Tumgik
#then i remembered rickon
fromtheseventhhell · 24 days
Text
She could feel the hole inside her every morning when she woke. It wasn't hunger, though sometimes there was that too. It was a hollow place, an emptiness where her heart had been, where her brothers had lived, and her parents. Her head hurt too. Not as bad as it had at first, but still pretty bad. Arya was used to that, though, and at least the lump was going down. But the hole inside her stayed the same. The hole will never feel any better, she told herself when she went to sleep. (Arya XII, ASoS)
Tumblr media
51 notes · View notes
suispiria · 9 months
Text
baby rickon had the same dream as bran when ned died :o
2 notes · View notes
navree · 11 months
Text
well damn now i REALLY wanna write that sansa v arya au huh
3 notes · View notes
strangesmallbard · 1 year
Text
i think my ideal endgame for the stark kids is they all rule winterfell together—one rules in name (bran, most likely) but they all fulfill a critical role in rebuilding winterfell and the north. on a basic level: sansa takes on a diplomatic role and handles noble politics, bran and arya are like a weirwood networking warging spy team, and rickon uhhh runs real fast with wolves and will be the tank in any battle. he’s 7 right now though. i think post resurrection jon becomes some kind of king beyond the wall, helping bridge westerosi northerners with the wildlings.
out of all the starks, i think arya could be the one most likely to have kids; something something building her own wolf pack. if westeros was still regular, all the kids would still be expected to get married and reproduce, but post long night westeros feels post-apocalyptic to me in that previous systems no longer work. surviving nobles might want to put the system back in order but they slowly learn that telling the stark kids what to do is a failed endeavor. they’re making the game now. i don’t think this is necessarily the happiest ending—imagine a room full of the most traumatized teenagers trying to rebuild a country ravaged by ice zombie—but i do think it could culminate all their individual arcs in a satisfying way.
5 notes · View notes
atopvisenyashill · 3 months
Text
not to keep harping on but definitely the complaint i see that really sticks in my craw is that the only reason or the main reason robb planned to banish catelyn to seaguard was because of their argument over jon. it’s certainly a factor but they have spent the entire war arguing over every decision robb makes! ned tells robb “keep your mother in your council” but robb really does not! he has her there, yes, he lets her speak, yes, but oftentimes he will disregard her advice without any appeasement, misstep badly, and be worse off politically in the exact way she warned him of. she’s not the only person he blows off - he’s not exactly nice to edmure either, for example - but cat is right when she suspects there’s an element of “kings are not supposed to have mothers” and “wedded to his war" and she clocks this long before the argument over jon! robb tries to get rid of her at the beginning of a clash of kings when all cat has done is urge him to continue peaceful negotiations with the lannisters!
robb is angry because he’s in over his head and he knows it, and it's got very little to do with jon! robb is losing this war and his best friend was the son of a man who crowned himself and lost the war!! robb knows exactly what’s going to happen to the north if he loses and despite everything, he cannot seem to win despite being a near prodigy in battle tactics. and here his mother has been this whole time, fighting him on every front - just like the lords but he cant punish them for disagreeing can he? - and being so frustratingly right about more things than his lords, and now they’re picking at this wound in their family that has never been allowed to heal and a lot of resentment that both robb and catelyn are feeling at their general situation gets focused in on each other. this is such a tully thing too (pls remember these are canonically unpleasant people!) because look at lysa projecting years of resentment onto sansa, look at the entire cat, hoster, edmure situation, or even hoster & blackfish’s relationship. family is so important to them but in times of stress, “doing everything for family” becomes an anchor pulling them down, until the only thing left is to lash out at each other.
most of the lords are happy to let this nonsense play out! catelyn does not even have the privilege maege & dacey mormont do at being head of their own house - she’s just a wife, just a mother, just a first born daughter. when she disagrees, they don’t see an equal arguing with them, they see a woman sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. they do not give a single solitary shit about like, ~the plight of bastards~ they just believe, like robb, that sansa is currently “tainted” by her marriage to a lannister and can’t be allowed to inherit, that arya is dead, that the boys are dead, that jeyne is not yet pregnant, and a bastard boy castle raised who looks like ned is better than no boy at all (see edric storm, addam of hull, and larence snow). these men have not spent the last fourteen years cooking in their resentment over this situation the way catelyn and robb have!
jon is a reason. but so is rickard karstark, jaime lannister, willem lannister, tion frey, renly baratheon, walder frey, and theon greyjoy. ned is a reason as well, and bran, sansa, rickon, arya, hoster, edmure, perhaps even lysa and sweetrobin. jon is the final straw but robb isn’t (only) sending catelyn away because of some righteous fury on his brother’s behalf! he’s sending her away because she is an easy, socially acceptable target for all his frustrations and failures and fears that he can project on, and punish, in a way he cannot punish his enemies, his lords, or himself.
and catelyn is as always very aware of the deeper motivations in her son’s mind, and resentful that she doesn’t have the power to push back; she’s just a mother, after all.
250 notes · View notes
asoiastarks · 5 months
Text
nothing goes harder than the stark family identity crisises- like all of these bitches had/have shit going on. might elaborate more with some quotes later
ned’s “it should have been brandon, not me” and general existence as warden of the north
catelyn becoming lady stoneheart - losing herself to grief and becoming something else
jon’s am i a snow/stark/targ thing going on + being dead and coming back
robb as the king in the north as opposed to the 14yo boy and shift from childhood to adulthood (ending with greywind’s head being sewn onto his body - the loss of face is loss of identity)
sansa becoming alayne
arya becoming cat of the canals/no one
bran becoming the three eyed raven
rickon not even remembering his family, who he was before
bonus: (they’re starks in my heart)
theon’s shift from himself to reek
jeyne assuming arya’s identity
289 notes · View notes
Text
A Broken Nose
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Female!Reader
Warning: mention of pregnancy and I think that's it.
Summary: Aemond and Y/N's son has an accident playing with other kids.
Notes: English is not my first language.
Tumblr media
Y/N heard in the distance the steps of her husband more hasty than usual. As soon as he entered the room, the anger that boiled in his chest would be unleashed. Y/N knew she could calm Aemond, but when it came to his little dragon, there was no way of that happening.  
She wanted to break the nose of all the children in that yard, but she preferred to give comfort and support to her son, Aenar, before seeing heads roll. Her husband would give her the heads she wanted. 
Despite being aware that her husband would enter any second through the door, she still jumped a little at the roar. The Maester did not flinch; he was focused on Aenar’s suture. 
They were visiting the North to solidify their alliance. In theory, Aegon had to have made this visit, but due to his lack of responsibility, his mother and grandsire had decided that Aemond was the one who would have to solidify that alliance. 
Aemond didn't want to leave his family for so long. Travelling alone with Vhagar was much faster, but he decided to spend some time away from the capital with his family. Also, Y/N’s curiosity to visit the North.
He never thought his son would be hurt. 
-What happened? - he knelt next to Aenar. The little cub let go of his mother’s hand to squeeze his father’s. 
-Apparently, the northern children play rough. - Aemond sought to use a calm tone to keep Aenar calm. Y/N settled on the other side to hold his other hand.
They both smiled at their son. Aenar didn't have serious injuries, just a cut on his forehead and a broken nose. The healings did not take long, and the Maester left the room they had in Winterfell. They called one of the maids who accompanied them on the journey, so Aenar could take a hot bath. 
-In a moment, I will be with you, my little lion - Y/N squatted down. He did not look in pain. 
-Mother, I am a dragon - he chuckled. 
-Don't tell your father, but you are my little lion and more with that cute nose of yours - she told him as she took his little face in her hands and joined their foreheads. 
It was a little joke between Y/N and Aemond since she was pregnant. Will it be a dragon or a lion? Physically there was no doubt; he was a Targaryen, but Y/N saw so many qualities of Aemond in Aenar, and Aemond saw all that he loved about Y/N in his son. 
It could be considered a draw. Aenar was the perfect mix of his parents, apart from the physical, although he possessed Y/N’s smile. 
Aemond came over to give him a slight squeeze on the cheek and smile at him. The boy came out with the maid closing the door. 
-What happened? - his voice was filled with fury. 
-They were playing with wooden swords, and everything got out of control. It seems that the children of the North do not play to fight but fight. Aenar told me that Rickon stumbled, and with the handle of the sword, he hit him in the nose and, with the broken point of the sword opened his forehead. It was genuinely an accident. The children ran for help when they saw blood. - Her husband stared at her and was elated. Y/N was sure he remembered the night he lost his eye. 
-Have they apologized? - he asked in a dangerous tone. 
-More than once, both the children and Lady Stark. - Y/N approached her husband to cup his face just like her son a few minutes ago. 
-Aemond, I know you want heads to roll, and so do I. Whether it was an accident or not, our little cub was hurt, but it was an accident, my love. - her husband began to relax under her touch. 
-What heads do you want rolling?
-Those of the North, I don’t understand why children play so rough. 
- I can give you Winterfell if you ask me.- Y/N knew that Aemond wasn’t playing. 
-As much as I would love that it won’t be necessary, my love. It was an accident. - both stayed a few seconds in silence 
- If Aenar doesn’t get an apology from Cregan, I want his head. - she confessed. Aemond nodded as he hugged his wife. 
-I don’t expect that either. 
During dinner, Cregan Stark not only apologized publicly but offered one of his horses to Aenar. Cregan was not a fool. He knew that Aemond not only expected but would demand an apology. He also knew he could no longer increase the rivalry between the Lannisters and the Starks. 
-I know it’s not the same as having a dragon, but Northern horses are the best horses you can find in the Seven Kingdoms.- Aemond and Y/N thanked the Starks for their gesture and goodwill. 
Before going to sleep, Aemond went to Aenar’s room. He checked that his son was not cold. He sat on the bed next to him and tucked him into the bed.  
-Mother won’t be able to tell me I’m a lion, now I’m going to look more like you with my scar.- he said. Aemond smiled a little. 
-Do you want to look like me?
-Yes! You ride Vhagar, and you're the best swordsman of all the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.- Aemond was moved by his son’s words. He never wanted to be like his father. He could even say that he never had one. Aemond hugged Aenar and kissed his head. He couldn’t let his son go through what he did. 
-Well, you’re always going to be a dragon, as much as a lion. The important thing is that you know when it’s time to be a lion and when to be a dragon. 
-When would it be best to be a lion? 
-Your mother always knows what to say and ...
-She gives the best hugs.- Aenar interrupted with enthusiasm. 
-You don’t like my hugs? - Aemond smiled and hugged him trying to prove a point he knew was lost. He knew very well the sweet touch his wife had.
-Yes, but mother sings to me and strokes my hair. 
-I know, my little dragon. Time to sleep. - Aemond accommodated his son in bed and went to sit by the fireplace. 
He was fine, he thought. 
Y/N entered his son's chambers. She discovered her husband was lost in his thoughts. 
Y/N stands beside her husband as she stroke his hair and holds his hand. 
-Everything is fine. He is fine. - she reassured. 
-I know how it feels when your father not only doesn’t defend you but blames you for an accident. I can’t let him have this grudge I have against my father. - he paused for seconds.- I’d rather have known he hated me than ignore me. He let him hurt his son and did nothing. I was only the second child of the second marriage. It doesn’t matter what I did; it was never enough. 
Y/N knew Aemond’s contempt for his father. No matter what Aemond achieved, Visery never cared. The only thing Aemond could do to gain his attention was to insult Rhaynera or his bastards. 
-His only child was Rhaynera. Even though she left him and we were there the whole time. - Y/N kissed his hand and squatted in front of him. 
-Aemond, your father got sick when you were very young; we’ll never know what kind of father he would have been if he had been healthy. - with her free hand, she caressed his face. - But you don’t need to be her, and I hate your father for making you feel inferior. The father you are does not reflect anything that was yours. Aenar adores you. You were willing to burn Winterfell for him. 
-I’d do anything for him and you. 
-We know. 
-I don’t know if he knows 
-Of course, he knows. When he arrived after the accident, he asked for you. When I told him I had already sent you, he relaxed, he knew his father was coming and everything was going to be fine. - Aemond guided her to sit on his lap. 
-I’d burn the Seven Kingdoms for you.
-We know.- she gave him a sweet kiss.  
Before leaving for their room in Winterfell, they gave the last glimpse of the night to Aenar. Aemond hugged his wife from behind. Y/N led her hands to her belly. 
-We should give him a brother.- Aemond smiled.
-A great idea, my lioness. - he caressed her belly. He remembered four years ago when Aenor was safe from any danger in his mother’s womb. 
-There will be another cub that confirms that you exceed in being a father. 
- A little dragon.- he corrected her. 
-No, we already have our dragon. We need the lion. - Aemond smiled and kissed his beloved wife. 
He was eager to become a father again.
1K notes · View notes
the-desilittle-bird · 5 months
Note
headcanon to be the young wife of Cregan Stark
A.N:- So, yeah, I was dead for as long as I can remember but now... I am back again!!!
Thank you and Enjoy your reading!
HOTD Headcanon
Being Cregan Stark's Young Wife Include...
Tags:- @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @cherryaemond, @watercolorskyy, @literishdegree99, @sunmoon-01, @random-shit-i-like-2, @ultrav0lence, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @deltamoon666, @severewobblerlightdragon, @marvelescvpe, @eudximoniakr
Warnings:- None
GIF Credit Goes to @mary-ann84
Tumblr media
You will be the daughter to some important lord or maybe a younger sister to some lord in the council of the King.
After Cregan Stark's first wife, Arra Norrey, dies in childbirth, your father/brother is ready to propose a marriage pact to the Lord of the North.
After all, you are young and fertile and highborn. The perfect partner for a Lord with only a son.
Cregan and you might have met one another once or not, it doesn't matter to him.
When the proposal reaches him and his council, the members and his advisors encourage him to accept it
But Cregan has other plans.
You soon find a raven of your name, written by the Wolf Lord, asking whether you wish for this or not.
Even if you were against this marriage, the raven would definitely make you swoon over his chivalry. And you will understand that you won't find a better match.
The marriage would be a small occasion, officiated in the eyes of the closest to the bride and groom.
The North, as well as your husband's council, will welcome their Lady with open arms.
You will also have to play mother to the little Rickon, and you find the baby adorable.
Bearing more children to Cregan and developing your relation with him.
Small but significant gestures on both of yours and his parts.
Being an absolute power couple.
You were worried sick when he had to travel south.
But equally happy when he returned unharmed.
Having a big fat happy family.
And an awesome relation with Sara.
In short, you did be everything the North needed in their Lady.
And the apple of Cregan's eyes.
360 notes · View notes
axelsagewrites · 11 months
Text
Robb Stark*Cloak
Pairing: Robb x F!Reader
Platonic: all Starks x Reader, Sansa x Reader
Summary: When the reader returns to winterfell after being attacked she finds herself having night terrors again and only one person is able to make them stop.
Word count: 3486
Warnings: references to an attack but not explicit details, mentions of nightmares/terrors, mentions of bullying
Tumblr media
Masterlist Here
Part two linked at bottom
Every summer or so your family travelled to Winterfell for the children to mingle and the fathers to talk business. It had been this way as long as you remembered. Being a couple of years older than Sansa meant she ran about after you, loving to copy after you and listen to your stories. You were also a year younger than Robb whom you had a complicated relationship over the years. As very young children you played together often, playing with toy soldiers and making up make believe games.
Once Sansa started tottering after you when she was seven, you ten, and him eleven he finally seemed to realise you were a girl and pushed you into the mud when you tried to join in with Theon, Jon, and him. When he was fourteen and you thirteen, he began to just avoid you mostly though when he was sixteen, he started to steal sideways glances and saying sweet words. Pretty words that were met with harsh words in return.
Somewhat to his credit Robb did try and apologise to you last summer for his actions as a child but you just smiled and told him it no longer mattered. There was now a civilness between you both but little more.
However, this summer and last were different by far. In between summers you had been out on a horse ride with your friend and a stable boy at your grounds, but you were not alone. When you rode deeper into the woods, your friends lagging behind, you felt someone pull you from the horse. The attack left you bruised and badly injured, but you had managed to survive it and that’s what people always told you. You’re okay, you’re fine, it could be much worse.
The stable boy had been the one to help you as your friend tore off on her horse to find help which luckily came in time. If not for the stable boy flinging himself on the man and helping your claw at him, you probably would not have survived.
Your parents offered to let you stay home this summer, but you figured maybe it would be good for you to roam a safer place. Winterfell had brought you so much comfort as a child that you looked forward to return.
The Starks had heard of the attack and sent letters at the time but when you climbed out your carriage you were met with Sansa running into your arms. “I’m so glad you’re alright,”
Your hands flew to stroke her hair, placing a kiss to her head, assuring her you were fine. It was ironic in a sense. Ever since the attack you felt the need to reassure everyone around you but yourself. Each Stark in turn including Jon offered their deepest sympathies and sweet words.
All but Robb. He was the last in the line to greet you, knowing you were here for his sisters more so than him. “Lady (Y/N),” he said as he took your hand to press a kiss to its knuckles. You bowed your head with a polite smile. You felt Robb give your hand a squeeze before he released it, “You look as radiant as last time I saw you,”
Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile curling into your lips, “Thank you my lord,” you said before continuing your duties. You weren’t sure if it was the normalcy of the comment, the compliment itself, or the fact that Robb didn’t feel the need to extend you pity or have you reassured him that made a warmth grow in you. You never realised how much you valued normalcy until he had said it.
The day was pleasant enough if not enjoyable. You ate lunch and dinner with the Starks, Sansa making sure to be beside you the whole time. You sat in with her and Arya’s lesson and watched Bran try teaching Rickon to hold his wooden sword. The only problem was everyone wanted to know what had happened.
Sansa had asked about the details, Arya seemed to get a kick out the idea of fighting a grown man. Catelyn kept constantly assuring you of your safety which while sweet wore on. Jon listed all the things he would’ve done to protect you. Even Ned had asked about what had happened, something you did your best to be vague about especially with the girls. Sansa because she was sweet, Arya because she seemed to be getting ideas. Not to mention your parents constantly checking in. it was exhausting.
Despite being mentally so tired you lay in your chambers unable to sleep that night. The next day you were mostly fine on the outside despite your groggy nature which you blamed on the excitement from the day before keeping you up. The next you managed to sleep but it was the nightmares that disturbed you.
You did your best not to remember the attack but at night you seemed to relive it. waking up shaking and panting, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to remind yourself you were so far from home but that didn’t seem to help. Perhaps it was talking about it that had brought these nightmares back. Or maybe fate was just cruel.
By your seventh day in Winterfell, you were exhausted. Of the six night you had slept four and of those four nightmares raged through them. Some woke you up for a few minutes while others kept you up for the rest of the night. Heavy lilac circles rung around your eyes which threatened to close in a moment’s notice.
“Perhaps some milk of the poppy would help?” Sansa suggested at breakfast after you finally confessed to your nightmares.
You shook your head at her words, “Last time that just made it worse. I still had the nightmares I just couldn’t wake up,” When the attack first happened nightmares happened almost daily for the first month, but it was different, “(Y/F/N) stayed in my chambers with me every night for two months until she was sure they had stopped,”
“Maybe I could stay with you,” Sansa offered, clutching onto your arm, “Lady could sleep there too and then she’d be able to protect you,”
You smiled at her but again shook your head, “Your sweet Sansa,” you told her, running a hand over her hair, “But I need to sleep on my own. I cannot have someone sleep with me every night,”
Sansa nodded as she turned back to her breakfast with a sigh, “I just wish I could help,”
While you loved her dearly Sansa’s version of helping was to tell practically her whole family who told yours who just questioned you more on the dreams. By lunch you had had enough and excused yourself to the only quiet place. The library.
There was a fireplace that you didn’t bother lighting and half the books seemed untouched. There were a few tables and chairs dotted around the room and two armchairs placed near the fireplace. You took up a spot in one of them, pulling a random book from a shelf. Your eyes threatened to close with every word you read, and you didn’t even notice that you had dropped the book as they finally fell closed.
You woke up to a crackling fire and fur nuzzling your nose. Sitting up from your slouched position, the cloak slipped down off your chest. Your hands traced the edge of the fur lined wool that someone had placed over you like a blanket. The book you had been reading was placed beside you, a bookmark in the page you were last reading, and someone had obviously taken the time to light the fire but not stay to enjoy it. no one else was in the library and you couldn’t notice any obvious signs of someone coming in.
the room was solely lit by the flames as you noticed the darkness out of the windows. Stretching your arms, you began to get out the chair, picking up the cloak when it fell. Its fur was ever so soft, and the wool was thick that you wondered how you had not overheated. The black leather detailing on his clasps and pockets were crisp and precise. This was not a cheap cloak, and someone had left it to keep you warm without even leaving a note.
You raised it to your face, the fur tickling your nose, and inhaled its scent. A warm feeling flooded your heart as the woodsy smell filled your nose. It smelled fresh and earthy while also having misty fragrance to it. the smell made your lips turn up as your hands stroked its fur.
As you walked back to your chambers you noticed the emptiness of the corridors on your way. It was clearly far later than your nap was supposed to be. When you entered your chambers, you saw a jug of wine and plate of bread and cheese on a table waiting for you. This was when you realised just how hungry you were as you devoured the food. You weren’t sure if the one who had left the cloak had sent it or whether your absence at dinner, which you were sure you had missed, had caused someone else to send it up.
After eating you laid in bed, the cloak sitting on a chair in your room, and tried to sleep. Despite the nap you were still tired, but your lids did not close as easily as last time. When you sat up you saw the cloak again. Without thinking you padded over to the chair, snatched up the cloak and returned to bed, laying on top of the covers and instead used the cloak as a blanket. It was warm and as toasty as the fire had been. The furs nuzzled into your face and coaxed you into your dream filled slumber.
The morning rays woke you for the first time in over a week. No nightmares plagued your sleep, and you woke up without screaming or tears. For once you finally felt well rested. The sleep had done you well and you enjoyed the morning, braiding your hair, putting on your favourite dress, before going on a walk of the grounds. All this before breakfast. And still in the cloak a stranger had left on you.
When you entered the hall for breakfast you were one of the last there, but you were in the best mood out of all of them. “Good morning sweet Sansa,” you hummed as you took your place beside her, taking the cloak off, and began to butter your toast.
“You’re happy,” Sansa said with a frown.
This made you laugh, mouth filled with toast, “Is that so wrong of me?” Sansa shrugged but kept her eyes on you, her eyes squinting, “If you must know I slept nearly sixteen hours, nightmare free might I add, and have never felt better,”
“Oh (Y/N) that’s wonderful!” She praised as she clutched your arm, “We were wondering what you were up to yesterday,”
“To be honest im surprised I never woke up to a search party,” You laughed, and Sansa rolled her eyes and removed her hands from your arms.
“As tempted as we were Robb told us you were fine,” she said and your eyebrows knitted in confusion, “What? He said he ran into you at the library reading then that you told him to tell us you would be taking dinner in your chambers so you could have an early night. Did something happen?”
“No, no its fine,” you said, shaking your head trying to think, “It must’ve slipped my mind. It was a very good sleep after all. Its left me dazed,” you said but you knew you had never spoken to her brother yesterday let alone tell him your dinner plans.
Your fingers trailed over the fur of the cloak that was sitting beside you as you realised whose scent had lulled you to sleep. Almost as if it were fate this was the moment Robb had decided to come in with Jon beside him. “Robb where’s your cloak? You’ll freeze to death,” Catelyn chastised her son who had snowflakes scattered along his shoulders. Robb glanced at you before telling his mother he was not cold, “You better not have lost that cloak Robb. I paid good money for that,”
“It’s in my chambers I just forgot to lift it and didn’t wanna go all the way back,” the lied effortless fell from his tongue but you felt his eyes on you moments after. Your hands instinctively clutched the fabric beside you.
As you, Robb, and Jon had been the last to arrive it was no shock that you were the last in the room. Sansa had waited for you initially, but you told her to hurry to her lessons, not wanting her to be late. While true it was also because you had been eating your toast ever so slow so you could hang back to speak to Robb.
When she finally agreed and left the room you waited a moment before crossing the room to where Robb and Jon sat. You held the cloak out to Robb who turned around to look at you. It was the first time you had noticed how soft his eyes were and how strong his jaw was from this angle. And how his hair curled, so soft and perfect looking, “Thank you lady (Y/N),” his words snapped you back from reality as he took the cloak from you. You felt the flush that crossed your cheeks but ignored it as you turned and walked away, feeling unable to even speak suddenly.
You couldn’t like Robb? Not Robb surely? Jon perhaps. Theon maybe. Not Robb? Your parents had suggested the match a hundred times and Catelyn herself even hinted. It would be too perfect to be true. But the way his eyes looked at you…
You did your best to ignore the feeling creeping into your stomach the rest of the day and decided to just try and enjoy the day. It was going well, and you even managed to enjoy dinner though the whole time you kept stealing glances at the eldest Stark who on occasion even caught your eye with a slight smirk. For whatever reason that stupid smirk made your skin tingle more.
Then finally it came time to sleep again. You were tired from the day which you had thoroughly enjoyed but you lay in bed for hours unable to sleep. Yet again. You felt like the gods were torturing you. You couldn’t handle another nightmare or another sleepless night. Swallowing your pride, you wrapped yourself in your own cloak and quickly walked the halls before finding yourself at Robb Starks chamber and knocking on the door.
Then the reality of the situation set in. how stupid you looked standing in front of a boy’s chamber you rarely spoke to ask for his cloak to help you sleep. Quickly you turned around and went to walk away when you heard the door creak open behind you. “(Y/N)?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with sleep that made the way he said your name even sweeter.
You turned around with a sheepish smile, “Hello,” you said, biting your lip, “I need a favour,”
Robb nodded before he ushered you into the room and closed the door behind him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he led you over to a chair which he pulled out for you before sitting on the edge of his bed across from you, “Is everything alright?” his words grabbed your attention.
You played with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “I know this is gonna sound really dumb but I couldn’t sleep and I was wondering if maybe I could borrow your cloak?” you said, looking up to meet his now awake eyes, “Also thank you for today well yesterday now or well the day before in the library and that it was the first good sleep I had in a while and yeah and like thanks I guess,” your words flew out without you thinking, your skin burning hot.
Robb sat up slightly, his arms resting on his thighs to prop him up, “Why do you need my cloak?” he asked.
“It helped me sleep,” you confessed, your eyes falling to your hands that began to pick at your skin.
The room sat in silent for a few moments and finally you braved yourself to look up at Robb who must think you were a total creep. Instead, he was smiling softly, “That’s cute,” he said as he gazed into your eyes. A smile crept onto your own lips as you looked at him. Robbs hand went forward to hold yours, stopping your picking, “You shouldn’t do that though,”
“I’m sorry,”
“It’s okay,”
“I get nervous,”
“I know,” Robb said as his thumb began to rub over your hand, “Do you want to tell me about it? Or if you’d like we can just sit here,”
“I’d like that,” you confused as your hands squeezed his and he squeezed back. The comfortable silence washed over you both. “Thank you by the way,” you broke the silence moments later, “For the food and the cloak and that,”
“It’s okay,” Robb said as he took your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it, “You looked so peaceful in the library. I couldn’t help but stare a little,” he said with a slight chuckle, “You were so beautiful but then you began to shiver,”
The way Robb looked at you felt so genuine, so tender. His thumb running over your hand, his eyes gazing into yours. “Should I fetch my cloak then?” Robb asked, pulling away from you and already you missed his touch but nodded.
Robb stood and crossed the room to fetch his cloak to bring back to you where you stood by the door. Robb walked closer to you but made sure to leave enough room for you to move out his way if you wanted. He brushed a stray hair strand that had fallen out of place behind your ear. His fingers softly trailed your jaw after before falling from your face.
Without thinking or warning you sprang forward, your arms flinging round his shoulders as you buried your face into his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around your frame and pulled you closer, the cloak falling from his hands. You breathed in his fresh woodsy smell that burned your nose with a sweetness.
You felt one of his hands holding your head, the hand almost the size of it. yet it made you feel safer. He began to stroke your hair, the other hand wrapped around your back to pull you closer. Tears welled in your eyes, “I was so scared that day,” you confessed.
“It’s okay,” Robb murmured, “It’s okay ive got you. You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re safe now,” he assured you as he stroked your hair.
Soft sobs left your lips and Robb placed kisses to the top on your head and held you as you cried. “Everyone expected me to talk about it and explain- “
“You never have to explain anything to me,” Robb said as he pulled back and took your face in his hands. His hands were rough but held your face so gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Im here for you, okay?”
“Thank you,” your said as your voice croaked, “Do you think,” you started, your eyes flickering away from his for a moment, “Do you think I could stay here tonight?”
“Of course,” Robb said, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor, or the chair and you can take the bed. Or I can go sleep with Jon or- “
“You don’t have to,” you interrupted him, “I mean if you don’t mind. I’d like you to stay in the bed with me,”
Robb nodded as he pulled back out of the embrace, he had held you in, “Of course I can. Whatever you need,”
You took your cloak off and Robb helped you into his bed in your night clothes before joining you under the sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder and his arm snaked under you, pulling you gently to lay on his chest. He held you in his arm, his hand resting on your waist. Without thinking you took his spare hand into yours. Your nose nuzzled into his chest, his scent making your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you again,” you murmured as your eyes grew heavier.
“Anything for you love,” Robb placed another kiss at the top of your head, “Just get some rest. I’ve got you okay. you’re safe now,”
Part Two Here
Taglist: @clairacassidy
584 notes · View notes
ksharoly · 2 months
Text
QUEEN
king's needs their queen to survive like the game of chess a queen protects its king from anyone who tried to harm it.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"mother i dont want to be married" you said as you look down being betrothed to lord stark you didn't want to get married yet.
"I am very sorry my dear but its the only choice and you will need your very own family" daemon said as he sat down.
"i promise once this is over all of us will be unite again" rhaenyra said as she kissed her daughter's forehead.
the day of the wedding was not a very pleasant for you those who celebrates from your family is now determined that the throne will be theirs now as the Green's fall down and the black's rise.
"do you lord of the north cregan stark take y/n targaryen as your wife"
"i do" cregan said as he hope that your answer will be the same as well as his.
"and do you princess of dragonstone y/n targaryen take cregan stark as your husband"
"i do" you respond.
as you answer that the two of your kissed and the people of the north cheers and claps your no longer a Targaryen your now y/n stark the lady of winter fall.
the past months you were pregnant with your baby you were very close to cregan's son rickon the people said you were like he's true mother as his mother was dead at the time she give birth to him.
"rickon what are you doing outside its night time shouldn't you be a sleep" you said as you place your Cloak to him.
"thank you" rickon said while looking at you.
"thank you for what? rickon" you said.
"thank you for taking care of me and my dad" he said as you placed your one arm around him and make his head place in your shoulder.
"it's no problem that's my duty as he's wife and being a mother to you my son" you said.
"thank you mother" as rickon fell asleep you notice an figure behind you cregan suddenly lift's you as well as rickon.
"my queen shouldn't be not out side you will catch cold" cregan said.
"did the meeting go well" you said to him.
"yes my wife it have been heard that alicent will place aegon as the king" cregan said.
he place you in the bed as he cradles rickon in his arms.
"what this can't be my mother was the heir to the throne i knew this would happen" you said with fury you know that alicent will place aegon to the throne as the king will soon die.
"easy my wife you have to remember stress is not good for your health and the baby" cregan said since the day you were wed to him he take cares of you and love you as you were his beloved wife every single day you were falling for him.
"don't worry my love the babe is strong like you" you caress his face showing him that you will be strong for him.
"i will always love you" as you two kiss under the bright moon.
"i will too my love i will always love you"
"how did you live i swore i killed you and your dragon" aemond was at his end he knew to himself that vhagar bit him and his dragon.
"long live cousin they say only Targaryen can drive themselves into madness" lucaerys bring a toast to his cousin aemond.
"what's happening here" alicent enters the room with her servants.
"nothing mother"
"come here my son its time to go" rhaenyra said as they left the kingdom she swear to herself that she will get the throne.
at the great hall an meeting was held by them that day viserys sit at the iron throne as vaemond talks about the heir's.
"say it"
"her children are bastard's and she is a whore"
"i will have your tongue for that" vaemond's head was sliced.
"you can keep his tongue" but before they disarmed him a servant called for her.
"my queen an letter has been send to you from the queen of the north y/n stark would you like me to read it for you".
"no" alicent said quickly.
"yes i would like to hear it its been a long time since i saw my precious granddaughter" viserys smiles the flashbacks of him and y/n bonding like father and daughter.
"the letter said that if you continue placing aegon as your heir i will have your head burning in flames and eaten by Wolf's my mother will sit in the throne and if you're against that we will have a big problem alicent i dont wish to be the queen of ashes not now".
with that said rhaenyra was crowned as the queen of seven kingdoms and sit to the iron throne y/n and cregan celebrate for them and congrats for the new ruler.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
129 notes · View notes
Note
Hello again 🙋🏻‍♀️! I couldn't stay away from your blog much longer, treating myself a full binge of your beautiful work on my evening off 😋.
So, I come with another meow meow Daemon thingy, where he's betrothed to a sharp Stark lady who's ruthless with him and he's like 😍; So he's geting "ahem" impatient at the wedding, losing control and trying to touch her. I'll leave the rest to you as I trust in this vivid imagination 😄.
Thanks for being the amazing creator you are, have a lovely day 💐
A Ring is Merely Jewelry and Marriage a Contract
Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader
Summary: You had a lot to say to your father about his plans to marry you off to house Targaryen. And though you thought the prince was as appalled by the match as you are, something rewired his brain when he saw you. Direwolf against dragon anyone? Dare to place your bet on who wins?
Word Count: 5k+
Warnings: Misogyny, arranged/forced marriage, fem!reader, snarky!reader, annoying!Daemon, enemies to lovers(?), father's reader is sick and coughs every other moment, fluff, typos, etc.
A/N: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! I WAS SO EXCITED TO SEE THIS IN MY INBOX!!!!! '... couldn't stay away from your blog much longer' begs the question why were you staying away in the first place 🤨 I'm so glad you think im amazing <3 SLAY yuh. my heart goes boom but i have to admit, the prompt stumped me a bit. so hopefully you enjoy what I made. i enjoyed writing it myself Also, I don't know much about game of thrones lore so im just making stuff up as i go SKSKASKFA:SF I LOVE LONG HAIRED DAEMON GAAH LOOK AT HIM ALL PETTY AND PATHETIC WITH THAT DRAGON EGG Part 2 anyone "Fire & Havoc"
Tumblr media
I slam my hands on the table, "I WILL NOT GO, FATHER!"
He is unfazed by the ruckus I cause and only proceeds to eat his breakfast.
"You told me I could choose whom I marry," I whine, "you swore it. I-"
"But that was before," he speaks plainly, offering me a mere look after.
I scoff, twice as wronged because I knew exactly what he meant. "Cregan!" I call to my older and only other sibling, "surely you do not-"
"This matter does not concern your brother," my father dismisses.
"Oh," I stand from my seat and glare at my father, "does it not" I scoff yet again, "when he will surely benefit from the marriage you are suggesting with that horrid prince-"
"Silence!" my father takes his turn slamming his hand on the table. For a moment, the two of us glare at each other. He continues after taking a deep breath, "you are to pack, leave your wolf and-"
"Leave my wolf?!"
"-to travel to King's Landing at once, with not a single complaint."
My jaw slacks in utter disbelief. My fists tighten in rage.
Cregan, who had been spectating silently the entire time, finally drops his fork and swallows the food in his mouth, "father, don't you think making her leave without Ha-"
"ENOUGH!"
Both Cregan and I stiffen at the echo of our father's voice. However, his body proceeds to rattle with an intense cough.
The anger in me fades into concern when his ragged barks do not cease. Before I could gather my skirts and go to him, he raises his hand and forces him breath to even, "enough."
Rickon looks back to me and the hollowness of his face is suddenly apparent, "I will not argue over this any further, daughter."
"But, fa-"
"You are a Stark," he sighs, "cunning, strong, and capable, but when I die, all that I have will pass to your brother," he leans against his chair, "and even though I know he would not abandon you, the fool will surely not remember you enough to keep you safe."
"But I don't need him to be safe, I-"
"The world will not allow it," he manages before choking into another cough.
As Cregan gives the old man a drink, I feel tears glass my eyes out of spite.
Rickon does not accept the cup upon seeing my expression.
"It is not fair," I mutter under a jagged breath.
He sighs, "if it were up to me, I would-"
"You cannot make me leave my wolf," I point accusingly, "you cannot make me go to him, as though I am a subservient entity with no mind and no desires."
My father speaks my name, but I am not having it.
"If you are so hellbent on me marrying that insolent younger Targaryen that you waste your dying wish on him," I seethe, anger leaving me in a form of bitter of tears, "then I will do as my Lord Stark commands," I offer a fake curtsy.
My father calls me again, another cough takes possession of him.
"But know this," I say as I straighten myself up, "if he dares lay a finger on me, I will slit his throat. And if he is a good enough warrior to survive my blade, then he will slit my throat for my treason," I move away from my seat, "and when my blood waters the earth, father, it will be because of your dying wish."
"ENOUGH!" Cregan demands, pointing at me angrily.
By the time my the coughs reverberating in the dining room dampens, I've already made my way out.
There was a part of me that regrets leaving home like that. But it was precisely Rickon Stark who imparted his great pride upon me. I could not even bring myself to look at him before I left, though Cregan bribed me with my own wolf to have me speak to our father.
She new I was leaving, Havoc. I nearly jumped out of my carriage when I heard her desperate howls. I found that my door was locked from the outside and the idea enraged me enough that I nearly broke the window open.
But then it dawned to me that it was pointless.
Even if I managed to get out of my prison, I would be shipped to King's Landing either way, only this time, I would have worn everyone's patience thinner.
You could only imagine the state of my own patience when I arrived at my horrid destination.
It was unbelievably sweltering and unimaginably cold all at once.
Him, tenfold, that Daemon Targaryen.
Not only did he place no efforts in welcoming me, it seems he ordered my chambers to be at the opposite of his, to make things more annoying and more difficult for everyone.
Fine.
It seems he did not want me, and I did not want him. We at least had something in common we could work on.
Today marked the 10th day of my stay in this wretched place. Each morn, I would seek audience with my betrothed and yet his handmaiden would curtsy to me and say, "the Prince is not here, my lady."
I chuckle dryly in disbelief and make an effort not to snap at the woman, for I knew she was not at fault, "and have you expressed my tenacity to seek audience with him. I-- Lady Stark, who has defeated my Lord suitors in combat, and would gladly attack him for less if he continues ignoring my existence-- seek his audience" I nod feverously, "have you expressed this to him?"
My words are visibly unsavory to her ears, "I have, your grace."
My face twitches as I avert my gaze away from the woman. But not even the sight of the blue sky halts the way my chest vibrates in annoyed laughter, "then he is more insolent than I could have ever hoped," I release a sharp shudder, "and I am to be wed to him in two days time."
I turn back to the perturbed maid, "what jovial news, don't you agree-- Bethany, was it?"
She nods her head as her face twists in fear.
I take deep breaths to calm myself and screw my eyes shut at the feel of sweat dripping down my nape because of the fucking climate of this wretched place.
I rub the back of my neck roughly as I open my eyes and force a smile, "then shall you lead me to the training grounds?"
"As you command," she shakes her head, "but I am sure the prince is not-"
"Not for him," I blurt, "for me."
Her brows knit, "... your grace, I-"
"And I do not mean the royal training grounds. It's utterly boring there. I mean the area where those Gold Cloaks train. Do you know what I speak of?"
Bethany quickly nods.
"Yes, that's the one. I am fucking sick of doing nothing all day, and so I might as well entertain myself before I end up killing someone."
I do not have enough patience to explain the light jest in my tone after hearing how roughly she gulps.
Bethany wordlessly escorts me to the training grounds, where I then see about a dozen men, sweaty and loud, as they spar and practice together.
I find myself releasing a sigh of relief at the sight before me, and promptly dismiss Bethany with a nod.
The moment she goes on her way, however, I call out to her, remembering my own poor handmaiden, "might I ask one last favor before you leave?"
Bethany nods, "of course, my lady."
"Please inform Belidea of my whereabouts. She is a terrible worry wart and I cannot stand the sound of her high pitched nags."
"Of course, my lady," she repeats more urgently.
I nod, "very good. You have my thanks."
Once she is gone, I make my way to the training grounds, and my mere presence commands the attention of the soldiers.
"My lady," a man with brown hair and a long beard nods, walking over to me with his golden cloak swaying behind him.
I nod back at him, "who is the commander of this training session?"
"That would be me, my lady."
I smile at him and introduce myself, "you are welcome to call me simply by my name."
"I do not wish to offend Prince Daemon," he says, then adding, "Ser Phineas, at your service, Lady Stark."
"A pleasure," I say, "though I must correct you in your belief that your beloved prince even knows of my existence."
"Nonsense," he shakes his head, "his head is heavy with thoughts of your marriage."
I snort, "you don't say? You are acquainted with his insolence well then?"
Phineas lets out an uncomfortable cough, My lips curve at it.
"I would not myself assume to be well-acquainted with our prince at all."
"Hmm," I cross my arms, "very well then, ser Phineas. I wonder then if you would allow me the warm regard your dragon born did not when I arrived to King's Landing."
The man bows in response.
"I would like to spar with your finest swordsman."
He lifts his face to me.
"I am terribly bored and quite frankly annoyed by the continuous absence of my beloved," I suck in a deep breath, "and so I should like to relieve my stress rather than allow it to fester within me."
He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, square shoulders relaxing, "Ah. I would gladly instruct the lady in the art of-"
I raise a finger at him, "I did not ask to be taught," I cut him off, "and if it is you who you believe to the best amongst your peers, then I shall warn you not to twist my words and delude yourself to be better than I, simply because you are a man."
I see how his expression shifts at my words. Phineas sucks in a a breath from his nostrils, "Lady Stark, I do not wish to harm you, nor do I think it would be wise for you to rile up the prince, if that is-"
"Bold of you to think you could harm me, first of all," I say walking off to the circle him, "second of all, if you bring up the prince again, I will rip your cloak off and use it as a towel," I rub my forehead, "the heat of this place is unbearable."
"It must be polar opposite to the frost up North," he says, turning to me when I make it back in front of him.
"It is," I state, "now. Will you let me spar, or will I have to provoke you even more?"
He is unable to control the curl of amusement from his lips.
The whole training ground clears and crowds around us as we make it its center. Phineas turns to his brothers-at-arms and then back to me as he twists his sword in his hands for show, "I will go-"
"Easy on me?" I roll my eyes and finish for him, stabbing my sword on the ground before me so that I can stretch, "I would advise you otherwise, since I am as adept with the blade in a skirt, as I am without." I roll my shoulder back as I smirk, "it would hurt your fragile ego too much if you should lose to me too quickly."
The crowd mumbles at my haughty remark.
Phineas chuckles but shows no trace of annoyance or anger.
I smile at his composure and pull my sword up, pointing it to him, "enough chat."
"MY LADY, NO!" the frantic voice of my handmaiden calls out. All eyes turn to her as she makes her way through the crowd and makes herself visible to me.
"Belidea," I call, "just in time for the show."
"Please," she catches her breath, adding lowly, "do not make a spectacle of yourself."
I roll my eyes, "then would you like to spar with him?"
Belidea only continues to heave as I offer her the weapon in my hand.
I raise a brow at her and go back to my stance, "then be still and silent."
Phineas readies himself, "you can still-" but the sound of my steel crashing against his effectively shut him up.
It seems, finally, after all this time, I have finally merited the attention of the prince.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Daemon barks, beholding his beloved Gold Cloaks, worn out, battered and beaten, with several injured.
Having taken a moment to drink some water, I see the long silver hair on his back and find my brows raising at the sight of it.
The man I was drinking with, Elias, chokes on his water and wipes his lips quickly with his wrist. He leans and mutters to me, "that's the prince, my lady."
"Yes," I shift on my leg, "it is obvious, it is not?"
Faced with frantic faces, Daemon is still with rage at the lack of answers.
"Betrothed," I call from behind him the moment I am near. With my hair wild out of its original hairstyle, and my skirt ripped short out of my own rage towards it, I curtsy at him with my hands behind my back.
My eyes do not leave the Targaryen's face as he examines the cuts on my arm and thighs. There was blood on my clothes that was indistinguishable if it were mine or not, but there was a sure darkness behind my eyes. I rise when I speak, "it is a wonder to finally meet you face to face."
Belidea, who was quick to run to my side, shrinks as not to meet the prince's gaze. She quickly makes an effort to wrap the golden cloak I took as my prize to mask my indecency, but I merely push the cloak of me.
"Were you captured?" he quickly interrogates, as if he is concerned.
I scoff and roll my eyes, "as your men are ashamed to admit," I turn to Phineas, who was missing his cloak, "I amused myself by winning all the matches against them."
The man shifts to face me, grabbing the fabric of what used to be part of my sleeve, "and this looks like winning to you?"
I rip the fabric off me using I had in my palms and step forward, motioning to the side, "does that?"
He bares his profile to me as he examines his battered men. A curve forms on his lips and it makes my eyes narrow in anger.
"All of you morons lost to the lady?" he calls loudly, ending his words with a chuckle.
I fidget with the dagger in my hand.
Upon catching this, Phineas places a hand on my arm. I turn to him with a dirty look that immediately makes him withdraw.
"Is it so hard to believe, Prince Daemon?"
Daemon turns back to me, eyes bright, matching his grin, "no, I am impressed."
I scoff, "because you do not believe my might."
He steps closer to me, eyes flickering to the dagger I was still playing with, "perhaps you would grace me with a demonstration-"
"Go fuck yourself," I blurt, throwing the dagger off to the side before storming off.
And as shocked as he was, Daemon was more so excited than anything.
It seems he was so moved by my performance that he finally came to me instead of the other way around. He, however, lacked the decency I had and came to me in the darkness of night.
It took everything in my not to ram into him and strike him with the comb I was using when he rudely walked in my chambers. I controlled myself for the sake of the poor servants that would behold my massacre.
"What do you want?" I blurt, eyeing him from my vanity.
Daemon, who was in his own sleeping attire it seems, smiles softly as he places his hands behind his back, "my lady wife has been seeking my audience."
I slam my comb on my vanity and cause my maids to gasp. I march in front of the seemingly further amused prince and clench my jaw at the sight of him, "the mere fact you are referring to me as your wife tells me that I should not seek your audience at all."
He chuckles at my words, linking his hands in front of him. Daemon hums, "I see. You do not wish to wed me."
I scoff, "and a few hours ago, you shared the same sentiment." I tilt my head up at him in annoyance, but it seems the sight of the blood on my clothes has made you change your fickle mind."
He chuckles more loudly this time, "that was because I was fed lies about marrying an obedient wife that wanted nothing but to sire me strong heirs with the will of Starks and Targaryens."
"And what pig shat out that crap?"
"That would be the lords of the council," he smiles, "but clearly they have not met you."
I lick my teeth at his expression, "do not act so pleased, as though you have won me over."
"Worry not, my dear, the dragon in me so burns at the challenge."
I shake my head and roll my eyes at him, "do not speak to me of your dragon," I step away from him, "it does not entice me."
I catch sight of my servants as Daemon laughs. I promptly dismiss them as the prince makes his way to my bed and sits on the side, "ah yes. I was wondering why I had yet to behold your famous direwolves."
I cross my arms as he presses his lips into a pleased smile, "would they not fare well in this weather? Is that why you did not bring yours?"
"Are you quite comfortable, my prince?"
His shoulders shake in amusement, "I am."
"Then do not be surprised if you do not make it out of here alive," I say as I stalk towards him.
Daemon give me a lopsided smirk, "they did not allow you any weapons, as your brother warned."
"A comb would be a good weapon as any," I blurt, grabbing the said object from my vanity and pointing it to him as I stand before him.
I am surprised that he does not laugh at my words. He is wise not to anger me any further.
"You must admit it is better that you and I end up with each other."
"And why would I ever admit that," I whisper through grit teeth.
"Because you and I are the same," he says, standing.
"We are not the same."
Daemon turns to the comb still pointed at him as he walks closer, "I too would make a weapon out of anything I could get my hands on."
I lean towards him, dropping my comb, to grab his collar, "that does not make us the same."
He releases a hot breath that hits my face. As I glare at him, his hands land on my sides, making me jolt. I promptly shove him off when I feel his unwelcome touch, "fuck off."
He reels back, but does not fall on my bed. I gaze upon him with anger and wrap my arms around myself, annoyed by the goosebumps that form on my skin.
"If you shall call to me again, I will hastily answer."
I grunt, "Fuck. Off."
He offers me one last chuckle as he nods, "I look forward to our wedding."
I do not.
The hour comes swiftly despite this.
We were now in the dining hall on either side of the king. The two brothers were making merry, yet I was making no effort to hide my distaste.
"I heard that you made a spectacle of the Gold Cloaks, sister," Queen Aemma spoke, making me turn to her as she caressed the bump of her belly.
I looked at her smile and pitied how she was reduced to nothing but a baby maker.
"Uncle went from denying your existence to praising the very ground you walked on," Rhaenyra adds, mischief written all over her face. Her mother to scolds her, to which she responds, "what, it's true?"
"I so would like to know how good you are with blades. It is not everyday that we hear of a woman warrior," King Viserys chuckles, and it makes me snap.
"Well it is not everyday that a father allows his daughter to practice her strength," I coldly remark, turning from him to Rhaenyra, "I heard you dissuade the princess from going on dragonback though it is in her very nature to be drawn to it."
Daemon chuckles as his older brother goes quiet.
I catch sight of my impeding doom's amusement, and turn away from him. That very moment, the dining hall's doors open and I find myself shooting up from my seat.
No matter ho much of a solid fortress I convinced myself to, the moment I saw my brother walk in with my father being carried by two of our men in a litter, I was crumbling at the very seams.
I feel the Targaryens burn their eyes on me but I do not care.
The moment my family is before me, I clench my jaw.
"My King, My Queen, My Prince, My Princess," Cregan smiles between the royal faces then turns to me, "dear sister."
"Lord Rickon," Viserys greets, "Lord Cregan."
"I hope you have taken kindly to my daughter, Prince Daemon," my father mutters with a strained voice.
I do not tear my gaze from my father, whose illness was clearly getting the better of him.
"She was surely the pride of your house," Daemon says, "and now she will be the pride of mine."
The old fool nods at the prince's words, and I feel bitterness coat my tongue. My father seemingly wanted to say something, but his cough decides he won't before he can even open his mouth.
Cregan takes it as a cue to take him away. He gives me a look, "father wished to tell you that you are the perfect bride."
I watch as they make their way to their spot.
I cannot bring myself to move an inch from where I was standing as tears coat my cheeks. It was all a betrayal. It was all so much colder than the Northern snow I find myself yearning for. How could they allow this to happen to me? How could my-
"Go to him."
I turn to my side, finding Daemon's face as he repeats, "go to him."
Before I know it, I am standing behind my father who had just caught his breath from the coughs he started.
Cregan calls my name once he notices me, and this causes Rickon to turn over his shoulder and make me grind my teeth.
"You fool," I mutter bitterly, "you old, fucking fool."
Cregan places a hand on me. My father calls my name, and it brings me to my knees. I grab onto his cold and thin arm, thinking how it felt nothing like the hand that guided me in my youth.
"Do not waste your tears on this old, fucking fool, daughter."
I look up to him and see tears on his face. I shake my head, "papa," I whine, "don't do this to me. You can still take back your word."
"Sister, that is enough," Cregan hushes.
Rickon places his other hand on my head and sighs, "he does not deserve you," he inhales, "that much I agree."
"Then make this right! Release me-"
"So make him deserve you," he catches my chin, "make him as loyal as your wolf," he coughs twice, "or feed him to Havoc yourself."
Our father rattles out into another fit out coughs.
Cregan pulls me to my feet and sighs. He pulls me to the side yet the sound of coughing does not fade. "He has only worsened since you've gone."
I suck in a breath and will my tears away.
"I pray you release your grudges, before it's too late."
I scoff, "easy for you to say when everything is easy for you, brother," I push his hand off me, "you are the heir, you are in charge."
He calls my name in frustration, "you know damn well that is not what I meant."
"Worry not," I scoff in annoyance, "I will do as our father instructs," I turn to the said man, "as always. I will make him as loyal as Havoc," I gulp, turning to the prince who was already looking at me, "or feed him to her myself."
Cregan watches as I storm all the way back to my seat.
The rest of the events are a blur, the toast, the ceremony, the merrymaking I was clearly not a part of.
But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I could now feel Havoc's warmth against me. She had nearly tackled me to the ground when we were reunited. She felt my heartache and whined with me as I emptied my sorrows on her fur.
Though she spoke no words to me, she provided the best comfort I could ever ask for. Havoc and I have been bonded ever since she was born. She knew nothing but me and I knew nothing but her.
And so when she began to snarl, I felt her protectiveness in my bones.
I turn to the direction of her anger and see my husband still in his spot.
"You are wise not to tread any nearer," I mutter to him as I stand to my feet. Havoc stands beside me. I command her to stand down and lie on her belly. She is reluctant but obedient.
Daemon places his hands behind his back, "I hope you know that it was a mistake for them to bring her to the dragon pit."
"I am not a fool, I would not bring Havoc anywhere near your-"
"I will introduce Caraxes to her slowly," he cuts me off, "though I confess, I do not know how he would react."
I tilt my head to him and measure his words, "and why would you do that?"
"Because she belongs to wife," he spokes as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
When he stretches his hand out to me, Havoc reacts with another snarl.
"Enough, Havoc," I command her, placing a hand on her snout, making her soften her warning sounds.
"Would you introduce me to her?" the prince asks, hand reaching out to me.
I feel a pit in my stomach. There a loud voice was screaming loudly in disagreement, screaming to allow Havoc her carnal desire. Yet the voice of my father rings in my mind, 'make him loyal'. At the same time, the feeling of Daemon's gentle touch as he kissed me after our vows plays in my head.
I turn to Havoc, back to Daemon, and step once so I could reach the prince's palm. Once I have him in my grip, Havoc begins to snarl loudly again. I scold her and pull Daemon behind me. I ignore the way my stomach drops when his other hand rests on my waist. Though the touch is uninvited, I do not fight him off for the sake of keeping Havoc calm.
I place my hand atop Daemon's and link my fingers in his then place his palm on my wolf's large, furry head.
Havoc does not appreciate it, I can feel it. And yet, she does nothing but snarl as she feels Daemon's hand on her.
"He is my husband, sweet girl," I hush her, placing my other hand on her back, "you will not eat him."
Daemon chuckles, then presses closer behind me. I feel my body ignite when his chest meets my back.
He proceeds to speak in another tongue, and to my surprise, Havoc tilts her head at him and dampens her threats.
"How did you do that?" I mutter, turning to him as well.
Our faces nearly touch when I do, and I make sure not to start, lest I trigger the direwolf.
"My blood runs with magic she recognizes," Daemon mutters, violet eyes peering down at me. My breath hitches when his hand brushes to my belly, "I do not doubt Caraxes will recognize the same in yours."
I turn away from him and pull my hand out of his. I then push him away just as Havoc finally ceases her growls altogether and begins to pant.
I release a sigh and turn to my beloved wolf, "good girl," I praise, grabbing her large face.
Daemon chuckles behind me, "you treat her like she is merely an overgrown pup."
"Well, she is," I say, turning over, finding the prince's soft expression, "and yours is an overgrown lizard."
He tilts his head, "I have not met a lizard who breathes fire."
"I wonder why you look any further," I pull away from Havoc to look at the vast chamber, "so, tell me. If not here, where then shall I keep her?"
He shifts on his legs, "your chambers would be large enough, would it not?"
I narrow my brows, "my chambers?"
He chuckles, "well I cannot force it to be our chambers in the face of your beast now, can I?"
I scoff at this and whistle, making Havoc stand.
Daemon does not break eye contact with me as I walk over to him. I move past him though and beckon my wolf to follow, "I appreciate your candor, prince husband. Perhaps I shall not commit treason after all."
2K notes · View notes
anisrightarm · 16 days
Text
Cregan Stark NSFW Alphabet
Tumblr media
NSFW topics ahead don’t read if you’re not comfortable!!
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Cleans you up with a rag and warm water while telling how perfect you are for him
Knows you get cold in the north so he always has extra fur blankets to wrap you in
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
For him he likes his eyes, knows you go wild for eye contact and you always compliment his eyes
On you he likes your stomach and hips, most northern girls he’s bedded have been rather skinny he loves the feeling of your stomach under his hands
LOVES your hips boy is grabbing them while pounding into you or caressing them while making love
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He will cum in you if you’re comfortable with it he goes feral for that shit
If not he loves cumming on your back or stomach something about you being dirty with his seed makes his brain short wire
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Would love to fuck you in the great hall alone obviously
Just the thought while he’s at some important meeting he just has to look at the table to remember what you two did whilst everyone is oblivious
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He has 10 kids.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Anything where he can see your face
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Cregan lets you set the mood but if it’s after a battle or hunt it’s all business
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He’s well shaven he likes to keep it neat and manageable
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He’s romantic he wants everything to be perfect for you he will definitely start a nice fire for you
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He doesn’t necessarily like or need to jerk he has you
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Breeding kink goes brr
Wants you to have his kids so bad he will whisper in your ear during sex telling you how good you would look pregnant
Praise giving and receiving he likes to know he’s making you feel good
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Your chambers obviously he loves going to bed knowing you have had sex on the bed
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Imagining you pregnant
Seeing you with Kids (more specifically Rickon)
He loves to see you all dressed up for important events
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Will never do anything without your consent
Will never lay his hands on you
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
LIVES for eating you out it’s his favorite meal
Won’t deny head but won’t demand it he prefers giving
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Once again it’s mostly up to you and your preference but I like to think he goes deep you know quality over quantity
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Only likes quickies if he has absolutely no time
He likes to take his time to make his lady feel good
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Will never do something with you not being comfortable so kind of if your down, so is he
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
He can last atleast 3-4
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
I can’t imagine him using them on you, he prefers to please you himself
Doesn’t mind if you use them by yourself, he’s a lord after all he’s busy
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He can tease and will but hates making you wait
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He’s not very loud but he will grunt and moan in your ear
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Cregan was so touch starved before you got betrothed so when you held him the first night you made love he cried but always denies it
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Oh yeah he’s big you know what they say about northern men😏😏
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
This man is down literally 24/7
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Cregan makes sure you are comfortable and okay before anything then it’s fair game you both knock out
A/n: My first NSFW alphabet!!! Give me feedback how did I do?? Who next??
144 notes · View notes
misguidedasgardian · 10 months
Text
The winter Sun (26)
Tumblr media
26. The Strength of certainty
MASTERLIST
Summary: The aftermath of the battle and the reunion
Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 
Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, war and all that comes with it, mentions of burnt bodies, mentions of childbirth, implied non-con, use of the word bastard, death of characters, mentions and descriptions of injury, might miss some warnings
+18, MINORS DNI
Wordcount: 3k
Notes: FINALLY I'm not going to hide it, they will see eachtoher again! can't wait for you to read it.
Tumblr media
As you commanded your dragon to fly back to your home in the Vale you couldn’t help the shake in your hands as you grabbed the reins tighter. 
You had been reckless in coming here, when you left your home this morning you didn't even believed you could make it, but as you approached Harrenhal you realized you had come just in the right moment, the perfect moment
As you commanded Vhaelar to jump on Vhagar, you felt a sharp pain between your thighs, you had just given birth.
And although your dragon did most of the job, your body was a tight as a bow, constricted on it’s own, your muscles were so sore you believe it was a miracle when you could unsaddle from your dragon when you arrived back in Runestone, it was already dark, the night had fallen over the seven Kingdoms
You were in shock still
You couldn’t believe what you had done
It’s like some sort of strange personality had taken over you, the rage, the fire within you had taken control and unleashed its savage self on Aemond
Aemond was dead
You had helped on killing the kinslayer
And perhaps you were one yourself now
You walked slowly inside the castle, all the soldiers and servants had removed the green dragon from their clothing and removed it with the classic red dragon one, of House Targaryen, in your honor
You didn’t even know the full extent of Aemond’s attack on your home and staff within, you didn’t know what was said and done to them, but they all seemed relieved to see you return, unharmed, and something told them  everything was over. 
You knew they talked amongst themselves, so, it was clear, they reverted their loyalties back to you, you were safe in the castle your father had built for you. 
You found the midwife sitting in a rocking chair, sewing something, right next to the crib. You decided right then and there that you had to put everything behind you, you needed to stay here until you healed and then you were going to reach out to Sara in Winterfell to see how you were going to proceed, your baby was yet too small to travel on dragon back and either way, he was the priority now.
And Rickon? your heart clenched in your chest every time you thought about him, you wanted to see him so badly, so terribly much it pained you, you missed him dearly, with every breath you took.
The Midwife found you looking and immediately stood up from her chair and bowed
“thank you for caring for him”, you said softly
“The young lord is delightful, princess”, she said with rosy cheeks and a sweet smile, “he never cries, and he is so quiet”, you were content as you walked towards the crib and found that actually your son was awake.
The midwife left and left you alone with the baby, you took in your arms. You cooed at him, and he seemed to be happy to be in your arms
“How am I going to name you, uh?”, you asked softly, and you frowned when you remembered all the names Aemond had suggested, Maegor, Visenya, and more that resemble… strong… characters of your family…
But Maegor?
You couldn’t curse him like that and furthermore… Why would you listen to Aemond? he was dad, he was not going to come near YOUR son
But still you had no idea.
Tears came to your eyes as you wished Cregan was here next to you, to name your child, and then you wondered if he would accept him, he might doubt the baby’s paternity.
Tumblr media
“Where could she have gone?”, Cregan was desperate, and he had trouble finding Daemon in the middle of the mayhem that surrounded the castle of Harrenhal
The Rogue Prince removed his helmet
“I don’t know”
He owned you his life, he would be dead if it weren’t for you, the scariest part?, he was prepared to die today, only to take Aemond with him.
He was never close to you, he couldn’t bear it, you reminded him too much of your own father, it was painful to him. But once he learned that one-eyed HIghtower bastard had kidnapped you? He saw red, and he decided right then and there he was going to kill him and it didn’t matter if he died in the process.
He had to take him down
But as your father before you, you had proven to be capable of handlings things yourself
He smirked, just thinking about
“Actually I do know”, he said, looking at the Wolf of the North, “she flew east, and there is only one place she could have gone in that direction”
But men were distracted when a handful of soldiers brought Aemond Targaryen to the castle, from the lake from which he had been recovered
The motherfucker was still alive
“One of his legs was completely destroyed”, narrated a soldier, as the One-eye prince had fainted for the pain and the fall, Vhagar rested in the bottom of the lake
Cregan and Daemon shared concerned looks
“We have to kill him”, demanded the wolf
“No”, said Daemon, “not here”
“What he had done to my wife? we have to kill him”
“Publicly”, he said, “we put him on trial and behead him in the King’s Landing square, or better yet… in Old Town”, Cregan wanted to fight him, he wanted to draw his own sword and kill him right then and there, a man injured and unarmed
“I promise he will pay for what he did, but we have to send a message”, said the Rogue Prince, and Cregan just dropped it, because there he stood, the One-Eye Prince, dragonless, eye-less, he had lost one of his legs which meant he was paralyzed.
He was not going to hurt you or anyone else ever again.
He could wait until he woke up, he wanted to face him for what he did, to tell him he was going to get you back and he was never going to see you again. He wanted to tell the Kinslayer he had won, that love, and goodness preailed. 
But his state was critical, Cregan didn’t know when Aemond was going to wake, if he was even going to, and he couldn’t wait anymore
He needed to see you, he had to
So he abandoned Harrenhal without even having a rest, a group of soldiers, his most trusted men followed him.
He left his best friend Ben Tallheart on Harrenhal to oversee the taking of the lands and the army marching to King’s Landing afterwards. 
Cregan rode his horse for a week
A man possessed by the need of returning to his adoring wife, a man possessed by love and devotion, he needed to see you, he needed you to see him, to see he was still alive, that the nightmare was over, that Aemond was over, and nobody could ever hurt you again. 
He rested at night because he couldn’t see the road ahead of him and because his men and his horse deserved it, if not he would have rode at night as well, but the rocky roads of The Vale were treacherous even in midday.
But finally after seven days of a heavy march, he could recognize the castle Daemon had described for him, your home
He felt embarrassed that he never accompanied you to your own home while you had been married, then he was reminded that you two had been married for almost two years… incredible…
The doors of the walls surrounded your castle were close, he dismounted his horse to approach the gated
“I’m Lord Cregan Stark, and i’ve come to see my wife, the Princess (Y/N)”, he said firmly to the soldiers above the battlements 
They looked at each other, amazed, and opened the gates immediately to let him pass
“Welcome to Runestone, Lord Stark”, they welcomed
“Like I said, I would like to see my wife, but my men and horses…”
“They will be taken care of”, offered the young soldier. Cregan offered his thanks as he walked through the courtyard and towards the main entrance to the palace, where another guard offered to take him inside.
“the princess is recovering in her rooms”, he told Cregan as they walk up the stairs
“Was she harmed in the battle?”, he asked, fearfully, and he looked puzzled.
“No my lord”
As they walked through the hallways and corridors Cregan looked around amazed, it was a beautiful place, with many large windows and colorful paintings and tapestries, it was a comfortable palace, he even saw a painting of your father and you, who in it you were only a child hanging near the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
And soon enough, they were outside a set of double doors, two more guard guarding you
Cregan suddenly felt nervous, he wanted to see you, and for you to see him, but he was scared of surprising you too much, he didn’t know how you were going to take it… 
“I will let her know”, the soldier said, knocking on the doors and once he heard you telling him to go in, he entered your chambers
“Lord Cregan Stark”, he announced
You froze in your palace near the window. Was this some sick joke?
“What?”, you asked
“Lord Cregan Stark is here for you, your grace”
“Is this some joke?”, you asked, the soldier immediately regretted his decision, turning pale, not knowing what to say
And then Cregan let himself in, not wanting to put the soldier in any trouble. 
When you saw him you truly believed you had died, or that you were dreaming, or having an hallucination 
You lost your foot and had to grab onto the nearest table, not believing your eyes
“Cregan?”, you called
“My love, I’m here!”, he said gently, “I've come back for you”, you couldn’t help but ran to his embrace, and he hugged you tightly.
He was real, he was alive, he was here
“You are alive!”, you cried on his chest 
“I’m alive my love”, he whispered against your hair, caressing your silver locks and your back, “I’ve come back for you”
You finally released him and he released you, only for you to gaze on one another
“Aemond told me he had burn you”, you whined
“He did, from the skies, but, my men, they, covered me”, he explained, “Jon, the son of Lord Roderik Dustin he took my cape and covered me with his own body”, he told you, and you could see in his eyes the storm of pain and traumas from war. “Then I saw Aemond walking through the field of burn corpses and he took the cape from him”, he said, and you nodded, tears falling down your eyes
“I can’t believe you are alive!”, you cried, and he hugged you again
He could tell you were so shocked by the news he led you to sit on the edge of the bed, and you smiled warmly at him, but he stood tall in front of you.
“I was badly hurt, my men carried me east from Harrenhal, the only thing that kept me alive was the thought of seeing you again”, he saw, with such devotion in his eyes that made you tremble, “and I…”, he was interrupted by your son who began to cry softly, and just then Cregan noticed the existence of the baby in the room.
He was resting on his crib by the window, and Cregan looked at it as it was a beautiful thing. He began to walk towards it slowly
“Cregan…”, you called, but he didn’t even acknowledge you as he walked until he could see your silver haired son resting on his crib
“You were indeed pregnant”, he whispered, with a wide smile on his face, he leaned in, and took the baby in his arms, he didn’t seem to realize what the baby’s hair might say about his parentage. He only looked at the baby with such love in his eyes that made your eyes water.
“I’m sorry”, you cried, clawing at the sheets underneath you
“What for?”, he asked, and he looked at you innocently dubstruck
“Cregan…”, you called, wanting to cry, did he really not see it?, but he did, his face got serious, looking at you with sad eyes
“You have nothing to be sorry for”, he said gently, cradling the newborn babe in his arms, he looked down at his little reddened face, his eyes trailed the silvery hairs on his head, and he swallowed hard, he looked at you and found you looking at him with wide eyes and tears streaming down your cheeks
“It might be Aemond’s”, you whispered, with a choked voice. You saw sadness in his eyes
“We don’t know that”,  he said simply, shooking his head
“Look at him”, you demanded
“This is not your fault”, he said seriously, his eyes softened when he looked at you, “hey”, he called gently, “what do you want to do?”, he asked, hope in his icy blue eyes
“Regardless, he is my son”, you said, in whimpers, “and I love him”, but then you sighed, feeling a lump in your throat, “what do you want to do?”, he could do it, he could claim he is a bastard and he could shun you, for a split second you forgot who Cregan was…
“He is our son”, he said firmly
“What…?”, you asked, sounding hopefully
“I don’t care”, he said dismissively, cradling the babe in his arms, “he takes after you, his mother”
“What if he turns out like… what if he is evil like Aemond?”, you asked fearfully
“We are going to raise him, and he came out of you”, he said with a gentle smile, “how can he ever be evil?”. he smiled at you and now happy tears rolled down your face, “and besides, I’m certain he is mine, there is no doubt in my mind”
“Cregan…”
“He is my son”, he said firmly, “and we will never speak of this again”, he said firmly, hugging the baby against his chest, you nodded, He looked down at the baby that cooed gently, cuddling deeper in his embrace, looking for his warmth, “my dragonling”, he said gently, “he looks like your father”, he whispered, and that really brought more tears to your eyes, “hello there”, he whispered, cradling him in your arms, “what’s his name?”, he asked
“I don’t know yet”, you whispered
“I will ask you to call him Jon, but he has your Valyrian curls is kind of sad…”
“Jonaerys”, yous aid then, and he looked at you wide eyed
“Jonaerys”, he agreed, sitting by your side, with your child in his arms. 
The night had fallen over the castle, and you had just finished having dinner with Cregan, and you were walking up the stairs with him. 
“Can I stay with you?”, he asked gently, and you looked at him wide eyed
You knew he knew what Ameond had done to you, there was a reason that the baby could be Aemond’s, and you could see how cautious he was while being near you. 
“I don’t want to push you”, he said gently
“I want you to hold me”, you said back, with a shy smile on your face, he smiled back at you
And he held you alright, you hugged him tightly, not yet believing he was there right next to you, you couldn’t believe it. 
“He is gone, is all over my love”, he whispered, “now we go home”
“You keep saying…”, you started shakily, “he is gone, he is gone… but… you are not saying… he is dead”, you whined, and then you looked into his eyes
“He will never hurt you again”, he said surely
“Where is he?”
“He is being taken to King’s Landing where he will hold trial and surely be executed”, you nodded, “Vhagar rests in the bottom of the lake, where you sent him”
“I see”
“You will never see him again”, he whispered
“I know”, you said back, burying your face on his chest. Cregan was your home, your safe palace, and with him, nothing could harm you
“We need to go to King’s landing”, he said then
“We need to go and see our son”, you said back
“The war is most likely over, we need to go and bend the knee to Rhaenyra”, he said gently
“I’m sure she will understand”, you muttered
“There are still people in King’s Landing that call her a usurper”, he said with a warning in his voice, “there still the Lannisters held the treasury…”
“I want to go and see our son”, you whined, “we haven’t seen him in moons”
“I know”, he said softly
“Eight moons”
“I know”, he kissed the top of your head, “we will go home first”, he said surely, “as soon as the baby is stronger and you had recuperated, we will fly there”
The war was over
The fear and uncertainty was over, you had won, your family was safe, you had to believe it, you had to. The biggest threat was gone. 
“I will take you home, or rather, you will take me”, he chuckled, “You, me, Rickon and Jonaerys, our little family”, he said, so proud of his two baby boys 
You were distracted when Jonaerys started to cry, Cregan was faster and he got up, to grab him from his crib, he took it to the bed, and he cuddled him against his chest
“He is smaller than RIckon was when he was born”, he whispered softly, “was the labor easy?”
“A little more messy, but there were no complications”, you said, caressing your son’s head 
“He is beautiful”, he whispered, “my son”, he whispered, “I’m the luckiest man on earth”
Tumblr media
More notes: did you see something else coming from Cregan?? hehe
that is why I posted this picture in a publications some weeks ago hehehe
Tumblr media
taglist! @severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker 
@lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @​​mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel 
@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog
@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @​​trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr @ivvypg @mendes-bae @borikenlove @tssf-imagines @praline357 @alitaar @prettykinkysoul @aelora-a @a-mexican-waffle @ateliefloresdaprimavera @alexa4040 @lrboyd @anditsmywholeheart  @weaselyss  @scarlettqueen190 @deeeeexx @cloudroomblog @dreaming-of-the-reality @yentroucnagol @crazymusicgirl104 @toodlesxcuddles @thanyatargaryen
422 notes · View notes
pastanest · 1 year
Text
Jon Snow x she/her!reader
A/N: after an eternity away, I have returned with a gift. this took my entire heart and soul, and a month of my life, to write, so I truly hope you enjoy it!! ♡
warning: events up to Battle Of The Bastards referenced. also, it’s 8.5k words long 😳
part two can be found here
Tumblr media
Yours - Part One
It was Maester Lewin that found you that day, stumbling on weak little legs that could barely hold your weight, through a thunderous storm towards the gates of Winterfell. He ran to you, nothing more than a helpless child that crumbled into his arms, your tattered clothes soaked through by the rain, wet fists balled at your face as you coughed and hacked into them. In truth, you do not remember much from that day, but you have heard every account from each member of the family that took you in.
While Lady Catelyn Stark always said she heard your coughs before she saw you, her motherly instincts bringing her to feet as she ran to meet Maester Lewin the moment he carried you through the doors of the castle, Lord Eddard Stark always first recounted the expressions on his children’s faces. Neither Bran nor Rickon were born by that time, and Arya was just a baby, but Sansa was just old enough to recall how sickly and thin you looked - a charming memory, you’d roll your eyes and tell her when she chose to bring up such details. Robb and Theon both held slightly different recollections, with Robb worrying that you carried some kind of sickness that his mother would catch by being close to you and Theon simply recalling that you were a girl around his age and that being his main thought at the time, but both always mentioned one particular detail: the eyes of the third boy in the room, locked onto you from the moment you entered the room until you were carried out of it.
They say that Jon Snow’s gaze was fixed on every door of every room he entered for the rest of that day, as though waiting for someone to walk through and deliver some news of you. Even teases from his brothers could not distract him. 
Once, on a rare occasion when you were alone with Robb because Theon was not shadowing him, he told you something in confidence, not wanting his dear brother to be teased for something nobody else knew that he had done. Supposedly, for the three nights that you spent unconscious or so delirious that you could not tell the difference between your sleeping and waking moments, Jon Snow would tiptoe past your bedroom door and check in on you. If the door was closed, he would not disturb you by opening it, simply stand there and listen through the door until he heard your labored breathing and felt assured of your safety for the night. If he heard you cough, he would run to report it to Maester Lewin immediately. On the occasions that the door was open when he passed it, though, he would stop to peer around the frame, seeing your face so exhausted even when sleeping, and felt something strange blooming in his chest, so strong he would find himself pressing his palm to his chest through his shirt to check that his heart was still there. Robb caught him doing this, but never told him, and you didn’t tell Jon that you knew of his check-ins until many years later.
Lady Catelyn Stark was in your room the majority of the time if Maester Lewin was not there, ensuring you were safe and breathing well. Having not long birthed her second daughter, she felt a strong maternal instinct over you and your worrisome state, unable to stop herself from picturing her own daughters in your place and wondering where your mother was, why she was not the one that was worrying over you, and if she couldn’t be, Lady Catelyn would do so in her place without question. One motherless child in the castle was enough, and she had no reason to hold the resentment to you that she held to the little boy that was so enchanted by you, even then. 
Once you had recovered enough to sit up and hold a conversation, Lord and Lady Stark pressed you with gentle questions on who you were, where you had come from, who your parents were, and why you had arrived at Winterfell. Unfortunately, you were too young to remember many details, only knowing your own name and your parents by ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, only knowing the place you had come from as “south of here” and only knowing you were in Winterfell because they had just told you that. Your parents had simply told you to “head north” when the fire had started in your village, that was the most detail you could recount of your arrival. The Stark parents understood enough from your vague explanation to suggest that you did not have a home of your own to return to, and upon sending riders south, found the rubble and ash left behind from a village not two day’s walk from Winterfell - such a travel for one so young had been what ailed you. They debated amongst themselves what to do with you, whether to send you to a township with an orphanage and wondering if that would be the place for you. Over the days of you regaining your strength, the Stark children became your fast friends, slowly trickling into your room one at a time to introduce themselves and immediately trying to impress you, as children do. 
The Lord and Lady of Winterfell found it endlessly amusing, discovering Theon and Robb in your room practicing sword fights with broomsticks, making you laugh and applaud their display, which you thought then to be magnificent. Sansa, though younger than you, enjoyed sitting beside you on your bed and talking about her favorite stories of princesses and princes of old, which you listened to like it was your duty, having never heard the tales that highborn children were raised on and finding them fascinating. In turn, you told her of your favorite fairytales, most of which involved giants. Naturally, Sansa told you giants did not really exist, but when you asked her how she could know that, she sat back, stumped, and you grinned at her, continuing to tell her all of your favorite stories of giants, direwolves and white bears.
What truly set your permanent residence in stone was one fateful night, when Eddard Stark had been kept late in the hall, discussing important plans with the Lords of other northern houses. He had no intention of stopping when nearing the doorway to what had become your bedroom, until he heard a quiet laugh that he did not often hear. Lord Stark’s footsteps stopped just before the open door, never wanting to eavesdrop on his children, but needing to be sure. 
“All of you are Lords here, then? You, your brother and Theon?” Your question was an innocent one, and at the delay in your conversation partner’s response, Ned’s heart sank.
“My brother is, and Theon could be, I s’pose, but not me. I’m just a bastard.” Little Jon Snow answered you, sounding defeated. 
“Oh…why?” 
“Lady Stark is not my mother.” Jon explained, and you gasped.
“She’s not mine either, does that make me a bastard, too? We can be bastards together!” You sounded so excited at the prospect that Ned had to muffle his own laughter behind his hand.
The same laugh that had stopped him in his tracks reached his ears again, your complete lack of judgment towards Jon’s status putting him at ease. 
“No, because Lord Stark is not your father, but he is mine.” The young boy clarified.
“Oh…well, can we be friends still? Even if I’ve not got a title like you have?” You asked, voice so hopeful, making Jon chuckle again, with rosy cheeks that you couldn’t see under the dim candlelight by your bed.
“Aye, if you don’t mind being friends with a bastard.”
And you answered without hesitation. “I’d love to be, you seem like a wonderful friend!”
Nodding to himself, Lord Eddard Stark turned and walked the long way around to his chambers, so as to not disturb the conversation between you and his son. The moment he stepped through the door to his chambers, Lady Catelyn smiled warmly at him, and his lips were already parting to speak the conclusion he had come to the second he’d heard the laugh you brought to his boy. 
“I think she should stay with us.”
With your fate decided, you were officially taken under the wing of the Stark family. While you lived amongst them and played with the Stark children like a highborn friend of theirs would, you did not ever want to overstep, knowing they were leagues above you in status and not wanting anyone to assume your status incorrectly by association. So, upon being granted permission to stay with them, you asked in a small voice if you could be their maid; that was the only position that you knew by name because Sansa had mentioned it to you. Thinking it both hilarious and very endearing that you, a child, were offering yourself as a maid to the family, Lord and Lady Stark agreed to this, and asked their existing maids to train you when you wanted, but not to be at all strict on you. Still, you took your role as seriously as you could at that age, learning to fold clothes and prepare beds for the Stark children. Going into Jon’s room was always your favorite, because even if he was not sitting in there as he often was, there were pieces of him everywhere. Pages of parchment with scribbles of writing and doodles on them, battered wooden swords and shields that poked out from beneath his bed. You liked crawling up to the window and peering down at the castle courtyard from there, knowing that is where you were most likely to see him. 
“Lord Jon! Guess where I am!” You’d call in a singsong voice, waving down at him. 
He’d laugh, waving back at you. “I don’t need to guess, I can see you there! When will you be free from your duties?”
And you’d grin cheekily. “Soon, but if you made your bed yourself, I’d be done a lot quicker!”
It was a running joke between the two of you, because Jon Snow had made his bed every morning since learning of your position as maid, never wanting to appear as untidy to you or giving you further work to do on his account, but you’d insist he never, ever made his bed and it was such a chore for you to always do it for him.
The first couple of years that you spent at Winterfell were peaceful ones, spent adjusting to your new life and the family dynamic that you had slotted into, at your new best friend’s side. After that second year, Jon Snow came down with a terrible case of the pox, and you were terrified, seeing him the same way he had seen you when you had first arrived, weak and most often unconscious, in his bed. Strangely, Lady Catelyn did not leave his side that first night, which you thought to be odd considering the hatred you had come to understand she harbored towards him - very unfairly, you thought, and frequently told Jon the same. Of course, you knew that she did not leave the room because when you had asked Maester Lewin of Jon’s condition and he had said “If he makes it through the night, he’ll live”, you dragged your mattress from your bed and down the hallway, to the floor beside Jon’s and refused to move, insisting you would never forgive a soul that attempted to remove you from his side. Naturally, you did not sleep that night, your ears finely tuned to every ragged breath, cough and whimper that passed Jon’s lips, and it seemed Catelyn’s were that night, too. 
Only when the sun rose did you leave Jon’s side to run to Maester Lewin, fist pounding on the door of his chambers to wake him and have him check on your dearest friend. You had apologized for disturbing the castle’s Maester afterwards, but were too panicked to consider his sleep schedule at the time. Once he had evaluated Jon’s health, he confirmed to you and the rest of the family that he would, in fact, make it through, which seemingly allowed Lady Catelyn to leave the room. You, however, only left briefly to borrow a book from the castle library before returning to Jon’s room to sit at the foot of his bed, with the large book of fairytales in your lap. As soon as you were told you were allowed to stay with the Starks, Lady Catelyn began teaching you how to read and write, two skills that you thought yourself very lucky to have mastered by the time Jon Snow was fighting his war with pox. For the rest of the day, you did not move from the foot of his bed, and you read story after story aloud, hoping that somewhere in the land he was traversing within his tangled, sleeping mind, he could hear you tell tales of long Winters passed and the creatures that roamed the lands throughout them.
It was only sometime later that Jon admitted to you he had awoken an hour before he decided to open his eyes, because he was so enjoying you reading to him. 
When his eyes did flutter open, though, you all but flung yourself at him with a cry of his name, more relieved than you had ever felt in your entire life thus far. Through chuckles and coughs, Jon thanked you a thousand times and assured you he was fine a thousand more. For the next ten minutes, you would not let go of him as you rambled about how worried you’d been, how much you’d missed him, how you swore to never take him for granted ever again. And you kept that promise, the two of you becoming inseparable from then on.
It became common knowledge within the walls of Winterfell that wherever you were, Jon Snow would not be far, and vice versa. While Theon Greyjoy was Robb’s shadow, you were Jon’s companion, his other half, his partner in crime. You were the more mischievous of the two of you, and when Arya was old enough, she followed in your footsteps to become your secret accomplice. Due to the circumstance of your arrival, Lady Catelyn had a softness in her heart for you, for seeing you happy, and even she could not deny that you were at your happiest when you were with Jon Snow. Lord Eddard thought what was blossoming between the two of you to be the loveliest thing, and was proud of the involvement he had in your residence at Winterfell to continue such a bond. He, himself, was very fond of you and the happiness you brought the son that had been disadvantaged since his birth. Though he did not like to plan too far ahead, he hoped that someday, Jon may request his father’s advice on asking for your hand. 
And as the two of you grew up together, Ned Stark only became more confident in his hopes for his son’s happiness. In the eyes of others, you would only ever dare intertwine your pinky fingers and cast longing smiles at each other, but that was enough for Lord Stark to know what was becoming of the two of you. In the privacy of your own space, or the godswood, you were free to hold hands, hold each other completely, and even share the occasional chaste kiss if the moment called for it. 
The first of those kisses had been on your fourteenth nameday, when Jon had led you to the godswood and presented you with a bouquet of flowers that he had picked himself, tied together with a black cord necklace that had a silver sword charm hanging from it, that he had asked the blacksmith to assist him in making for you. It was a little crooked as a result of Jon’s shaking hands when welding it, but you only thought that made it more personable, proof of the fact he had been the one to make it for you, which only made it mean all the more to you. Untying the bouquet, you held it in your hands and turned your back to Jon, allowing him to bring the necklace around your front and clasp it at the back of your neck. The smile on your face when you spun on your heel was like nothing he’d ever seen, the tears in your eyes reflecting the light of the sun as it streamed through the leaves of the weirwood tree. Seeing the necklace he had made and gifted to you actually hanging from your neck for the first time was an experience like no other, and it continued to take his breath away every time he saw you wearing it thereafter, the pride with which you wore it never failing to give him butterflies. And every time you caught him staring at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the sword charm, he was brought back to the godswood, under the weirwood tree, when you had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding the bouquet of flowers behind his head and gifting him with the first kiss he had ever received from anyone.
But no matter how proudly you smiled whenever you were at his side, no matter how many times you bit the heads off of any that dared call him a bastard in your presence, no matter the countless nights spent reassuring him that you had never thought of him as lesser for his namesake, Jon Snow could never believe himself to be good enough for you. 
Lord Eddard Stark had hoped that when his son approached him not long after his sixteenth nameday, the time had come for him to bestow the fatherly advice of how to ask for a lady’s hand. It was only when Jon asked about the Night’s Watch that Lord Stark understood he had been sorely mistaken, and as Jon had never explicitly disclosed his feelings for you to his father, he did not think it was his place to ask his son if he was certain he wanted to leave you behind in taking such an oath. And when Jon shared his future plan with you, you did not feel it was your place to selfishly question why he would consider leaving you, when you knew such a position would bring him the feeling of honoring his father, something he had sought after all his life. And so, no opposition to Jon Snow’s future was presented, and your days together were numbered.
You had not taken Jon for granted since the day he had awoken from pox, but after he confessed his intention to join the Night’s Watch, you were more determined than ever to show him each and everyday just how much he meant to you. There was no ulterior motive to your actions, you wanted him to feel loved and appreciated in a way that only you could, for as long as you could. Some part of you did hope that perhaps your love for him would be enough to change his mind, but that did not motivate your actions, it was not an achievable goal in your mind, you were not foolish enough to believe you could accomplish the impossible. So, you began writing him letters and leaving them in places only he would find them. Posting them under the door to his bedroom, hiding them under his pillow, in the pockets of his jackets; and you would never tell him when you had written another, simply waited for him to find it, write his reply, and hide it for you, too. A constant and secret subtext to your every conversation that neither of you ever outwardly addressed, but in those letters, you laid your souls bare. Confined in written words, you were safe to dream of a future that could never be, to decide where you would live together, the colors you’d choose for the interior of your cottage, the horse rides you’d go on, the meals you’d cook together, the children you may have. All of it was safely locked away, for your eyes only, almost like the two of you could live that life through the rolls of parchment and then carry on your real lives satisfied by such fallacies. 
The sentiments in your letters would often reduce Jon Snow to tears when he read them in the solitude of his own chambers, wishing more than anything that he could give you such a life, cursing the Gods for forcing that kind of love to be so far out of his reach. He appreciated every word, rereading them countless times until he would fall asleep with the pages still clutched in his hands, dreaming of the life he could never have. 
Beyond that, everyday was met with beaming smiles between the two of you, both putting off the inevitable and pretending that the countdown of an unknown number of days was not looming over your heads with every sunrise and sunset you saw together. You would ride horses and hunt together, walk through the godswood hand in hand, spend hours on end in each other’s bedrooms, sitting beside each other on either of your beds to talk about anything and everything, to flirt until both of your faces were too hot to make eye contact anymore. And when Jon returned from the ritualistic event of beheading a deserter of the Night’s Watch with a white direwolf pup in his arms, you could not have squealed louder if you tried. The way that you cooed over that little creature, cradled it in your arms and spoke to him as though he could understand every word, made Jon’s heart sing further songs for a future he’d wish for over anything else, with as many animals as you would like if you would melt over them like you did Ghost.
After that, though, your lives seemed to pick up to a pace that neither of you liked. The death of King Robert’s hand led him to Winterfell, requesting Lord Eddard Stark replace his departed hand and join him in King’s Landing, and that in itself was a horrific enough turn of events. As the Stark’s maid by role, you would be best suited to serve Sansa and Arya, accompanying that half of the Stark family to King’s Landing and leaving Lady Catelyn and all of the boys, including Jon Snow, behind. But, of course, that was not the worst of it. Benjen Stark, as First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, was sent to Winterfell to appeal to the King for more men and resources, and the moment you saw Jon talking to him, you knew that your worst fear had come true at long last. 
Everything passed in a blur after that, to this day you cannot recall how much time passed between the dread hitting you at seeing Jon talking to Benjen, and the hollow pit that formed in you seeing Jon preparing his horse for his departure to the Wall. For the first time since meeting him, your steps towards him were nervous, hesitant, and you hated yourself for it. If this was the last time you were to see him for Gods knew how long, you should have run to him, taken every second you could in an act of pure greed. But the closer you were, the more real it became, the more it hurt to face the fact that he was leaving, for good. 
Hearing your heavy footsteps, Jon turned to face you, his face falling as he read the devastation in your eyes, clear as water. 
“Oh, (Y/N).” Not caring for the public opinion then, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping his cloak around you to hide the two of you away in a little pocket of the world where you were safe to just exist together, one last time.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make your leave any more difficult. But I will miss you more than any words I write to you will be able to express.” You confessed, pouring your heart out to him because it was the last chance you had.
Jon’s arms tightened around you. “I know, and I will miss you just as much, if not more.”
Pulling away from him just enough to see his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Jon Snow.”
For a moment, shock flickered in his eyes, before he settled into a soft, warm smile, because he knew, you both did. “I love you too, (Y/N), and it’ll pass. We’ll live. Promise me, you’ll go out there and live.”
You nodded frantically, because if all you could give him in your last moments together was your word, you were going to give it to him. “I promise.”
A teasing smirk reached his face then, attempting to lift your spirits. “I don't doubt you’ll have men falling at your feet the second you reach King’s Landing.”
Rolling your eyes, you playfully slapped his chest through his clothes. “Don’t take the piss, you know none of them will ever compare to you, you just wanted to hear me say it for the hundredth time!”
Jon chuckled at that, always enjoying when you spoke the common tongue in the midst of the more formal vocabulary you’d been given since arriving at Winterfell, and shrugging at your insinuation. “Perhaps I did, but you know there are no women at the Wall, so you will forever be the only one for me, forgive me for wanting to hear you say I’ll be yours in the same way one more time.”
Smiling with him then, you took another deep breath and stepped away from him, holding his hands. “Well, if you get cold feet when you’re about to take your oath and decide you would like to reconsider the whole ‘taking no wife’ aspect, you’ll know where to find me.”
At that, Jon squeezed your hands and released a hearty laugh. “Aye, and if any man mistreats you, send me a raven and I’ll get him ordered to the Wall somehow to sort him out.”
Before Jon could mount his horse, he faltered, eyes darting from yours to your lips before deciding that if it was his last chance to do so, he was not going to deny himself the bliss that was you. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you more passionately than he ever had before, your knees nearly buckling beneath you and your head spinning as he did, gripping his wrists to hold him there. 
By the time you parted from each other and Jon mounted his horse, you were both panting with dazed smiles on your faces. 
“I’ll always be yours, you know, no matter what.” He swore to you.
“And I will always be yours. Dream of me, Jon Snow.” You asked of him, and he grinned at you.
“Each and every night, I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”
And then, he was gone. Riding through the gates of Winterfell for the last time, not daring to look back at you because if he did, he knew he would see you collapse to your knees as you sobbed. He could feel the weight of that in his heart without needing to see it, and that was temptation enough to nearly turn back. If he looked at you then, he would never be able to leave.
Thinking back, that should have been what told Jon Snow that he never should have left. And it would not be long before he wished he never had.
His journey to the wall passed in a painful blur, feeling every inch of new distance that separated him from you, further than he had ever gone without you since the day you arrived at the gates and made Winterfell his home. Jon felt a chain tugging at his heart as it resisted moving any further from you with every step he and his horse took, every word he spoke with his traveling companions of his new life that would not include you. He was ready, he was so certain of it, but soon enough he realized that everything he would do for the rest of his life would have you at the heart of it. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he could have just saved you from something, and that was the only victory he truly felt. 
Upon entering the snow covered courtyard of Castle Black to begin his new life, an older man in a black fur cloak greeted him and the group of men that had arrived with him.
“Which of you is Jon Snow?”
He very nearly missed the question, too in awe of the sheer size of the Wall and wondering what the world would look like from the very top - being able to picture your amazed expression upon seeing it, as clear as day - but immediately concluding that everything he could see in the direction he came from would serve as nothing more than a reminder of you, not to him. To him, you were the world and more. 
“I am Jon Snow.” He answered, clearing his throat and stepping forward.
Reaching into his cloak, the older man handed him an envelope. “Never have I seen a raven arrive before the boy that the letter in its beak was addressed to.” 
Jon’s cheeks flushed pink, turning the letter over in his hands and knowing from the way his name was written on the front that it had come from you. Quietly thanking the man he did not know to be the Lord Commander at the time, he tucked the envelope in his own cloak to conceal it, and did not have the time to read it until he had retired to his quarters for the night and had to squint to read the words with candlelight.
“My dear Jon,
I watched until I couldn’t see you anymore, and then came straight here. I hope to not write too much, so that maybe this letter is sent in good time and arrives at the Wall before you do. We are leaving for King’s Landing soon; I will be grateful to no longer be in a room that exists solely as a reminder of you, like everything else here, but I fear that even in a place I have never been, I will find pieces of you. 
Please, let me know that you arrived at the Wall safely, and tell me of your first day. Are the men treating you kindly? 
I hope to see you in my dreams, I’ll be searching for you there.
Until we meet again.
Yours,
(Y/N).”
Quite suddenly, Jon found that he no longer cared for his own exhaustion at all. He rose from his bed and marched out of his chambers, heart set on a mission. If you had gone to the effort of writing to him quickly enough for it to reach him on his arrival, he would be damned if he did not reciprocate such a gesture. 
And so, when you arrived at King’s Landing, Lord Varys approached you with an envelope decorated with handwriting that you recognised immediately. The smile that overtook your face that had been missing ever since Jon’s departure, returned in grandeur, informing Arya, Sansa and Lord Eddard Stark that both you and they all knew exactly who had sent a raven to you. Even Lord Varys, ever the perceiver, smiled at your excitement. 
Without delay, you tore the envelope open, eyes scanning over your beloved’s words with fervor. By the end of the first sentence, your vision was blurred by your own tears, but you were determined to blink them away in order to read and memorize Jon’s every written word. 
“My Lady (Y/N),
Your letter arrived as intended, before I had even reached the wall. Thank you for sending such a precious thing, I have folded it and will keep it in a pocket over my heart for the rest of my days, I swear it. To carry a piece of you with me is the greatest comfort in this new place. 
The Wall is bigger than any can say, I hope someday you are able to visit and see it for yourself, but I understand if a short lived reunion would be too painful. 
I hope that King’s Landing brings you countless new sights, instead of constant reminders of our past, though I can speak to the fact that everything here reminds me of you, despite you having never set foot further north than home. 
My time here has been a good challenge so far. I have begun training with the other men; in truth, I think you could take on any one of them. 
I have not yet spent my first night here - I am writing to you with the same urgency with which you wrote me, but I am certain that I will see you in my dreams this night and every night thereafter, as promised.
I am not certain I will be able to reply to your letters often, but please, do not stop sending them. I will treasure each and every one. Please, tell me of King’s Landing, of the things you do there, of the adventures you have with Arya, and send my love to her and my father, as well.
Now, I’ll race to sleep to see you again. 
Yours,
Jon x”
By the end of his letter, your bottom lip was trembling and the tears you had been blinking away were cascading down your cheeks. Chuckling quietly, Lord Stark wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
“Come now, (Y/N), I doubt this was the reaction he wanted!” 
Sniffling, you nod at him. “You’re right.” Looking to Varys with determination in your eyes, you composed yourself as much as you could. “Please, can you take me to the ravens so I can write back?”
Sharing a glance with the Warden of the North, Lord Varys nodded. “Of course, my dear, follow me.”
Walking away from the family that had taken care of you for many years, you ascended the tallest tower of King’s Landing to find a raven sitting in a window, with a desk holding quills, jars of ink and rolls of parchment in the center of the room. Little did you know then, that would be the room you spent more time in than anywhere else during your stay at King’s Landing.
You would send letter after letter, starting at sending one a week, then one a month, then one every other, not wanting to bombard Jon Snow with correspondence when he was yet to respond to the very first letter you had sent from that tower. In between helping out in the kitchens to continue your role as the Stark’s maid, spending time practicing sword fighting with Arya and gossipping with Sansa, you would sit in that tower and wait. Most nights, that is where you slept, the last sight of each day being the stars that you stared up at from the window and hoped with everything in you, Jon could see them, too. 
Though it pained your heart to wait day after day and receive no word from him, your fondness for Jon Snow did not dare waver. Some part of you knew that he was still alive, that he was alright, because you firmly believed that if he wasn’t, you would feel it, even from so far away. 
Lord Eddard Stark’s heart ached for you when every eve, you would arrive at the door to the hand’s chambers with the same question, the same glimmering hope in your eyes and voice as you asked it, and he would have to let you down as gently as he could, each and everyday.
“I’m afraid there’s been no word from him as yet, (Y/N), but I’m sure he is just too busy with his duties.”
You would nod, because of course, that had to be the truth. It was not possible for you to even consider the notion that Jon did not want to hear from you, he had pleaded with you to keep sending letters, so you would, until he told you not to.
“The farmer’s boy that came to the kitchens today has some affection for you.” Sansa had said to you when you had joined her in her chambers after supper, smiling in the hopes that it would encourage you to do the same.
Instead, you barely even met her eyes, your tone showing little to no interest in the eyes she had seemingly spotted a boy giving you when she had visited you in the kitchens, that you neglected to notice.
“Does he?” Your tone made your disinterest clear, your focus on your duties as you made your friend’s bed, the act second nature by that time.
Sansa rolled her eyes and took your hands, bringing you over to sit down beside her on her bed. “Of course! How could you not see it?”
At that, you shrugged sheepishly, knowing the answer as well as she did. “There’s only one I’ll ever wish to see such things from, m’Lady.”
A common girl at heart, you had never been one to address the Starks informally. 
“Why is it that you cannot let him go?” Sansa asked you then, her voice pained for you, seeing you pine for her brother in such a way.
“He is gone, I know that to be true, m’Lady, but…it seems my heart doesn’t know the same.” You offered her a small smile, the most you could muster at the time, and Sansa sighed.
After that, she sought other means of cheering up. The two of you tried on every dress she had in her ornate wardrobe and danced around the room to music that was not playing, pretending you were fanciful Lords and Ladies at some grand ball. 
Once Sansa had fallen asleep, you had tiptoed back to the tower, pinning every hope you had on the thought that while you had allowed yourself to have some fun, there may then be a raven waiting for you. But upon reaching the top of the tower, you saw the window was empty, not a feather in sight.
And unfortunately, after that day, the events of King’s Landing meant that you only had more and more letters to send Jon.
To see the man that all but raised you, beheaded in front of a crowd that hurled abuse at him for confessing a crime he did not commit, was not something that you even had time to process. There was not a moment to grieve when you had to ensure Sansa’s safety, because you were the only one left to do so. Arya was gone, you didn’t know where, but you hoped that she had escaped safely and was living an adventure of her own. 
And later, the news of Robb and Lady Catelyn’s brutal murders while in the slippery hands of Walder Frey. Again, you were unable to think of yourself, and could only be with Sansa while she suffered and mourned the loss of her entire family, as she knew it.
You only allowed yourself fleeting instances to grieve, to feel the anxiety of it all, and those moments were all safely concealed in your letters to Jon that continued to go unanswered. They began to serve you more as a journal than correspondence awaiting a reply, and you found solace in the fact that your words and worries and pains were going to Jon, because they were safe with him. The knowledge of him holding all of your secrets and still, in some way, being there for you in receiving them, was the only comfort you had.
When Lord Petyr Baelish, someone you believed to be a worm of a man from the second you were introduced, came for Sansa, you were the only person she trusted enough to stay at her side. In fact, she completely refused to be parted from you, and Baelish agreed to rescue you, too, because he thought of you as nothing more than a maid and a means to earn points with Sansa. 
As much as you advised where you could, Baelish was never far enough away for you to be completely honest with Sansa about him or his antics, he made certain of that. While you could not protect her with regards to getting her away from him, you thought you could at least protect her in whatever schemes he manipulated her into.
Regrettably, that led you back to the place you had called home, except it was in ruin when compared to your last memory of it. Having first been overtaken by Theon Greyjoy, which was the greatest personal betrayal you had ever felt, it had since been infested with the Boltons. The act of marrying Sansa to Ramsay Bolton - who you desperately wished you could refer to as Snow in your own head to mentally scorn him, if such a namesake didn’t have a place in your heart that forbade you - was outright barbaric, in your opinion. You could tell the man he was from the sight of Theon, or Reek, as he was newly named. But again, you were not given a moment alone with Sansa to dissuade her.
Still, you did everything you could and stayed at her side at every waking moment. That was, until her wedding night. While on the way to her chambers to meet her before the event, one of Ramsay’s henchmen that you had thought was just walking past you, grabbed you and slammed your head into a wall, knocking you unconscious.
At her wedding, Sansa had scanned every face in the crowd, searching for you desperately. It did not take her long to conclude that you were not there, and that thought alone told her that everything was wrong. 
You awoke in darkness, unable to determine how long you had been unconscious for, but found one of your wrists chained to the back wooden leg of a bed, that was seemingly bolted to the stone ground that you were sprawled out on. The throbbing in your head quickly reminded you of what had happened and you fought to break free from your chains, to get to Sansa, save her, give your life for hers if the situation called for it, but it was fruitless. 
Only when you sat back against the wall, breathing heavily and crying tears of frustration, did the door open. There stood Ramsay Bolton, with a grim smile that you could only see in the light of the candle that he held to his face.
“Welcome home, maid.”
Having been stuck in a similar mindset to you, barred from processing his own emotions in the place of his duties, Jon Snow had, too, reached a point of no return, in more ways than one. He had read many of your letters to begin with, but as the months passed, he was given more and more responsibilities, more tasks that took more time, and journeys beyond the wall. As a result, Jon simply did not have a moment to sit down and devote to you, outside of his dreams. While he had tried to read your letters as and when they arrived, before he knew it, there was a pile of envelopes forming, all of which addressed to him, and he could not bring himself to read anymore. The more he heard of his family’s passing, he knew that you would be sharing your grief with him, and that was a weight he was not ready to bare, having not yet confronted his own. 
As well as that, the responsibilities Jon had been given and the things he had accomplished during his time at the wall had led to the majority of men, including the Maester, to vote in favor of him becoming the Lord Commander - a position he had never imagined were possible for someone like him. And his first thought on being granted such an honor was to tell you, it truly was, but without having read or replied to any of your letters since the very first, he thought it would be a disservice to the time you had given to him. One day, he would tell himself each and every night, one day he would sit down and read each and every one, and he would send you the longest letter you’ve ever seen, that would take 10 ravens to deliver to you.
But despite the continued chaos of his life at the Wall, Jon had noticed that no letters had arrived for him in some time. The last one you had sent had been from Winterfell, he knew that based on the sigil the envelope was sealed with, but he also knew that his home was under the control of the Boltons, who were not to be trusted based on the vultures they had been in claiming his home. 
Still, there was only time for him to worry about such things in between everything else. The wildlings he needed to save, the white walkers he needed to save them from, the fate of the rest of the world as he knew it, and how Samwell Tarley would fare as a father to his adoptive son, were amongst the most prominent of Jon’s thoughts. 
It was only upon saving the wildlings and doing what he thought was right - what he knew you would agree was the right thing to do - he was murdered in an act of mutiny from the men of the Night’s Watch, and a boy. Death was what allowed Jon Snow to regain some perspective. Once awoken from what should have been an infinite sleep, the red witch had approached him and asked what he had seen once life had faded from him.
“Nothing.” Jon had said, and he was not deceiving her.
It was true, he did not see a thing once the world faded around him. Everything disappeared into a great abyss, endless darkness, and he felt he was in an awful dream. That was, until he heard your voice, calling his name. Just a whisper at first, but it grew in volume, in urgency, until you were crying for him and with a gasp, his spirit returned to his wounded body. 
And the moment he had opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do. First, he had to punish those who had betrayed him and retire from his watch, having served his duty ‘til death, as his oath intended. As soon as he was free of such responsibility, he disappeared to his chambers and took the box of envelopes, all addressed to him, and sitting on his bed, he read through each and every one.
Jon Snow had never felt worse, or cried more, in his life. Reading of your sorrows and hardships, the pain you had felt in his absence and in your grief, how desperately you pleaded to receive word from him, of his safety. Even through his tears, though, you managed to make him laugh. Sometimes just a quiet chuckle, but the tales you told and memories you recalled were enough to bring hearty laughs from him as he wiped his eyes. By the time he reached your final letter, his face ached and his heart was heavier than it had ever been. 
“Jon,
I do not know how long I will have to write this, so I will keep this brief. Sansa is not safe here. I will do all I can to assist her in her escape, but it will not be easy.
If I can get her out of here, I will send her to the Wall, to you. She will tell you everything. 
I miss you with every waking and sleeping moment, knowing you will not be there when I open my eyes again. I hope to see you again, but in truth, returning here has resulted in seeing you in places that you have been, but no longer are. Please do not worry, I am not losing my mind, but my eyes are playing cruel tricks on my heart in such a familiar place, where I have seen you everywhere, more times than I can count.
Please take care of Sansa, and yourself.
Yours, always.
(Y/N) x”
All of a sudden, Jon Snow wished he had not so quickly resigned his position as Lord Commander. Had he not, he would order every man to Winterfell to rescue his sister and you, who you had not spared a single thought to in your own escape plan for Sansa. 
That was the moment he heard it, commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Regardless of no longer being the Lord Commander, he felt a responsibility to see to the arrival of whomever it may be. And like a miracle sent by the letters he had taken far too long to read, his sister was stood in the courtyard, with a knightly woman and her squire. The sight lifted Jon’s heavy heart beyond comprehension as he tentatively approached his sister, who had been a girl the last time he’d seen her and was now a woman, but when her face fell and she launched herself into his arms, he could not resist the sense of dread for what was to come; finding out the reason behind your absence from their party.
Not wanting to address the dark cloud that loomed over him until Sansa was settled, he sat with her in his chambers with a warm fire crackling at her feet and a bowl of hot stew in her hands. The two of them reminisced on the lives they missed terribly that were lost to time, and Jon knew either of them could only go so long before-
“Where will you go?” Sansa asked him with worried eyes.
“Where will we go.” Jon corrected her. “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost’ll come back and murder me.”
And with a gentle smile, Sansa finally spoke your name. “And if you don’t rescue (Y/N), both Mother and Father’s ghosts will haunt you until the end of your days.”
He smiled back at her, a wave of relief washing over him like nothing he had ever known, because he knew you were alive. By no means were you safe or happy, but as long as you were alive, Jon Snow could fix the rest. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would. Even if doing so killed him a second time.
———————
taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova
668 notes · View notes
paristapita · 3 days
Text
The Starks in my simple style. I wanted to draw the whole house, but I didn't want to make it too complex, so I drew them like this.
Tumblr media
It's probably the only time you'll see a Rickon Stark drawn by me because drawing such young children is a bit difficult for me.
Remember that you can make a request if you want, don't be shy.
95 notes · View notes
leupagus · 27 days
Text
Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,
By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.
She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.
"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."
"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.
Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.
The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.
"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."
Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."
Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."
The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.
The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.
Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.
Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.
"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.
The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.
"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"
"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."
"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."
"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."
Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."
"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"
"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"
"Without, if it pleases my lady!"
Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"
Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."
"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."
"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"
"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."
A few days later, she had her men.
94 notes · View notes