives up his claim to Lord of Winterfell and set the precedent one way or the other. Then he'd do well to look at Dorne and the Reach for Myrcella and Tommen because he needs to shore up support while the girls are still young if he wants to avoid another gender based civil war. Otherwise, looking to the Reach, the Marches, and Dorne is an excellent idea to head off any rebellion issues. Most of the Blackfyre supporters were in the Marches and the Reach which makes sense because the Marches have a continuous geographic & ethnic based beef with Dorne, and the Reach is filled with shitty fantasy catholics. If he gets most of them on his side like Daeron II tried to, he can get in front of any rebellions coming from Stannis or Renly loyalists early).

Of course....the problem is that the children aren't actually Robert's. So while he's going ham on making sure his daughter is inheriting, Stannis and Jon are still getting suspcious as to why all three kids look golden haired, and Jaime and Cersei are still sneaking around...what happens then? Mess, is what happens, hahahaha.

#valyrianscrolls #robert baratheon #jon arryn #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #asks #anons #robert having only daughters is my favorite au actually. been trying to find some good fic for it

[thewitchqueenofharrenhal]

Unlikely ASOIAF Parallels: Mya Stone & Rhaenys III Targaryen

I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I'm flying. We're both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me." She pushed her hair back. "Then one day he wasn't. - Mya Stone (AFFC Alayne II)

"It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below." - Tywin Lannister (ASOS Tyrion VI)

#asoiaf #mya stone #rhaenys daughter of elia #rhaenys targaryen #robert baratheon #rhaegar targaryen #the parallel to me is how the daughters felt about their fathers

[catofadifferentcolor]

An Incomplete List of Jon Snow AU Fic Ideas

Aegon the Undying: Jon Snow reincarnates through all the Aegons of House Targaryen, focusing on Aegon, son of Baelon, and the Dance of Dragons

Aegon the Unyielding: Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen arranged marriage; part romance, part zombie apocalypse, part revenge fic

Aemon the Adventurous: Jon Snow flees Westeros, becomes a sailor and merchant prince, and brings forth dragons from the ruins of Old Valyria

Baelor the Brave: Would-be Kingsguard Jon Snow assumes the throne after the death of his half-brother, Aegon; part court intrigue, part war story, part murder mystery

Daeron the Desired: Targaryen restoration romcom, with eventual Aegon VI/Rhaenys and Jon Snow/Daenerys

Lady of the Rock: f!Jon Snow/Jaime Lannister as reluctant soulmates and an even more reluctant Tywin forced to chose between Jaime and Cersei after Robert's death

Prince Consort: In which Rhaenys survives in Essos, gains a dragon, and makes a dynastic marriage with King in the North Jon Snow

Prince of Summerhall: Queen Rhaella gives birth to a bastard, determines her eldest son is nearly as mad as his father, and inadvertently starts a war

Storm Queen: f!Jon Snow/Renly Baratheon arranged marriage in which Robert is the best thing ever to happen to the Targaryens

Queen of the Skies: f!Jon Snow becomes the fourth Lady Arryn, the regent of a great house, and mother of dragons

Winter Queen: Following Catelyn Tully's death, Ned Stark marries his niece f!Jon Snow and, almost accidentally, puts her on the Iron Throne

Young Queen: Robert Baratheon takes f!Jon Snow as second wife, leaves her as regent to their son, and is once again inadvertently the best thing to happen to the Targaryens

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #jon snow #female jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #robert baratheon #ned stark #rhaenys daughter of elia #daenerys targeryan #aegon vi targaryen #masterpost

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

DECONSTRUCTIONS of Fantasy Archetypes in ASOIF

So, do y’all remember that one GRRM interview where he talks about Aragon’s tax policy?

The link to the interview is right here : https://www.tolkiensociety.org/2014/04/grrm-asks-what-was-aragorns-tax-policy/

I’ve always interpreted that quote as a critique of the endings that are given to most fantasy heroes, where they save the day, and continue to rule a happy kingdom.

Now, there are many characters in ASOIF that could be linked to the hero archetype,-Dany, Jon, Tyrion, Arya, Sansa, Davos, etc.,(literally almost every POV character is certain type of fantasy hero, or possesses traits of one, although most of them are reconstructions).

But the one character I’ve always linked to that quote, is Robert Baratheon.

Robert’s Rebellion, without the nuance, reads like a Disney fairytale. The young hero (Robert), saving the maiden (Lyanna),from the evil prince (Rhaegar) and his father (Aerys). In a Disney fairytale, Robert and Lyanna would have married, and rule as the King and Queen of a kingdom that adores them. Rhaegar and Aerys would have been disposed of, and most people would celebrate it.

But in ASOIF, that’s not what quite happens.

Romance

Robert and Lyanna were betrothed, yes, but based off of perception of Lyanna from Ned, her brother (and the only POV character who actually knew her), and what we’ve seen of Robert, their marriage would’ve been miserable for her and him ( eventually).

“You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert,” Ned told him. “You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee.”

“ Robert will never keep to one bed,” Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm’s End. “I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale.” Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.”

In these two quotes from Ned Stark’s chapters in A Game of Thrones, Lyanna seemingly has no interest in marrying Robert Baratheon, despite the ‘interest’ he has in her.

Who Are Robert’s ‘Villains’ ?

Putting the ‘romance’ in Robert’s story aside, we’ll now focus on his villains : Rhaegar and Aerys Targaryen. Most book readers agree that Aerys, the mad King was not a suitable ruler during the time of Robert’s Rebellion and needed to be gone. But Rhaegar Targaryen has always been a polarizing character within the fandom, and the text.

“I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.”

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.”

“Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.”

“He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son, not whilst life remained in his body.”

“Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them.”

“Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

Now, it is important to note that all of these are opinions from different characters, most of whom didn’t know Rhaegar personally, so there is a lot of bias in some of these quotes. But the quote that stook out to me the most comes from Barristan Selmy :

“It was said that no man ever knew Prince Rhaegar, truly.”

Because as readers, we don’t really know him at all. We know of his actions, ( some of which I find truly selfish) and there are a thousand theories as to why he does what he does, but we truly don’t know.

But anyways, let’s get back to Robert because I don’t intend to dissect Rhaegar as yet.

Robert’s Rebellion

I’m going to just do a quick summary. Rhaegar ‘steals’ the woman that Robert is betrothed to, and in result, her brother and father are murdered by his father. His father, Aerys then calls for the heads of her betrothed, Robert Baratheon and her brother, Eddard Stark. After witnessing the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, Jaime Lannister executes the mad King. Robert and Rhaegar face each other on the Trident, Rhaegar dies,- y’all should know this story by now.

Ultimately, Robert killing Rhaegar and saving the realm from the mad King and his son should’ve been a good thing. It should’ve secured peace and safety for everyone in the realm. The main reason most characters (Jaime Lannister) in the books wanted the Mad King gone is because his reign threatens the safety of the innocent people of Kingslanding, and the rest of Westeros. All of these things would have happened if Robert’s Rebellion was a simple fairytale, and Robert himself were a true hero (I sound a little like Sansa here, lol), but he isn’t and now we’re going to explore why.

Those Who Weren’t Protected By Our Hero

Let’s reign in Elia Martell, one of my favorite minor characters in the series.

The majority of the time we hear of Elia, we hear of the tragic ending she and her babies got. There are theories of her being on board with Rhaegar’s ‘plans’, (theories I absolutely do not buy into), or even her being so unsatisfactory of a wife that Rhaegar may have secretly hated her(quite extreme for a character we hardly know). But one thing is for certain : she did her duty as a wife in Westeros. She provided Rhaegar with two healthy children, a boy, Aegon, and a girl, Rhaenys.

“Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. ”

“Some said it had been Gregor who’d dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword. These things were not said in Gregor’s hearing.”

“It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.”

What are Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon if not innocents?

Let’s see what Robert Baratheon has to say on that matter.

“Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.”

Mind you, this man is talking about a toddler, a newborn and their mother. “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.”

Robert’s take on Elia Martell and her children is not only cold and heartless, but goes against the ‘hero protecting innocents’ trope.

Robert Baratheon Almost Two Decades After His Rebellion

Now let’s look at the Robert that we meet in A Game Of Thrones.

He’s not the ‘Demon of the Trident’ who saved the realm from chaos, but rather a terrible has-been. I mean, just look at Jon Snow’s reaction to seeing him :

“The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.”

He will probably be remembered as a good king for most people in Westeros, but only because of the small council that does the work for him.

“Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us,” Ned suggested.

Renly Baratheon laughed aloud. “If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, it could be a long sit.”

“Our good King Robert has many cares,” Varys said. “He entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load.”

He’s a drunkard who abuses his wife and children and reminisces on a dead girl who had zero interest in him.

“The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister’s name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna.”

“The talk is you and the queen had angry words last night.”

The mirth curdled on Robert’s face. “The woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She’s sulking in the castle now, damn her.”

“My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?”

“Ned touched her cheek gently. “Has he done this before?”

“Once or twice.” She shied away from his hand. ”

He’s kind of….pathetic.

George R. R. Martin plays with the idea that good people and good intentions do not always equate to good kings, vice versa. He uses a lot of common fantasy tropes and archetypes, but reconstructs them in a realistic way. Robert Baratheon, like most characters in ASOIF plays into the hero archetype, but him being a hero in the story is subjective and highly depends on who is perceiving him.

That’s it for now. I might do more analytical posts for some of my favorite characters but don’t take my word for it.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #robert baratheon #robert’s rebellion #ned stark #cersei lannister #george rr martin #prince rhaegar #lyanna stark #elia martell #rhaenys daughter of rhaegar #aegon son of elia #ramblings #fantasy

[spearsndragons]

HOURGLASS: Act I

“What’s your end goal here, Elia?”

To avenge myself and my children. To rid unworthy men of significant power. To ensure a realm where innocent blood does not water our soil.

“I’m tired of war,” Elia said. “I’ve been given this life to make things right. But we cannot move forward without removing the weeds by the roots, lest they fester again.”

this post will be updated as the story progresses! as always, thank you for the endless love and support.

#spearsndragons #hourglass #elia of dorne #rhaegar x elia #dorne #elia deserves better #elia martell #elia x rhaegar #rhaenys daughter of rhaegar #aegon vi targaryen #house martell #ashara dayne #robert baratheon #jaime lannister #rhaella targaryen #rhaegar redemption

[godswood-girl]

Bad Fandom Takes: Oh man can you imagine the bad-lesbian takes for poor Cassana? SHE DOES NOT DESERVE THIS!

oh god the queer discourse around cassana would be horrendous. there's so little canon wlw representation in asoiaf that cassana would be the central focus of a lot of very dumb arguments around representation, since her bisexuality is a key point of her whole coming of age arc. and you know there would be so many lesbian vs bisexual takes, and discourse over whether or not she counted as good wholesome queer representation, especially since she is into guys and does find the one she's arranged to marry attractive.

#oc: cassana baratheon #ask game #adult cassana is kind of a womaniser #she's not robert's daughter for nothing #so there'd be Hot Takes about that too

[sunsetstarrogue]

Right Where You Left Me

Chapter Three

Other Chapters - (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18)

Characters - Rhaenys Targaryen (daughter of Rhaegar) x Robert Baratheon (political)

Summary - Rhaegar's life is spared by the valiant intervention of Arthur Dayne, moments before Robert deals the fatal blow. With their lives preserved, Rhaegar and the remaining Targaryens seek refuge on Dragonstone, eventually making their escape to Essos. Regrettably, Rhaegar is forced to leave his eldest daughter behind.

Left in the midst of her adversaries, Rhaenys grows up surrounded by those who view her as an enemy. As time passes, she becomes entangled in the treacherous game of thrones, particularly in the aftermath of Cersei and Jaime Lannister's public execution for their incestuous relationship.

Caught in a web of schemes and deceit, Rhaenys finds herself compelled to employ similar tactics in order to ensure her own survival.

Word Count - 8.1k

With two moons passing since Robert Baratheon claimed her maidenhood, Rhaenys found herself on the precipice of a destined marriage to the very man who had taken her virtue. The way events had unfolded filled her with a surprising contentment. In the aftermath of that fateful night, she had braced herself for the king's rejection, or worse, a swift exile to Winterfell. However, the tapestry of fate had been woven with a different thread. Rather than casting her aside, Robert sought her company, seeking her out in a manner that both perplexed and intrigued her.

To her astonishment, the king extended his favor even beyond the confines of his chambers. He granted her permission to accompany him on a hunting expedition, disregarding the fact that her name day had long since passed. It was an unexpected gesture, an invitation into his world of masculine pursuits. In an act of peculiar intimacy, he took it upon himself to teach her the art of the crossbow, despite her lack of interest in such weaponry. The lessons became a strange dance of their connection, a delicate balance of power and submission.

For Rhaenys, the woodland escapades were a tumultuous experience. The harsh reality of the outdoors clashed with her refined sensibilities. The earth beneath her feet transformed into a treacherous labyrinth, where each step threatened to ensnare her in the clutches of sticky mud. As they ventured deeper into the wilderness, a chorus of crows perched on gnarled branches seemed to fixate their gaze solely on her, their dark eyes penetrating her very soul. It was as if the forest itself conspired to unsettle her, to test her resilience.

Yet, despite her disdain for the rustic surroundings, Rhaenys understood the significance of these endeavors. She grasped the necessity of preserving Robert's interest, of nurturing the fragile connection they shared. These outings into the wild became her offering, a display of loyalty and devotion. She would endure the discomfort and the watchful audience, for she knew that denying the king's desires would only lead to her own undoing.

Little did she know that her compliance held greater implications. The risk of bearing Robert's child before marriage loomed over her like a shadow, filling her with both trepidation and a fierce determination. The expectations that weighed upon her fragile shoulders threatened to shatter her resolve. Yet, a profound understanding took root within her. She recognized that this daring gamble held the power to unravel the carefully crafted plans her uncle and Jon Arryn had woven, plans that entangled her fate with that of Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell.

And so, she ventured forth, driven by a mix of calculated strategy and the yearning for a future not dictated by the whims of others. The tumultuous path she embarked upon was rife with uncertainty, but in the depths of her being, Rhaenys felt a glimmer of hope.

In the end Rhaenys' audacious gamble bore fruit, forever altering the course of her destiny. The revelation that the very king who harbored a deep-seated enmity towards her late father, Rhaegar Targaryen, had chosen her as his bride sent shockwaves rippling through the realm. The memory of the disapproving gaze Jon Arryn cast upon his foster son and the subtle twitch of Ser Barristan Selmy's hand upon hearing the dark-haired king's proclamation is etched vividly in Rhaenys' mind.

The news of the impending union between the Targaryen princess and the mighty Baratheon ruler spread like wildfire, carrying whispers and gasps from the taverns of King's Landing to the far reaches of the kingdom. The ravens traversed the skies, swiftly relaying tidings across the narrow sea, where even Essos trembled in awe of the monumental alliance taking shape. Amidst the flurry of gossip and speculation, a letter arrived, bearing the seal of House Martell, from Rhaenys' uncle, Prince Doran. It was a missive of congratulations, a tribute to her impending marriage to the king. However, her emotions conflicted and her heart heavy with unspoken truths, Rhaenys wanted nothing more than to toss the letter to the flames, its words devoured by the flickering tongues of fire.

Though her desires urged her to remain silent, Rhaenys understood that the weight of her new role as queen of the Seven Kingdoms demanded a different response. Obligated to act in accordance with her newfound station, she composed a letter, its tone meticulously crafted, extending gratitude to her uncle for his well-wishes. The inked words flowed like a river, concealing the underlying turmoil that surged within her. The truth of her emotions remained locked away, concealed beneath the facade of duty and obligation, as she traversed the treacherous path set before her.

Contrary to Rhaenys' apprehensions, the repercussions of the royal announcement proved to be less tumultuous than she had envisioned. Although a flicker of outrage coursed through the corridors of power, predominantly from the ladies of the court who had harbored ambitions of seducing the king and ascending to the throne themselves, the response was surprisingly subdued.

The silence that enveloped her previous betrothed and his kin was deafening, leaving Rhaenys to ponder the mysteries of their restrained reaction.

In her mind, she had braced herself for an onslaught of fury and indignation from the North. She had envisioned a horde of irate men from the cold lands descending upon King's Landing, their voices raised in righteous anger, invoking oaths and honor as battle cries. Yet, to her astonishment, the anticipated storm never materialized. The gates of the capital remained devoid of the thunderous clamor of northern warriors.

Instead, there was but a solitary letter that found its way into Rhaenys' hands, a letter bearing the distinctive mark of House Stark. Its contents remained a mystery, yet its mere existence spoke volumes. It stood as a testament to the restrained dignity of the North, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions that coursed through Rhaenys' veins. She held the parchment delicately, her fingers tracing the sigil of the direwolf, while her heart fluttered with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.

The delicate parchment, adorned with the regal emblem of House Stark, seemed to shimmer in Rhaenys's hands as she gingerly unfolded the missive. Her eyes traced the elegantly penned words, each stroke of ink seemingly etching itself into her memory.

"Princess Rhaenys,

I extend my sincerest congratulations to you and his Grace on your betrothal. It is with a heavy heart that I acknowledge the end of our intended union. I had held visions of you becoming my cherished daughter, a beacon of grace and strength within the walls of Winterfell. Alas, destiny has woven a different path for you. Nonetheless, I have no doubt that the king, in all his prowess, shall prove to be a worthy husband, while you, my princess, shall undoubtedly shine as a paragon of queenship.

Know this, dear Rhaenys, that Winterfell shall forever hold a place for you within its hallowed halls. As long as I draw breath, your presence shall be welcomed and cherished.

Yours faithfully,

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell"

Her expectations of the letters' contents were swiftly dismantled, replaced instead by an unexpected sense of solace. The words written by the Warden of the North brought forth an unusual comfort, assuaging the lingering doubts that had plagued her troubled mind.

She had braced herself for the sting of resentment, for a torrent of scornful words that would punctuate the rupture of their intended union. Yet, the absence of hatred within Lord Stark's letter was like a balm for her weary soul. In a realm consumed by politicking and shifting loyalties, the knowledge that she was not held in contempt by the mighty Lord of Winterfell breathed a glimmer of peace into her troubled thoughts.

Ever since Robert's proclamation of their betrothal, worry had etched deep furrows upon Rhaenys' brow. Her mind was consumed by an array of concerns, each one gnawing at her peace of mind. Chief among them was the life within her, the growing seed of Robert's lineage that took root in her womb. Her prayers, whispered fervently on that fateful night when she first shared a bed with the king, had seemingly been answered. Yet, with each passing day, the fear of her pregnancy becoming apparent before she and Robert were wed cast a shadow over her.

The weight of societal judgment loomed large in her thoughts. She knew all too well the consequences of being deemed with child before the sanctity of marriage graced their union. The whispered accusations of whorehood, already slung carelessly by the spiteful tongues of the courtly ladies, threatened to intensify. But Rhaenys vowed not to suffer their cruel words silently. Once she ascended the throne, her power as queen would be wielded with a vengeance. No man or woman would dare defile her name with the poison of that accursed word. The weight of her future crown bolstered her resolve, fueling a fire within her that would not be extinguished.

In the confines of their intimate conversations, Rhaenys had bared her deepest worries to Robert, laying bare the burden that weighed upon her heart. And true to his word, the king had orchestrated the hastening of their impending nuptials, a testament to his understanding and devotion. As the tidings of their advanced wedding date rippled through the gilded corridors of the capital, they carried with them not only the announcement but also a swirling tempest of rumors.

Whispers snaked their way through the court, weaving intricate tales of the princess and the king, each laden with cruelty and curiosity. Amongst the Tyrell girls, Rhaenys had learned, these murmurs had found fertile ground. The conversations they shared over delicate cups of tea had transformed into a dissection of her situation. Such knowledge, conveyed by her trusted maid Taliya, ignited an inferno of fury within Rhaenys' heart. It was an indignation born from the realization that her private affairs had become a subject of public consumption.

The very notion that the courtiers, with their insatiable appetite for gossip, had taken to discussing her so openly caused her blood to boil. While she understood the allure of their curiosity, she could not condone the brazen disregard for her privacy. Yet, Rhaenys found herself drawn to confront these Tyrell girls, to pierce through their facades and gauge the depths of their audacity. Surely, they would not dare to voice their suspicions in her presence, but perhaps they would, propelled by the foolhardy innocence that often accompanied the sheltered existence of young girls.

Lady Olenna Tyrell, the formidable Lady of Thrones, was said to be in the company of these girls on occasion. Known for her unabashed frankness, she became a focal point in Rhaenys' plan. If she were to quiet the relentless rumors that swirled around her betrothal, Rhaenys knew she must either persuade or, at the very least, temper the old rose's sharp tongue. The task ahead was daunting, fraught with the complexities of politics and personal pride. Yet, she understood the necessity of taming this particular storm, for the preservation of her reputation and the stability of her future reign depended on it.

As the sands of time trickled away, marking the dwindling moments before her marriage to the throne, Rhaenys found herself caught in a web of anticipation and uncertainty. Each passing day brought her closer to the grand procession down the hallowed aisle of the Sept of Baelor, a day she yearned for with both eagerness and trepidation. It was the day she would cast aside the weight of the dragon cloak that had shrouded her shoulders for far too long.

Contemplation clouded her mind, casting a veil of indecision over the path she should tread. The question of whether to don the very cloak that Rhaegar had lovingly wrapped around her mother after their union gnawed at her soul. It was the same cloak that her grandfather, a Targaryen king, had draped upon his sister-wife. In its delicate folds, she sensed the echoes of protection and sanctuary, the promise of House Targaryen to safeguard their own. Yet, she could not escape the bitter truth that lay entwined within the fabric.

The cloak, meticulously crafted by unfamiliar hands, seemed to harbor a malevolence, a haunting reminder of broken vows and shattered trust. Rhaenys had witnessed firsthand the anguish her grandmother endured, the horrors inflicted by a husband who betrayed the sanctity of their union. In the face of such cruelty, the cloak became an embodiment of illusion—a mere facade of a harmonious and secure marriage. It whispered tales of happiness, yet delivered only misery and misfortune.

With a heavy heart, Rhaenys weighed her options, her mind veering towards the decision that shunned the symbolic burden. To wear the cloak would be to embrace a legacy tainted by deception, an omen of a fate she was determined to forge anew. In the depths of her being, she understood that the path to her own happiness lay in relinquishing the trappings of the past, in choosing a destiny unburdened by the illusory promises of a garment steeped in bitter history.

The cloak would remain a relic of the past, a reminder of the pain endured by those who came before her. Rhaenys would cast it aside, stepping into her future unburdened, forging her own legacy, and defying the expectations that threatened to ensnare her. In the depths of her soul, she found solace in this choice, knowing that the path she treaded would be her own, free from the shadows of the past and resplendent with the light of her own desires.

In the wake of her decision, Rhaenys realized the weight of the task that lay before her—the creation of her own bridal cloak. Traditionally, it would have been the responsibility of the bride's family to undertake the intricate embroidery, but in the sprawling halls of King's Landing, she found herself devoid of kin. The absence of her family in the capital left her stranded, without the customary support to fashion her garment of significance.

Turning her gaze inward, she pondered the delicate matter, her thoughts weaving through an array of possibilities. It would be peculiar, even inappropriate, to enlist the aid of her maids in such a task, blurring the lines between their roles and her own. However, a glimmer of hope flickered in her mind as she considered an alternative solution—an unexpected ally in the form of Rhea Florent.

Rhea, a distant cousin to the Lady of Dragonstone, had arrived in the capital several years prior. Her presence was initially prompted by the macabre spectacle of the lion twins' executions, witnessed by her cousin Selyse Florent and Stannis Baratheon. Yet, unlike her kin, Rhea had chosen to extend her stay in King's Landing. Amidst the opulent gatherings, she stood apart—a gentle soul with an inherent shyness that set her adrift amongst the other ladies from the Reach. This outsider status had drawn Rhaenys to the young Florent, her own desperate yearning for companionship finding solace in Rhea's company. Though their connection remained more acquaintanceship than true friendship, it mattered little to Rhaenys, for she simply sought solace in the presence of another during the darkest days when her pain and heartbreak threatened to consume her.

Lost in contemplation, she began to envision the design she desired for her cloak, each thread and motif carrying a semblance of her own identity and hopes for the future. But just as her thoughts danced amidst the tapestry of possibilities, a knock echoed through the door of her chambers, pulling her back to the present. Weary of hosting anyone within the confines of her personal sanctuary, Rhaenys let out a resigned sigh, before summoning Talya, her trusted attendant, to grant entry to the unexpected guest who sought her presence.

Talya, the girl who stood faithfully by Rhaenys's side, possessed a delicate and diminutive frame. Despite being only a year younger than her mistress, she seemed to be perpetually dwarfed by her surroundings. Soft, cascading strands of blonde hair framed her face, and her eyes shimmered with the warm hue of chestnuts. Talya's beauty mirrored her kind heart—a rare combination that endeared her to Rhaenys. Among the sea of faces that populated the court, Talya stood as the sole individual who had earned the title of friend, a true confidante. Rhaenys had bared her soul to Talya, recounting the tender and tumultuous moments shared with the king on that fateful night. And in the depths of her sorrow, she had sought solace in the comforting embrace of her dear friend, shedding tears that seemed to never stop.

It was amidst this intimate backdrop that Talya's voice broke the silence, bearing news of a visitor who sought an audience with the princess. "Lady Olenna Tyrell wishes to speak with you, My Princess." The announcement jolted Rhaenys from her thoughts, catching her off guard. Though she had intended to visit the Tyrell matriarch and the hoard of ladies in her palm, she had not anticipated that Lady Olenna would take the initiative to seek her out instead. Concern gnawed at her, leaving her to wonder what motives might lie behind the unexpected summons.

Amidst her thoughts, Talya's gentle voice pierced the air, offering a suggestion to send Lady Olenna away under the guise of illness. However, Rhaenys dismissed the notion, her determination to face the impending encounter unyielding. "No, Talya, that won't be necessary. Allow her entry, and kindly inform the kitchen to swiftly prepare cakes and tea to be brought to my chambers. I shan't tolerate any tales of the old crone criticizing my hospitality," Rhaenys instructed, her tone laced with a mixture of authority and concern.

As Talya hurried away to execute her instructions, Rhaenys rose from her wooden chair, a flicker of amusement dancing across her features as she observed her friend's hastened departure. Talya's hurried steps betrayed a hint of clumsiness, an irony that amused Rhaenys given her role as a handmaiden. A smile tugged at the corners of Rhaenys' lips as she silently wished for Talya's carefulness, lest she stumble and find herself sprawled upon the floor. Despite the slight amusement, Rhaenys held a deep fondness for her dear friend, appreciating the unwavering support and companionship Talya had offered her during the darkest of times.

As Lady Olenna entered the chamber, a glimmer of amusement danced in her eyes, mistaking Rhaenys's smile as a genuine display of pleasure. "I must say, I did not expect My Lady to be quite so happy to see me," she remarked, a sly undertone coloring her words. Rhaenys responded with a laughter that failed to reach the depths of her eyes. She was well aware of the crone's intentions, understanding that Lady Olenna sought to provoke her, yet she refused to be ruffled by such tactics.

"Why, Lady Olenna, I am most delighted to see you," Rhaenys replied, her tone tinged with practiced diplomacy. Slowly, she circled around the round table, purposefully making her way towards the formidable woman. She extended her arms, enveloping Lady Olenna in an embrace, feeling the stiffening of the old lady's frame. Pressing her lips gently against the creased skin of the matriarch's cheek, Rhaenys witnessed a fleeting moment of anger flicker in the depths of Lady Olenna's eyes. Satisfied with the reaction, Rhaenys allowed a self-satisfied smile to grace her face.

"Please, do join me, My Lady," Rhaenys gestured towards the round table, where the anticipation of cakes and tea filled the air. "I have summoned the kitchen to bring forth our refreshments, and they should be arriving shortly. Take a seat, if you please,"

"Very well, then," the old lady said, making her way towards the round table and firmly settling herself upon one of the wooden chairs. Rhaenys positioned herself in the chair closest to Lady Olenna, observing with delight as a faint pucker of annoyance marred the elder woman's lips. Ah, let the old crone stew in her agitation, for it would only serve to facilitate Rhaenys' endeavor to unravel her motives and discern her vulnerabilities.

Rhaenys regarded Lady Olenna with a quizzical expression. "Is there a reason why you sought me out, My Lady?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected visit.

"It has come to my attention that you and I have never had tea together. I wished to change that, especially now that you are to be queen," the Lady of Thrones responded, her tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

Perplexed, Rhaenys probed further, "I fail to comprehend. What does my impending role as queen have to do with sharing a cup of tea?"

Lady Olenna's eyes twinkled with wisdom as she explained, "Well, once you ascend to the throne, your days will be filled with endless responsibilities and duties. There will be little time for leisurely pursuits, such as having tea with an old lady like myself,"

The weight of Lady Olenna's words settled upon Rhaenys, her realization dawning that her future as queen would indeed be consumed by countless obligations. While she harbored no desire to share tea with the elder woman even in the present, she couldn't deny the logic behind Lady Olenna's observation. However, Rhaenys chose not to voice her true feelings.

A sheepish smile tugged at Rhaenys' lips. "I must confess that I haven't given much thought to how busy I will be once I assume the role of queen."

Lady Olenna nodded knowingly. "It is understandable, given that your engagement to the King seemingly appeared out of thin air,”

Rhaenys sighed softly. "I admit, the news of my betrothal to His Grace came as quite a shock to me," she confessed.

"Did it truly come as a shock to you?" Lady Olenna inquired, her voice laced with a knowing undertone. Her leathery hands reached across the table, settling upon Rhaenys' intertwined fingers, their weathered touch contrasting against the young princess's delicate skin.

"I am not sure what you mean, My Lady," Rhaenys replied, her voice poised and composed, masking her true thoughts. She was acutely aware of the underlying question that lingered in the air. Lady Olenna desired to unravel the enigma behind the swiftness of her engagement to Robert, and Rhaenys yearned to hear the Tyrell matriarch voice her suspicions aloud. If accusations were to be made, let them be spoken openly. Rhaenys had no patience for veiled games; she was determined not to allow Lady Olenna to triumph over her.

"It's only that... surely you must take notice of how rapidly your wedding is approaching. Just a moon ago, you were betrothed to the Stark boy, and now, in a mere two moons' time, you will assume the role of Queen consort. It is quite... unusual," Lady Olenna remarked, her words pregnant with implications.

Unusual it may be, Rhaenys thought, her eyes narrowing subtly. Of course, the circumstances surrounding her betrothal were far from ordinary. She had maneuvered swiftly to capture Robert's attention, relying on the fickle whims of fate to align in her favor. Time was of the essence, and she had seized the opportunity with cunning precision. If she had hesitated, the Baratheon lord would have swiftly turned his gaze elsewhere, drawn to other temptations and distractions. The realm's perception of their hastily arranged union mattered little in the face of her impending triumph. In just two moons' time, Rhaenys would marry Robert, and her son would be destined to inherit the realm as his birthright.

"I cannot claim to understand the King's and his Hand's motives in arranging my marriage to his Grace on such short notice. As a mere woman, I do not possess the ability to discern the inner workings of men's minds," Rhaenys responded with a touch of resignation in her voice. She acknowledged the mysterious circumstances surrounding her union with Robert, yet remained poised, refusing to succumb to the taunting tone of Lady Olenna's words.

Lady Olenna's words drip with sarcasm, her tone laced with mockery. "Ah, yes. The mysterious ways of men and their impeccable delicacy in orchestrating your union with Lord Robert. I am certain you were kept blissfully unaware of the whole affair," she retorts, a sly smile playing on her lips. Rhaenys feels the surge of anger within her, struggling to suppress the urge to snarl at the audacious lady. How dare she enter my chambers and mock me in this manner? It appears I have underestimated the audacity of the Tyrells.

Before Rhaenys could retort, Talya gracefully entered the room, accompanied by the other maids who promptly arranged the table with tea and cakes. With a tender touch, Talya placed Rhaenys' favorite lemon cake before her, a silent offering of solace amidst the tension in the room.

Lemon cakes had always held a special place in Rhaenys' heart. They were a delicacy made from the lemons her uncle had specially sent for her. As her eyes lingered on the treat, a tempting urge to devour it immediately tugged at her restraint. However, she resisted, mindful of the scrutiny that Lady Tyrell's sharp eyes would surely cast upon her. An intriguing thought then struck her— did Olenna Tyrell possess knowledge of the life growing within her womb ? Rhaenys doubted it. Even if the shrewd lady had suspicions about her and Robert's secret rendezvous, she could not possibly be aware of the child growing inside her. Only Robert and Talya shared that intimate knowledge. Nonetheless, Rhaenys knew that in due time, her pregnancy would become undeniable, securing her position at court. The rumors of premarital intimacy would fade into insignificance, overshadowed by the birth of a Baratheon heir. No rumors of pre marital coupling will touch her, it wouldn't matter at that point at least.

With tentative resolve, the Dornish girl delicately withdraws her hands from the vice-like grip of the woman seated beside her. "I must admit, My Lady, you possess an abundance of knowledge when it comes to understanding the ways of men. After all, your years of experience with husbands, sons, and even grandsons must have granted you invaluable insight. If only I could acquire half the wisdom you possess," Rhaenys says, her tone light but laced with a hint of irony.

A gasp escaped her lips as the woman seized her hand once more, yanking her forward with force. The sharpness of Lady Olenna's nails pierces Rhaenys' delicate skin, prompting a soft moan of pain.

"Listen closely, girl. Do not mistake me for a fool. I may not comprehend the intricacies of how you captivated the King's attention, but hear this," the widow leans closer, fixing a piercing gaze upon her. "Do not, even for a fleeting moment, believe that the King's choice to marry you signifies love. Men like him do not confine themselves to a single bed. How foolish you are to cling to such hope, thinking that love can be found within the cursed walls of this capital,"

A surge of fury ignites within Rhaenys, prompting her to wrench her hand from its captor's grasp and rise from her seat. "You have gravely mistaken me, My Lady. I am far from being a naive and foolish girl, regardless of how much you may desire it. It is rather amusing that you assume I would seek love from the King. I am well aware that love alone cannot hold a man's loyalty. Why should I squander my affection on such a man? Let me remind you, Lady Olenna, I am not easily deceived," Rhaenys retorts with conviction, her voice steady and unwavering.

A charged silence envelops the chamber as both women lock eyes, their gazes locked in a battle of wills. The air crackles with tension, each refusing to back down. The room becomes a battlefield of unspoken words and simmering defiance.

Exhaustion washes over Rhaenys, her spirits dampened by the encounter with the crone. Weary and drained, she realizes she lacks the energy to continue engaging with Lady Olenna. With a firm tone, she asserts her desire for the Queen of Thrones to depart.

"We have barely scratched the surface of our conversation. It would be wrong to leave it unfinished," the old lady remarks, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Rhaenys can feel her patience wearing thin, contemplating forcibly escorting the elderly woman out of her chambers if she utters another word.

"Excuse me, but I am feeling quite faint" Rhaenys interrupts before the widow can speak again, swiftly calling out to Talya for assistance.

"Talya, please inform Lady Olenna's guard that she wishes to return to her quarters," she requests, her maid promptly departing to relay the message to the guards.

"Well, it appears our afternoon together has reached its conclusion. I shall look forward to our future encounters, My Lady," Rhaenys declares to the Thorn Queen, her tone masking her true feelings. Without further delay, she retreats into her bedchambers, shutting the door behind her. As the door closes, she hears the scraping of Lady Tyrell's chair on the floor, followed by the shutting of her own quarters.

Emerging from her bedchambers, Rhaenys rejoins the common area, where Talya awaits. Sensing her mistress's somber mood, the handmaiden endeavors to uplift her spirits, determined to bring a smile back to Rhaenys' face.

"Would you like me to pour you some tea? It will go well with your lemon cake." Talya's soothing voice pierces through the fog of Rhaenys' thoughts, offering a glimmer of clarity. Determined not to let the encounter with the old crone ruin her mood, she decides to allow her fair-haired friend to brighten her spirits instead of dwelling on her frustrations.

"Yes, please pour some tea for yourself as well," Rhaenys replies, her gaze fixed on Talya's graceful movements. She observes as the tea cascades into the delicate cup, its porcelain surface adorned with intricate blue dyes, depicting a crown of painted flowers. With practiced hands, Talya places the cup in front of Rhaenys' previously occupied seat, enticing her to reclaim her place. The indigo-eyed girl settles back into her seat, her eyes never leaving Talya's graceful presence.

Moments later, Talya presents the plate bearing Rhaenys' beloved lemon cake. "Here, indulge in your cake while your tea is still warm," her devoted maid suggests.

As Rhaenys takes her first sip of the hot tea, a searing sensation tingles on her tongue, causing her to involuntarily curse. Talya's melodic laughter bubbles forth, finding amusement in her princess's minor mishap. Before long, Rhaenys joins in, her laughter echoing in harmony with her dear friend's joyous sound. In the presence of Talya, she finds solace and a profound sense of mirth that she seldom encounters elsewhere. She contemplates if anyone else could bring her the same unadulterated happiness, but the doubts loom large in her mind.

"Must you find such amusement in my pain, dear Talya? It hardly befits your ladylike demeanor. Have I not taught you better?" Rhaenys playfully chides her younger companion. Talya feigns offense, her expression mirroring mock indignation as she swiftly retorts, "I, unladylike? I dare say, I have never heard anything more slanderous!" Their laughter intertwines once more, filling the room as they surrender to a comfortable silence that envelops the princess's chambers.

Sitting within the sanctuary of her chambers, Rhaenys savors the tranquility that envelops her, accompanied only by her dear friend and a plate of delicious cake. Oh, how she longs to bask in this simple pleasure for the remainder of her days. Yet, deep within her heart, she knows that such an idyllic existence can never be. Behind the doors of her sanctuary, they may be equals, friends sharing laughter and secrets, but beyond those confines, their roles as princess and servant dictate their interactions. This realization weighs heavily upon her, a pang of melancholy nestled within her soul.

Talya, her first true friend, is a treasure she holds close, but the knowledge that their closeness must remain hidden from the world is a bitter reality she must accept. It tugs at Rhaenys' heart, knowing that she can never openly express the depth of their bond to others. The limitations imposed by their respective positions dampen the joy they find in each other's company, casting a shadow of disappointment upon their otherwise cherished connection.

Occasionally, Rhaenys allows her thoughts to wander into realms of what-ifs. What if she had been raised as the true Targaryen princess she was? Would she have been bound by the Valyrian customs, compelled to marry her own brother, Aegon? Or would the path have led her to a union with her uncle, Viserys? Perhaps, she ponders, there could have been a glimmer of affection between them. Viserys had been her sole companion during their formative years. But such musings serve only to stir futile longings for a life forever out of reach.

Interrupting her thoughts, Talya's voice breaks through the veil of dreams. "What did Lady Tyrell want with you?" she inquires.

Rhaenys takes a moment to compose herself, her gaze shifting from the remnants of the cake to meet Talya's eyes. "Nothing of importance, my dear friend," she replies, a touch of defiance in her voice. "With any luck, I managed to scare her off today. The old crone should worry about her own grandchildren,”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Talya's eyes as she leans closer. "I heard from one of the ladies in the kitchen that Lady Margaery and her cousins were off stealing kisses from some of the stable boys. It seems Lord Mace has little control over his spirited daughter," she confides, a hint of scandal lingering in her words.

Rhaenys leans back, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she begins to share her thoughts with Talya. "Oh, everyone knows that it's Lady Olenna who truly wields the power over Highgarden, her oaf of a son does not hold enough power to dictate the life of his own daughter," she muses, her voice laced with amusement. "As for the girl, well, let her have her little kisses. After all, she's destined to marry Renly Baratheon. It's only a matter of time before her husband seeks his own pleasures with her own brother. If I were in Margaery's shoes, I daresay I would have indulged in far more than just a simple kiss,"

Talya's laughter dances through the air, filling the room with a joyous melody. She nods in agreement, her eyes shining with mirth. These conversations, filled with whispered gossip and shared secrets, transport Rhaenys back to the days of her youth. In those bygone times, when the formidable presence of the Lannister queen still haunted the halls of the Red Keep, laughter was swiftly silenced in Rhaenys' chambers. The queen did not like laughter coming out of her room. But now, with the golden-haired lioness no longer reigning over King's Landing, Rhaenys relishes every moment of laughter shared with Talya.

As the echoes of their laughter fade, Rhaenys can't help but wonder. Is this what it feels like to have a sister? In Talya's unwavering companionship, she finds solace and a bond that transcends the confines of their respective stations. Though not bound by blood, their connection runs deeper than many blood relations she has known. And in that realization, a sense of belonging and contentment settles upon her heart.

She often found it all too easy to forget that she had sisters. Three of them, to be precise, although they were merely half-sisters. The news of their birth had reached her when she was a tender five-year-old girl. Lyanna Stark, her father's second wife, had given birth to twin girls named Visenya and Viserra. It was on that fateful day that the seeds of bitterness took root within Rhaenys' heart.

As she grew older, Rhaenys slowly unraveled the reasons behind her deep-seated resentment towards her sisters. The birth of the twins had marked the turning point, the catalyst that sparked the corruption of her once pure heart. She could still vividly recall that sorrowful night when Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers, had shared the news with her. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the cloth doll her father had lovingly crafted for her even before her birth.

In a fit of anguish, Rhaenys had cast the cherished doll into the fiery depths of her bedchamber's hearth. The flames hungrily devoured the cloth, reducing it to mere ashes within moments. All that remained were two tiny sapphires, once the doll's eyes, now gleaming amid the remnants of the inferno. Those glimmering gems served as a constant reminder of the fractured bond she shared with her sisters, forever etched into her memory.

The birth of Visenya and Viserra only served to solidify the consuming thoughts that had plagued Rhaenys ever since Rhaegar had forsaken her. With the arrival of Aemon, she had clung to the desperate belief that her father's actions were nothing more than a grievous error, a mistake he deeply regretted. Even after her mother's untimely demise, she had chosen to hold onto the flickering hope that her father still carried remorse for abandoning them.

In a cruel twist of her imagination, she had woven a narrative where her father despised the child borne by the Stark girl. She daydreamed that, despite leaving her behind, he still harbored a love for her that surpassed any affection he could ever have for the bastard boy. Yet, the knowledge of Visenya and Viserra shattered these fragile illusions.

It became painfully evident that her father did not consider Aemon a mistake. The mere existence of another child conceived within Lady Lyanna's womb, while his eldest daughter withered away in a desolate castle, was a deliberate act that bore no resemblance to a mere error in judgment. It was a deliberate choice, a conscious decision that pierced Rhaenys's heart with a cruel and unforgiving truth.

Her father had moved on, had other daughters to call his own. Her father's moving on had left a bitter taste in Rhaenys' mouth, a harsh reminder that she was no longer the sole bearer of his paternal love. Once, she had taken solace in the belief that even with Aegon and Aemon, she remained his cherished daughter, his only daughter. Yet, that comforting notion shattered like fragile glass on the day Visenya and Viserra were born. Her father had other daughters of his own now, and soon after, a third daughter followed suit—Rhaenyra, a name that grated against her own.

The similarity in their names only added salt to her wounds, a mocking echo of the bond she once shared exclusively with her father. And to make matters worse, rumors whispered that her aunt Daenerys had become more like a daughter to Rhaegar than a mere sister. It was a twisted irony that even her own aunt had managed to snatch her father's attention away from her.

As the eldest child, Rhaenys had assumed she would share her parents' affections with her younger siblings. But now, she had to come to terms with the reality of sharing Rhaegar with half-siblings she had never met before. Not only did she have to share her father, but she also had to share her mother, not with Aegon, but with the Stranger—the looming specter of death that had stolen her mother away from her.

Talya's voice, gentle and concerned, pierced through the haze of Rhaenys' thoughts, pulling her back to the present moment. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, a constant companion in these recent days. The unborn babe within her womb seemed to sap her energy, yet despite the weariness that plagued her, Rhaenys found solace in the knowledge that this exhaustion was a small price to pay for the joy of cradling her precious child in her arms. The love that swelled within her heart overshadowed any weariness that threatened to consume her.

"Yes," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "I have grown quite tired. It is best that I rest now,"

Concern etched across Talya's features as she offered her support. She stepped forward, ready to lend a helping hand to the weary princess.

The two women entered the serene sanctuary of Rhaenys' bedchambers, the air heavy with a sense of tranquility. Talya swiftly set about arranging the pillows and sheets with practiced ease, ensuring that every aspect of the sleeping arrangements was just right for the weary princess. Each pillow was plumped, every crease in the sheets smoothed out, offering a haven of comfort for Rhaenys to sink into. The room exuded a sense of warmth and familiarity, a sanctuary from the outside world.

With a graceful gesture, Talya beckoned Rhaenys to climb onto the bed, her movements gentle and reassuring. Rhaenys followed her lead, her weariness urging her to seek solace in the embrace of the soft bedding. Meanwhile, Talya gracefully glided toward the window, her delicate fingers reaching for the blood-red curtain that billowed gently in the evening breeze. As she pulled it closed, the dying rays of the sunset were muted, casting the room in a soothing twilight glow.

With the room now enveloped in a hushed ambiance, Talya turned her attention back to Rhaenys, her gaze filled with genuine concern. "There, that should do it," she murmured softly. "Is there anything else you need, Princess?"

Rhaenys' fatigue was momentarily lifted as she gazed at Talya, her dear friend and confidante. A gentle smile graced her lips, an expression of gratitude for the unwavering support she had received. "No, this is perfect. Thank you, Talya," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

Talya's eyes sparkled with warmth and sincerity. "Call for me if you need anything, Rhaenys," she offered, her voice filled with a genuine desire to assist.

Rhaenys' smile widened, conveying a sense of trust and assurance. "Of course," she replied, her voice filled with confidence in her faithful friend.

Sleep descended upon the weary Targaryen princess like a gentle mist, settling her mind and soothing her restless spirit. This time, as her eyelids grew heavy and she surrendered to the realm of dreams, the chaotic visions of battle and strife were replaced by a more tender and enchanting sight.

In the realm of slumber, a radiant girl emerged, her beauty rivaling the brilliance of the sun dancing upon the crest of the waves. Every delicate feature, every curve of her form, exuded a captivating allure that seemed to capture Rhaenys' heart in a breathtaking spell. It was as if this ethereal maiden held the essence of the sea and the sun within her very being, casting a luminous glow that illuminated the depths of Rhaenys' soul.

With a single glance, the girl wove an enchantment upon Rhaenys' heart, igniting a joy and euphoria that surpassed any previous experience. Even the profound bond she shared with Talya paled in comparison to the overwhelming bliss that now flooded her being. In the realm of dreams, Rhaenys found solace in this mesmerizing vision, as her heart soared to new heights, entwined with the ethereal girl who had captured her dreamscape.

In the enchanting meadow, bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the girl stood as a living embodiment of ethereal beauty. Leaves, like delicate tokens of nature's embrace, found their place within the silver cascade of her hair, shimmering with an otherworldly radiance akin to moonlight's gentle caress. She was adorned in a resplendent white dress, a vision of purity against the dark backdrop of nature's canvas. As if a reflection of her mother's elegance, her hair cascaded in soft curls, intertwining with the pristine fabric of her gown.

Rhaenys' gaze lingered on the girl's exquisite features, finding solace in the familiarity that tugged at her heart. Soft curls, reminiscent of her mother's own locks, cascaded down in loose tendrils, delicately framing her porcelain face. Yet, as her eyes traced the intricate details, Rhaenys' attention was drawn to a subtle revelation—a pair of small braids, artfully intertwined within the silver strands, accentuated by the contrasting darkness of coal-colored hair. It was a delicate fusion of her own Valyrian heritage and the lineage of another, intertwining in a mesmerizing display.

The girl's flawless complexion resonated with Rhaenys. Every contour of her face exuded an air of familiarity, akin to a reflection in a mirror. However, it was when Rhaenys locked eyes with her, that her heart fluttered with recognition. Within those captivating orbs, reminiscent of Robert's mischievous charm, lay a symphony of emotions—mirth, joy, and an undeniable spark of life. Like sapphires reflecting the vast expanse of the sky, her eyes shimmered with a brilliance that mirrored the blue heavens.

My daughter, my child. Rhaenys knew that the young girl who stood before her was the same one she was carrying in her womb now.

As Rhaenys yearned to draw closer to the mysterious silver-haired girl, a peculiar sensation gripped her body, rendering her immobile, just as she had experienced in her previous dream where the enigmatic boy had appeared. It ignited a spark of curiosity within her, weaving threads of connection between these apparitions and her own existence. Could that boy, who had valiantly fought her father in her dream, truly be her son as well? The thought lingered, a tantalizing possibility that begged for further exploration.

Meanwhile, the silver-haired girl, a vision of grace, gracefully rose from the meadow, her delicate form bathed in an otherworldly luminescence. With measured steps, she began to traverse the ethereal expanse, drawing nearer to Rhaenys. A surge of excitement surged through Rhaenys' veins—this girl, this ghostly embodiment, possessed an awareness, an acknowledgement of her presence. The girl's movement seemed ethereal, as if she were untethered from the constraints of the physical realm.

With bated breath and a mixture of anticipation and longing, Rhaenys witnessed as the girl stepped closer, gradually closing the distance between them. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, as if the universe itself held its breath, captivated by the impending reunion of mother and daughter.

The girl's eyes, like radiant orbs of celestial light, surpassed the brilliance of her brother's and father's gaze. Their deep, iridescent hues shimmered with an indescribable depth, evoking an ethereal enchantment that stirred Rhaenys' soul. Her heart surged with an overwhelming desire to envelop her daughter in an embrace, to hold her close and never let go. Yet, an invisible barrier thwarted her every attempt, as if the very fabric of their connection had been severed by an unseen force.

As tears streamed down Rhaenys' cheeks, a profound anguish and grief engulfed her being. The pain, more piercing than any she had ever experienced, pierced her heart like a thousand arrows. It surpassed the sorrow she had known when her own mother had departed from this world, resonating with an intensity that threatened to consume her entirely. The weight of her despair became an unbearable burden, causing her knees to tremble and buckle beneath the crushing weight of her emotions. And as her body yielded to the overwhelming weight of her grief, she sank to the ground, her strength ebbing away.

On bended knees, Rhaenys remained in a posture of surrender before daughter. The weight of her sorrow pressed heavily upon her, causing her gaze to remain cast downward, unable to meet the gaze of the silver-haired girl standing before her.

But then, gentle hands, as tender as a summer's breeze, tenderly cupped Rhaenys' anguished face, coaxing her to lift her eyes. With an unwavering determination, the silver-haired girl mirrored her mother's position, gracefully descending to her own knees. One hand, which had once cradled Rhaenys' tear-stained cheek, now drifted to rest above her own heart, as if beckoning her mother to hear the echoes of a shared bond.

Rhaenys fixed her gaze upon her daughter, her eyes filled with a mix of longing, sorrow, and a glimmer of hope. The girl's lips curved into a bittersweet smile, betraying the weight of her own experiences. As if carried by a gentle breeze, the daughter's voice finally reached Rhaenys' ears, a tender melody that resonated with an underlying wisdom.

The words were softly spoken but carried a profound truth. They pierced through Rhaenys' heart, each syllable etching itself upon her very being. The daughter's voice held a maturity that belied her age, offering a solace that seemed to emanate from the depths of her soul.

"In my suffering, you played no part," the daughter's voice whispered, its ethereal quality encapsulating a profound understanding. "You cannot mend what has been broken... Release yourself from the grip of pain, for it will only devour you."

The words hung in the air, weaving a fragile tapestry of compassion and acceptance, urging Rhaenys to confront her own demons and embrace the healing journey that awaited her.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic #rhaenys daughter of rhaegar #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys daughter of elia #rhaenys targaryen fanfiction #rhaenys targaryen fic #house martell #house targaryen #robert baratheon fic #robert baratheon #robert x rhaenys

[blackgumball]

#she speaks #ITS HIS FAULT #if he hadnt been such a dogshit father maybe cersei and jaime wouldnt be fucking #maybe if he was smarter he wouldntve married his daughter off to Robert Baratheon #and Lo none of this shit wouldve happened #sorry i havent finished the books if anybody has a more Nuanced take please let me know but for now it is Fuck That Man hours #also what he did to elia and her kids. oooh hes going to Hell #asoiaf #this is a joke i actually also blame Every Male Targ #fuck you guys

[axelsagewrites]

Hey there just m back again with a request where it’s cerisi and roberts daughter who’s married to Robb. Can it be it’s after the red wedding she survived and she spent her time hinting those who participated in the red wedding but she gets brutally killed and somehow like whoever did it brings her corpse to Cersi and her reaction and maybe Tyrion reacting to the news too as he was quite close to her

Robb Stark*Don't Die For Me

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon!F!Reader

Word count: 3638

Warnings: the red wedding, robb dying, cat dying, reader dying, description of war/injuries, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist Here

The gown was made from thick snow-white wool, trimmed with a soft grey wolf fur with streaks of black. Stag horns were embroidered along the cuffs, yellow gold fastenings holding it together. Lannister red hearts were hand stitched by Myrcella around the hem of the dress. It was warm and thick and span out like a dancer’s dress whenever you twirled.

People gasped when they saw you enter the gods wood, arms linked with your father as you approached your husband. Robb wore simpler clothes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders that he would soon drape over your frame.

Sansa watched the wedding doe eyed and Catelyn felt her eyes grow wet at the sight of her son, smiling down at his betrothed as they made their union promise. The king tried to look stoic, clearing his throat umpteen times to keep his tears back. Tyrion stood front row, much to your mother’s dismay and wearing the beaming smile you would have expected from a mother.

Your mother stood stoned face as she watched, smiling when looked at by anyone but you. she gave you a knowing look. “He will be your husband. Nothing more. He will share your bed, but you will have separate chambers. he will tell you how to act. You must listen when he is there. You must choose your battles and the most important ones will be what comes out between your legs,” her lessons rang in your ears when you had met Robb for the first time.

You knew she wanted to protect you the way she thought she needed to. To her Robb was a stranger, a threat, the captor of her daughter, the thief in the north, the unknown. What she did not know was the way Robb softly stroked his fingers over your cheeks when he held you or how he rubbed his hands over yours to warm them.

She didn’t notice how he would let you walk in front and was happy to follow behind. She didn’t notice how grey wind went to protect you when someone stepped out of line. She didn’t notice the lingering glances or the way his hands held yours a moment too long once the dance had stopped. She didn’t notice. She didn’t want to hope.

You however had noticed his affection for you. you noticed how his cheeks tinged pink when he helped you on your horse or how he laughed loudly at jokes he barely understood. You noticed he would reach for his sword when a stranger approached or how he smiled when you walked in the room. The same dopey smile he wore when he swore to protect you.

The ceremony had been beautiful, done in front of the heart tree as you pledged to the old gods and new. When you arrived at the feast it was already filled with excitement as the south and north began to mix. You danced first with Robb then each of his sisters then his brothers, including Jon who had been nervous to take the floor with you, but you had insisted.

You danced with your father who choked out a teary piece of advice. “Never forget you are my daughter. When you need me, you’ll have me,” he told you privately on the dance floor. While he trusted ned with all his heart you knew he would miss you.

You danced with your siblings, even convincing Joffrey to join you. Your mother stayed sat in her chair all night, but you made sure to talk to her even if you could see the nerves behind her eyes. Your uncle Jamie gave you a tight-lipped smile but not much more while your uncle Tyrion was only two drinks down and already very excited.

“My little niece has gotten married,” He proclaimed loudly as you approached his table and laughed at his state, “Oh how my heart breaks. Stolen away by some northern heathens,”

“Now, now uncle,” you said as you sat down at the table, stealing a glass of wine, “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You shall visit me,”

“Shall I?” he fakes pondered as he poured himself a fresh drink, “The north is too cold for me sweet niece,”

You hummed a laugh as you clinked your glasses, “I’m sure I will find you a warm enough room. After all I am your favourite,” you grinned making him laugh as you continued the festivities. You however had no idea the next time you saw your uncle it would be on such a sour note.

It was only the week after your wedding that Bran had fallen from the window however you knew he hadn’t fallen from the look on your mother’s face alone. As soon as the Queen had left you told Robb your suspicions, but they fell on deaf ears. You tried to ignore the growing pit in your stomach the day your father had left, Ned joining him in the south, but you just knew. You just knew.

The war came quick, and it came hard. The only reason Winterfell had so quickly rebuilt their supplies was at your instruction. Robbs men had suggested you stay behind to guard Winterfell, war was no place for a wife, but when you told Robb you wanted to come, he agreed with no hesitation. He’d seen the way you could shoot a bow and was even frightened when he saw how you swung a sword.

You had been trained by the hound after all amongst many other swords masters. Barristan Selmy had even given you a few tips. Your father had arranged the lessons, insisting no daughter of his would go down without a fight. Your mother had taught you other lessons. Poisons and daggers and knives disguised in rings. You knew how to survive. You knew how to fight.

Maybe you should have stayed behind. It was a thought that plagued your mind the moment you left and cursed you when you released what Theon had done. Robb assured you it was not your fault. Catelyn had said no one man could hold a castle by themselves. But what if you could have?

Walder Frey was your next big problem. He tried to convince Catelyn your marriage was just an inconvenience to a new alliance, but a Stark keeps their oath. Soon you had to break the bad news to Edmure Tully of his pending nuptials to a Frey girl.

Despite everything you had hope. Not once had you lost a battle. Not one. You charged in on horseback, Robb leading the front and you fighting with those at the back. Grey wind charged into battle first, but it did not take long for you to spot him on the battlefield. However, Robb had insisted on one thing.

Each time you joined him on battle you were dressed as a man with a helmet covering your face. He couldn’t risk Tywin knowing you were on the field. After all, if your siblings were bastards that made you the rightful queen of the seven, now six, kingdoms.

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” you told Robb as he helped lace you into your dress before Edmures wedding.

Robb sighed as he finished up the ties before turning you to face him, “You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he said, his fingers stroking over your cheek.

You kissed the palm of his hand, enjoying his touch for just a moment, “I know but I worry,”

“We can worry tomorrow,” Robb said, kissing your forehead as he held your face softly in his hands, “but for now we can take pause. Even a Frey would not defile guest rights,”

When grey wind refused to enter the Twins, you almost dragged Robb away right then and there. However, Cat and Robb insisted everything would be alright. You believed them. Well, you wanted to. You tried to believe them.

“My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift,” Walder began to say as you stood from your chair, a practised smile on your face as you moved to stand beside Robb. Before you could reach him, chairs scrapped against stone floors as Cateleyn slapped Roose Bolton.

“Robb,” she cried as Roose climbed from his chair. You tried to grab Robbs hand, to grab him and run, your hand already reaching for the dagger you had hidden. However, before you could grab its handle you felt a hand wrap about your wrist, yanking you back harshly.

Your fingers were just brushing Robbs hand when you were pulled back into the chest of Roose Bolton, his arm trapping you to his chest. Your nails sunk into his wrist, desperately trying to pull yourself out of his grip as Roose picked you up and began to drag you away to the side.

“Robb,” you cried out. You felt your heart racing, your eyes searching for where Robb was stood as arrows got set loose on the Stark men, your men. You tried to pry yourself free as your men were slaughtered by crossbows and daggers.

When the first arrow hit Robb you screamed, a guttural scream that pierced even your own ears as you felt your stomach lurch. You twisted in Rooses grip, turning your head to sink your teeth down onto his nose making him cry out in pain. he let you go out of instinct, and you quickly ran to where Robb lay as an arrow hit cat in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Run,” Robb said, his voice low almost a whisper as he tried to pull himself to his feet, “Don’t stop for me,” he said through gritted teeth, but your hand reached for his. “Go!” he almost yelled but you could see the pain in his eyes, “its too late for me,” he grunted, and your eyes fell to where he was looking.

You felt yourself grow sick at the sight of an arrow tip sticking out his stomach. It had gone through between his ribs, and you could see the thick blood dripping off its end onto the stone floor. “I can’t leave you,” you whispered as you stood, pulling him with you.

Your eyes scanned the room. There was no where to go. No bargain to offer no clear way to run. Your eyes fell to Catelyn who had crawled under a table nearby. You could see the fear in her eyes. Your own eyes turned to Robb who tried his best to stand. “Go,” he begged, “Don’t die for me,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face as he pushed your hand away, but you clung on tighter, “I love you too much to see you die,”

“I love you too,” you tried to say but it came out as broken whimpers, “Theres no way for me to run,”

“Lord Walder!” Cats voice was the only thing to drag your eyes from your husband as you watched his mother hold a knife to a girl of no more than twelves throat, “Let it end, please. he is my son,” she begged.

You could see Robbs skin start to sweat, the colour draining from his face. You felt a tear fall down your cheek when you realised, he was dying. Robb had realised it too as his clammy hands moved to softly hold your cheeks as you kneeled together on the ground. Your hands reached for his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“Take me for a hostage,” Catelyn cried, “Take her. she is the princess. Think of how much you could get!” she cried as Robb shuffled closer to you, his head moving to lean against yours. you ignored Catelyn’s pleas, ignored the way she tried to trade you for her son. You would have offered yourself too for Robb if not for the blood you could see at the corner of his mouth.

“Get up and walk out,” Catelyn begged Robb but he ignored her. you weren’t sure if he could even hear her. his face shuffled forwards, his lips softly brushing against yours. you tried to ignore the metallic taste as his blood tainted your final kiss. Tried to ignore Catelyn’s cries. Tried to ignore the feeling of Robbs skin growing cold beneath your fingertips.

You screamed when he was ripped from your arms. When your eyes looked up through the tears you saw Roose Bolton holding Robb, blood dripping still from where your teeth had sunk in. Robb looked to Cat, “Mother,” he mumbled making her let out a sob. His eyes turned to yours, looking down at your filled with regret, “Wife,” was the last word that left his lips before a gasp when Roose Boltons dagger sunk into his chest.

“The Lannister’s send their regards,” you heard him whisper and you lunged for him only to be pulled back by yet another one of the Frey men.

“Take her to the kennels for the night. Her mother wants to see her,” Walder Frey called out as one of his sons dragged you out the room.

You let your body go limp as you listened to Catelyn’s scream echo the once happy hall. You let yourself be dragged, acting as if you could not walk. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t have to pretend to let them flow.

However as soon as you were the only ones in the corridor your fingers felt for the hilt of your dagger, your fingers wrapping around the black leather. Your eyes glanced up to the distracted Frey man. You glanced forward, making sure the corridor was empty before slamming your head back into his mouth making him cry out and drop you.

This time you were ready though as you spun around, your dagger sinking through the side of his throat. When you pulled it back, he collapsed to his knees, blood squirting out his neck as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. You didn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes as it had Robbs.

Your hands reached for his belt, undoing it quickly before tightening it around your own waist. Next was his cloak. It was too long but would work for now you thought as you put up the hood before taking off down the corridor. Your hands squeezed the pouch on his belt as you ran, and you sighed of relief when you could feel coins through it. his sword was heavier than you’d like but you knew you could handle it. before anyone knew what had happened you were already at the forest edge on the back of a Frey horse.

The next couple of weeks were possibly the worst of your life. You wanted to mourn, to curl up in a ball and sob. You wanted to die. However, you couldn’t. you had to live. Robb wanted you to live. As you walked the forest you often felt your hand hover over your stomach.

Baby Robb you thought. Or Catelyn for a girl. Your bloods hadn’t arrived for little over three months. At first you thought it was the stress of war but as you stood on the forest edge, listening to the faint sounds of your men being slaughtered as you escaped you knew. You knew you were pregnant, and you wondered if Robb would’ve run if he had known.

If you had not come across the brother hood without banners you wondered if you would have survived much longer with such a large bounty on your head. Soon though your mission became less about surviving and more about getting revenge.

When you sunk an arrow into the chest of the first Frey you came upon you remembered your anger and soon it almost became like a sport. It wasn’t hard to find a Frey to kill and they rarely put up a fight. It was the Lannister’s that were harder. Though many knew you and thought they could convince you to return to your family’s side.

You made sure to stab they ones twice. You never stabbed to kill, however. You enjoyed watching them crawl away, desperate to find help, but knowing they’d bleed out before finding any. But revenge is not a survival tool you soon learned.

You had been washing your face down at the stream near where you and the brotherhood had chosen to set up camp. It was almost peaceful here. The birds were chirping, deer walked around with no care in the world. Feeling the sweat wash off your face as your splashed yourself with the cool water was the best feeling you had had since the wedding.

For a moment, a single moment, you tried to forget it all. You let yourself enjoy the stream, your fingers hovering in the water, enjoying how the water flowed around them. You looked up across the stream, smiling at the stag that stood across the water from you. Dad. The idea pained your chest. Everything was so much simpler before.

When the stag began to kick you squinted, moving to stand to help the creature when you felt a hand grab a chunk of your hair. You tried to scream, to reach for his hand, but the ice-cold water entering your mouth made it hard to even move. You tried to thrash but you did little but make the water splash. You could hear muffle voices from atop the water but with no clue who they belonged to.

Your eyes stung as you tried to look up. You managed to turn your head just enough to see the stag out the corner of your eye. You wondered if the wolf that had pawed its way up to stand by the stag was real. It almost looked as if it was smiling down at you. your hands slipped away from your attacker’s grip as your body grew stiller. Your eyes stayed on the stag and wolf. When you need me, you’ll have me. Your fathers’ words echoed in the water. I love you too much you could hear Robbs voice whisper before everything faded to black.

“Where is she?” Cerci demanded as her apparent cousins she’d never heard of stood before her throne. “You said you had my daughter,”

“Yes, my queen,” the man bowed before turning to signal for a crate to be brought forward, “We have her right here,”

“Are there air holes in that box?” Tyrion asked, walking down the stairs from the throne to the crate the mountain had sat down with less than grace.

“Why would we need airholes my lord?” the man’s words even made cerci stand from her throne as Tyrion began to pry the crate open with his dagger, “Your grace we were told she had committed treason. She murdered my father your grace, your cousin. She was dangerous I’m telling you my grace you have to believe me,” the man pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as Cersei approached the crate.

Tyrion slowly pried it open, his eyes peeking inside before gasping, slamming its lid shut as he backed away, “What is it brother?”

“Don’t look in there” Tyrion begged as cerci approached the crate, “Don’t look in there! Any of you,” he screeched.

Cercis eyes were cold as stone as she looked from the crate to the mountain then to her cousin. The mans eyes widened in terror as the mountain carried him out wordlessly, “Please your grace. I thought this is what you wanted,” he screamed.

“Get out,” Cersi muttered, “All of you out!” she screamed making everyone, but Tyrion flee out the room. Her eyes were locked on the crate, “Is she-?” she tried to ask as Tyrion stood from where he had keeled over on the floor.

His feet scraped the ground as he walked over to stand by his sister, “She’s dead,” he said, his voice cold but tears streaked down his cheeks, “They killed her,” Cersei’s hand reached to open to crate, but Tyrion shuddered as he turned around, “Do not make me look at her,” he begged.

“I have to know,” she murmured as she took the lid off the crate, her eyes wound shut till she heard the lid clatter to the ground. Cerci opened her eyes, expecting to see her daughter asleep in a box but she gasped when she saw the reality. “No,” she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped towards the crate.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Look at the girl you had killed!”

“I never- I didn’t mean- I didn’t want her to die,” cerci said as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair but when Tyrion saw out the corner of his eye, he slapped her hand away. “I- “

“You do not touch her!” he screeched, “She is dead because of you! all of this is because of you,” he yelled at his sister before noticing a new horror reach her eyes. Tyrion choked back his tears, trying to hold his stomach steady as he peered back into the box, “Oh my gods,” he whispered as he backed away from the box.

“I didn’t know,” Cersi whispered, her eyes unable to move.

“You killed your own grandchild,” Tyrion whispered, venom dripping off his tongue as he backed away from his sister, “Your own daughter! Your flesh and your blood!” he began to yell once more.

“I didn’t mean to- “Cersei tried to beg, tears falling from her eyes as she backed away from the crate.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion said coldly as he glared up at his older sister, “She is dead because of you. and I hope that haunts you till your last breath,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @nyotamalfoy

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark angst #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones angst #baratheon daughter #robert baratheron x daughter reader #got #got x reader #got imagine #got angst #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader

[enveine]

when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

#sandor clegane smut #smut #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #the hound x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #reader insert #got smut

[ihaveastorminme]

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he’d known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. That breakfast tasted better than anything Eddard Stark had eaten in a long time, and afterward his smiles came easier and more often, until it was time for the tournament to resume.

oh yes, Sansa Stark is in fact, her fathers daughter.

#eddard stark #sansa stark #valyrianscrolls #its painful how much they are alike here . because NO NED THIS MAN IS NOT THE MAN YOUU KNEW. i doubt you even knew the man you knew #lyanna met him only a couply of times maybe and she kenw him better than you did #eddard 7 #a game of thrones

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #78: Rhaegar Wins, but make it a fairy tale

After posting #77, it occurred to me that the most realistic course of action for an orphan upon learning his real parents are a king and queen is not one of revenge for crimes he may be too young to understand against his mother. It's of wanting to run away and live with his real parents in a castle instead of having to stay with his evil stepmother. So I thought: why not lean into the fairy tale aspect?

Or: What if Rhaegar found his long lost son living among the Starks?

Aka: The Lost Prince Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything goes according to canon until the Trident. Rhaegar defeats Robert Baratheon in single combat, but does not kill him, and forces his surrender. An injured Robert is imprisoned and the combined royalist/rebel army marches on King's Landing, overthrows Aerys II, and installs Rhaegar on the Iron Throne.

Robert is stripped of his lands and titles and sent into exile. Stannis, who was only following his liege's orders, is made Lord of Storm's End and in one stroke becomes Rhaegar's fiercest supporter.

Rhaegar, hesitant to leave his capitol so soon after coming to power, sends Ned to retrieve Lyanna from the Tower of Joy.

Ned finds Lyanna dying in childbirth and claims her son for her own, telling Rhaegar both died in childbed.

Years pass, and Jon grows up in Winterfell with a stepmother who is understandably disgruntled by his presence. (Dealer's choice on how wicked a wicked stepmother Catelyn actually is, whether truly evil or just appearing so in the eyes of a young child.) And so when a 6-year-old Jon overhears Ned and Benjen talking about his real parentage, Jon decides to run away and find his real father, the king.

This is made easier by a royal progress touring the Seven Kingdoms Rhaegar is undertaking after stabilizing his kingdom, which is on the way to Winterfell - indeed, it's why Ned and Benjen were discussing what to do about Jon in the first place. So instead of needing to run all the way to King's Landing, Jon just has to wait a few weeks and find a way to speak to Rhaegar.

He does, slipping into the king's guest rooms and doing his whole Rhaegar, I am your son speech - which, after some tears and confusion, Rhaegar wholeheartedly accepts. Rhaegar promises to take him home to King's Landing, where Jon - rechristened Aemon - will be loved and treated like a prince.

All this has unfortunate consequences for House Stark. Ned is sent to the Wall for his treason, Catelyn is sent to the Starry Sept to become a septa, and their three children are left in the care of a distant cousin, Lord Ondrew Locke. Though young Robb is named Lord of Winterfell, Lord Locke wields all real power in the north.

Jon - Aemon - is not immediately aware of this. He's too happy to be surrounded by his real family, who love him and treat him well. Rhaenys and Aegon are excited to have another playmate, and even Queen Elia enjoys his quiet, calm presence - and the pressure it takes off of her to birth further heirs.

As the years pass, cracks begin to form. On top of the guilt Aemon feels for depriving his cousins of their parents - he never receives any replies to his letters, though that may be Locke's doing - he's slowly becoming aware that there are many in the court who would like to use him, either to gain power for themselves or deprive the Dornish of the power they'll surely gain when Aegon becomes king.

Add to this the fact that Rhaegar, while initially pleased to have a piece of Lyanna return to him, is still obsessed with his prophesy. The dragon must have three heads - but who? His sons and daughter? His son, daughter, and sister - and if so, which son? Or maybe it's his sons and his brother? His favorites shift as goes from one interpretation to another, which leads to him playing his family against each other - and the younger members of his family seeing each other as rivals for their father's/brother's attention.

And Elia? While initially Aemon's greatest ally, she's unable to help comparing her own sickly, bookish son with her knightly stepson - and knows he'll be a danger to Aegon for as long as he lives, whether he wishes to be or not.

It all comes to a head in 298 AC, when Rhaegar dies of wounds gained while jousting against the captain of his Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne, ten days before.

Aegon - in Sunspear for the installation of Arianne Martell as Princess of Dorne with his mother and aunt - is named Lord of the Seven Kingdoms as soon as the ravens arrive. And that should be that, except Aemon - who'd stayed behind in King's Landing - is immediately named king by those who stand the most to lose by Aegon coming to the throne.

And so Westeros falls into civil war over which son of Rhaegar should rule.

At first it seems clear Aegon VI will prevail - he has Dorne behind him, and, with his sister's marriage to Wilias Tyrell, the Reach. Add to that the Riverlands - which have hated Aemon since he was still the bastard Jon Snow - and the North - whose regent, Lord Locke, owes all his power to his Targaryen masters - and that's four kingdoms at his side. And with the Iron Islands in open rebellion, only three could possibly back Aemon.

But what a three they are. The Stormlands, Westerlands, and Vale all side with Aemon for a variety of reasons - power, hatred of Dorne and/or the Reach, fondness for the Starks - and can easily field an army to match Aegon's.

The war rages without much input from its figureheads. Aegon is kept safely in Sunspear, hastily married to his aunt Daenerys to secure his line and claim, and is largely a puppet of his cousin Princess Arianne. Aemon is kept safely in King's Landing, hastily married to his self-proclaimed Hand's granddaughter Myrcella, and is largely a puppet of Tywin Lannister.

But Arianne is not the careful planner her father was. While calculating, her fierce temper often gets the better of her, alienating many of her allies. Equally Tywin is feared, not loved, and growing old enough that many are willing to shake his hold if pressed.

Just when it seems like all Aegon's army has to do is march on King's Landing, the unthinkable happens: Aegon VI is killed by a shadow in the safety of Sunspear. Many think Arianne ordered it sent if she didn't conjure it up herself - especially as she declares her husband, Prince Consort Viserys, Aegon's successor. Much of her army deserts to the Reach, which declares for Wilias Tyrell's wife, Princess Rhaenys.

Around the same time, Robb finally frees himself from Lord Locke's control, ordering the man sent to the Wall. Though he has little love for the cousin who destroyed his family, he is Northern enough to acknowledge that after Aegon's death Aemon is the legal heir, and so the North switches sides.

Meanwhile, Aemon is devastated to learn of the death of his brother. When he eventually learns it had been sent by Stannis and his Red Witch, he arrests the both and executes them on the steps of the Baelor's Sept for sorcery and regicide. Quite naturally, much the Stormlands abandons his cause - a course of events which very much displeases his Hand.

Into this mess arrives Robert fresh from exile, with the Golden Company at his back and Blackfyre in hand. He's joined by many of the Stormlords who'd deserted Aemon, and they make strong progress against both the Dornish and Reacher forces.

A war of five kings rages.

Eventually Robb subdues the Riverlands, forcing Edmure to submit to the North's overlordship - and to marry his sister Sansa, who in the absence of Catelyn grew quite quickly into the shrewd woman we see later in canon.

Similarly, Robert with his fresh troops takes Highgarden and plans to marry himself to the newly widowed Rhaenys - only for Viserys' Dornish forces to poison the lot at the wedding, to devastating losses on both sides. It is said Robert's squire and Rhaenys' handmaid, trysting in the stables, were the only ones on either side to survive.

That same night, Tywin is found dead in his bed. (Either of old age or very carefully poisoned by Tyiron, who is installed as Aemon's Hand the next day.)

As autumn turns to winter, Aemon leads his armies south into Dorne. Weary, isolated, and largely dispirited by the war, the Dornish nevertheless put up a strong resistance - but Viserys is nonetheless captured and brought in chains back to King's Landing, where he was imprisoned in some comfort until he broke his neck trying to escape his tower prison some months later. His wife Arianne kills herself rather than be taken prisoner. The lordship of Dorne passes to her brother Quentyn on the condition he wed Aegon's widow, Daenerys - which suits both just fine, as they'd been lovers since at least Aegon's death.

The Ironborn are quickly mopped up and the long winter does much to defuse lingering tensions.

Aemon rules for sixty years and spends much of his time dealing with the consequences of the War of Five Kings - chief among them massive loss of life on all sides. There are multiple invasion attempts from various alliances of Free Cities, all of which are repelled - gaining Aemon a strong reputation as a warrior king. Tensions flare up at least once a decade between the Reach, Stormlands, and Dorne, and the fact that Aemon manages to maneuver them each time from all-out war gains him a reputation for shrewdness as well. By his death the Seven Kingdoms are more stable than they've been in generations - but at great cost.

Bonuses include: 1) An exploration of how family dynamics and loyalties often play a great role in Medieval warfare. Of particular focus should be the relationship between Aemon and Aegon, which starts strong until forced apart by outside tensions - and the relationship between Aemon and Robb, which starts strong, ebbs after Aemon is taken to King's Landing, and regains a shadow of its former strength after the War ends; 2) An exploration of familial love in every form it takes, from Catelyn's understandable preference for her own children to Rhaegar's utilization of his kin as pawns in a prophecy that never comes to Elia's fear for her son overriding her love for her stepson, and so forth; and 3) Meditations on the inherent meaninglessness of title, wealth, and temporal power, somewhat along the lines of Book II of The Consolation of Philosophy - perhaps even with Aemon penning something similar during the years he's under the thumb of Tywin Lannister.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this plot bunny, just link back if you do anything with it.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Bastard of Winterfell | Black Prince | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Duncan the Damned | Dyanna the Defiant | Elia the Magnificent | Jon the Fair | Jon the Just | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Lord Protector | Lost Prince | Maekar the Maester | People’s Queen | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall| Queen Mother | Queen of Nightingales | Red Queen | Rhaegar the Righteous| River Queen | Shiera Snowbird | Visneya the Victorious | Weirwood Queen | Wolf Queen

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #aegon son of elia #rhaegar targaryen #elia martell #rhaenys daughter of elia #viserys iii targaryen #aegon vi targaryen #arianne martell #robb stark #house targaryen #house martell #house stark #robert baratheon #robert's rebellion #daenerys targeryan #tywin lannister

[chloe-skywalker]

Give Them A Chance - Robb Stark

Robb x fem!reader Baratheon/Lannister

Warnings: GOT

Word count: 1,362

Summary: Robb and Y/n don’t know that their fathers plan to betroth them. But Ned has a reason for not telling. Will his reason work?

Authors Note: Takes place in like the first episode of season 1 Game Of Thrones. Like right after the whole “You got fat” lines.

Masterlist

Game Of Thrones Masterlist

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Y/n watched the exchange between her father and his friend Ned Stark Warden of the North. It was very odd but she thought it was nice that they were such good friends that they still joked around with each other. She didn’t see her father act so freely like this often. It was a rare welcome sight.

“So I take it this is your oldest.” King Robert sighed looking at the eldest of Ned’s children with a scrutinizing gaze before breaking out into a smile.

“Yes, this is Robb.” Ned introduced his oldest son to his friend.

Robert slapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder, smiling widely. “You're a handsome young lad.”

Robb tried to contain his blushing that he was sure he was doing. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“You should meet my oldest. Y/n!” Robert called over his oldest daughter, but not before sparing a knowing glance to Ned. As Y/n came to stand next to her father, smiling politely at the Stark family before her. “This is my oldest. A year younger than you I believe.”

“Princess.” Robb bowed, before looking at the princess. She had caught his eye when she first entered Winterfell on horse back alongside her uncle. He could not deny she was gorgeous, and he couldn’t believe how fast he had started to fall for her.

“Mi’ Lord.” Y/n curtised, biting her cheek. Thus Robb Stark was by far one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. And she had seen a lot of people growing up in KingsLanding. She wondered if his personality was as nice as his looks.

“Would you like a tour of  Winterfell?” Robb asked, offering a way for them to talk and get to know each other a bit. He also was one of the most qualified people to show her around.

“I would love one.” She smiled. Looping her arm through his and the two young adults that in some ways are still kids went off exploring.

While the two went off getting to know each other and everyone else did God knows what, King Robert and Net Stark headed down to the crypts.

“Have you told your son?” Robert asked once they were done talking about Ned’s sister. The King was curious if his friend's son had offered to show his daughter around on his own or out of duty.

“Not yet.” Nod squinted, he didn’t like the idea of taking this choice from his son. But the other part, this was a good alliance, and you don’t deny a king.

“And why not?” Robert had told Ned of the idea to marry their oldest months ago. But to be fair he didn’t tell his daughter either.

“Because I wanted to give them a chance to fall in love before knowing they might be betrothed.” Ned explained his reasonsings, and even though Robert would never admit it he admired Ned’s heart and how he was trying to make this a better situation for their children. It was better than just throwing them together.

“Very well. I didn’t tell my daughter either. She would’ve fought me on coming.” He chuckled. Y/n would’ve tried to fight him or talk him out of it, and it might’ve worked even the slightest. Out of all his children she was the only one that had a somewhat relationship with him.

“They’d be more reluctant if they knew about what we had planned. The two of them being in the dark might lead to them actually gaining feelings for the other.” Ned just hoped that the two would get close and at least see they could make a marriage work. But he was truly hoping that maybe they could fall in love on their own and there wouldn’t be any hard feelings or reluctantness.

^     ^     ^

It had been a few weeks and things seemed to be working out for Y/n and Robb like Ned had hopped. Y/n seemed to fit right into the Stark family. She got along with all his children and they all act as if she’s one of them. Things between Robb and Y/n had taken some people by surprise. The two had been spending almost all their time together. They only separated to sleep it seemed like.

Ned was happy to see they had a lot in common. The two went horseback riding constantly and Y/n seemed to know how to use a bow and a sword no doubt thanks to her uncle. They didn’t even eat apart at meals.

Today Robb and Y/n had gone out riding, once they were far enough away from Winterfell the two dismounted their respective horses walking along next to each other.

“Are you having a good time in Winterfell Princess Y/n?” Robb asked, hoping that the time they’d spent together had been as enjoyable for her as it was for him.

Y/n smiled, nudging him teasingly shoulder to shoulder. “Yes, I am as matter of fact. My favorite part is the company.”

Robb blushed looking down before looking back to her. Robb had no idea why she could so easily make him react like that, but she could and he didn’t mind it. “You flatter me y/n.”

“You’ve been flattering me the whole time I’ve been here. It’s only fair.” Y/n smiled. As they came to the set of trees that they had made their spot over the time she had been in the North.

Robb just stood there watching her for a moment. He never expected to fall in love with her when he first found out the King, Queen, and their children were coming to visit. But he had and he didn’t regret it. “If I may be bold and speak my mind, Princess?”

Y/n nodded, smiling back at him as she turned to face him. She noticed how he wasn’t right next to her and Y/n wondered what had made him stop and if it had to do with what was on his mind. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

“During your time here in Winterfell I have become quite taken with you.” Robb stated walking over to her. He looked in her eye’s trying to notice how his works were being taken.

“And I you.” Y/n blushed, biting her lip at her response back to him admitting his feelings for her. Which she reciprocates.

“I have a proposal for you Princess Y/n Baratheon.” Robb felt an air of convenience hit him at Y/n admitting she feels the same.

Y/n furrowed her brow, it confused her on why he was using her title and first and last name. “Go on Lord Stark.”

Robb took a deep breath, he knew what he wanted he just hoped she wanted it to. “We may not have known each other for very long or very well for the most part. But I would like for us to get to know each other better over time. If you’d like that of course.”

“I would.” Y/n nodded liking where he was going with this so far.

“Would you  also like it if we could become husband and wife, Lord and Lady.” Robb stepped right up to her, reaching out to intertwine their hands. Looking into her eye’s Robb reached up with one hand leaving the other one still in hers, he cupped the side of her face, “Would you do me the great honor and become my wife? For all my days till the end of my days?”

Y/n reached up with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck, while squeezing his hand holding hers. Looking up into his eyes with what could only be happiness and adoration Y/n answered. “I would love to.”

In her short time visiting the North Y/n had really connected with the Starks and of course Robb the most. Yes, she’d miss her siblings (minus Joffrey) and she'd miss her uncles but this felt like the better place for her. And as long as she has Robb, Y/n will always be happy.

Taglist; @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @misspendragonsworld

@starkleila

#robb #stark #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark imagines #robb stark x Baratheon reader #robb stark x baratheon!reader #robb stark x lannister reader #robb stark x lannister!reader #ned stark #eddard stark #winterfell #north #king robert baratheon #x reader #imagine #imagines #y/n #got #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines