#this is why cat didn’t want Ned to go south

[stormcloudrising]

So sansa is gonna be the villain as a corpse queen with night king jon? they probably will d*e then since every story needs that. i always had the idea of arya having this type of legend love for the songs simply because no one expects it out of her and bc she is like known dead and no one knows KNOWS her which it serves the town folk legend when the story changes everytime and it’s like almost non believable because no one really knew her. but gendry and arya is literally the most normal and healthy relationship ever so Arya’s story could be more grounded and realistic since her character is more practical. so she would probably be continuing the stark line giving how she looks like a traditional stark and be in the end one of the smart minds getting through the world after the others and the winter and everything. we also have that huge pack of direwolves with nymeria as the queen. I think you mentioned a love triangle between two sisters which isn’t something I didn’t think before. Especially since arya says how sansa has everything. Jon returning and being darker, dying bc of Arya who turned out to not even be Arya, Arya being with another (Gendry), having Winterfell and being queen could be the sansa corpse queen and Jon Night King actually being together because of Arya.( maybe Sansa won’t have everything because Jon always loved Arya more sort of the Cat/Petyr/Lysa dynamic but reversed. And I can see Sansa giving everything for a love for the songs. Meanwhile Arya is more realistic and more into doing her duty. Kind of reverse with how we started where Arya is the wicked one who is always in the wrong and is alone meanwhile sansa is the good dutiful one who is almost to having everything friends loved be a queen etc. And it works in my opinon. Sansa is no queen or leader. She can be the beautiful tragical lady of the love songs just how she always wanted. And arya can be the queen of wolves who will also make history and be written in the books. She can be a leader most definitely. I also predicted how it’s only probably arya is gonna be alive by the end. like dany, cersei, sansa, are probably gonna be dead and only arya be the one alive. This is so long. Anyway byee~~

Hi Nonny,

Thanks for reading the essay and for the ask.

If you are asking if I think that Sansa and Jon will be dead as in permanently at the end of the story, then my answer is no. I think that like on the show, they will survive. 

Specifically, regarding Sansa, if you are asking whether she will die, I can’t rule out that possibility. However, if she does, I believe that like Jon, she will return. Her death could also be symbolic, but I think that there is a good chance that it could be literal, and then she returns.

The reason that I can’t rule out the possibility of her dying is because as I’ve noted in various essays, the myth of Hades and Persephone is wrapped around the in-world myth of the Night’s King and his corpse queen, as well as the arcs of Jon and Sansa, and House Stark. Therefore, in some manner, Sansa needs to descend to the underworld. It could just be her descending to the lower levels of the crypt with Jon, which is something I think will happen, or it could be more.

Jon had to die to become NK/Hades, character…ruler of the underworld. The same could be true of Sansa, but as I said, it could be just a symbolic death like the one Persephone experienced in the Greek myth. Either way, she must return as Persephone did.

By the way, that’s why I predict that unlike on the show, Jon will never go down South to meet Dany. He’s never going to go to either KL or Dragonstone. The farthest south I expect Jon to make it is to the Trident when Ice does battle with Fire. I don’t even think that he will cross the river as he will symbolically be leaving his northern underworld demesne. 

Symbolically, that’s why Ned, Brandon and their father, Rickard died. Ned, the previous Lord of the Icy Underworld crossed the Trident and overstayed his welcome. Brandon and Rickard, crossed and went into the lands of the enemy without an invitation or an army behind them. 

On the other hand, Torhen, the Brandon who ruled after him, and Cregan all crossed at the invitation of the southern ruler and then promptly left. They didn't overstay their welcome. When Jon comes down with the northern army, he will be coming to do battle and thus will not be invited across. 

Funnily enough, even though Sansa represents the icy corpse queen of the underworld, she can cross the Trident because like Persephone, she is also of the South and the land of fertility. I would not be surprised if she is the one who crosses and parlays with Dany. She represents Winter and Spring. She’s balanced. In fact, that’s what the Starks represent. They are the balance that’s necessary to bring things full circle and reunified the realm and sort out the issue with the seasons.

If you’ve read any of my previous essays, you know that I repeat ad nauseum that George is always consistent with his symbolism. Some of his symbolism and mythology is just there for world building purposes, as is the case of much of what you find in TWOIAF. However, the symbolism heavy symbolism in the central books and Dunk & Egg generally have meaning in the story proper.

Last weekend, I discovered again how true that is. I was doing a little work on my Florian and Jonquil series, and I started wondering about all the fire and water symbolism in Jon and Sansa’s arcs respectively.

Jon is understandable for obvious reason with his dragon ancestry, and Hades has fiery symbolism with Cerberus, his fiery hell hounds. Sansa is heavily associated with water, which makes sense if as I’ve proposed, she’s a greenseer and the corpse queen as I've proposed. George uses water to represent the green sea or the weirwood net and of course ice is made of water.

I realized that as the myth of Hades and Persephone were so closely tied to that of Night’s King and corpse queen, if Jon had fiery symbolism that matched Hades, Sansa’s water symbolism should find a match in Persephone’s tale as well. However, in all my readings, I didn’t remember coming across anything about the Greek Goddess and water, but then again, I had never specifically searched for any association between her and water. This time I did, and up it popped.

It was there all along and I just overlooked it because I had never considered Persephone’s water connection before. One of her names is Nestis, which means water. It was given to her by the Greek philosopher Empedocles. His teachings influenced Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates among others. 

Empedocles is best known for originating the cosmogonic theory on the creation of the universe based on the four classical elements, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. These elements were the stand-ins for Hera (earth), Zeus (air), Hades (fire) and Persephone (water).

"Now hear the fourfold roots of everything: Enlivening Hera, Hades, shining Zeus, and Nestis, moistening mortal springs with tears." 

Of the four deities of Empedocles' elements, it is the name of Persephone alone that is taboo – Nestis is a euphemistic cult title – for she was also the terrible Queen of the Dead, whose name was not safe to speak aloud, who was euphemistically named simply as Kore or "the Maiden", a vestige of her archaic role as the deity ruling the underworld. Nestis means "the Fasting One" in ancient Greek.

—Wikipedia

Thus, we can see that George is again consistent. The fiery symbolism of Jon/Hades/NK is balanced by water symbolism of Sansa/Persephone/Corpse Queen of the Dead. And it’s Sansa, not Arya that he’s linking with Jon/Hades/NK as Persephone/Corpse Queen.

Regarding Arya, I think that originally, George did plan to make her the Persephone character to Jon’s Hades. However, his meandering garden style of writing led him to assigning that role to Sansa. 

Will there be a triangle between the two sisters and Jon? No. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t call it a triangle per se, but I think that George is sticking to his original plan of conflict between Jon and Tyrion over a Stark sister, but in this case, it will be over Sansa. That’s why he married her to Tyrion instead of Joffrey as he originally planned. 

While he’s not totally sold on the idea, Tyrion also thinks that Sansa could have participated in Joff’s murder and in setting him up to take the fall. Once he finds out that she was with Littlefinger, he will for sure think that she was involved and will want revenge, which portends conflict with Jon.

I do think that another Stark will suffer a permanent death in the books, this time because of Dany and Drogon’s fire. Considering her story arc as a Faceless Man and representative of the god of death, it would make sense if it was Arya.  However, I think it will be Rickon. 

I think Rickon will be the one because the foreshadowing is that Dany will kill and eat a fish. Arya is of course a Tully fish as well, but as has been a theme throughout her arc, she’s more like the Starks. Thus, I think the fish Dany and Drogon kills has to be either Bran, Sansa or Rickon. I don't think the first two dies, and thus that leaves only Rickon. However, I also think that Arya will kill one of the dragons around the Trident area, and I don’t rule out it being Drogon…especially if he’s the one that kills Rickon.

As for Arya and Gendry, I think that they will meet again. Will there be something romantic between them down the road? Possibly, but I doubt it. I think Arya’s tale may end very similar to how it played out on the show with her spending a few years at home in the North recovering and possibly carrying out jobs for the FM before heading west of Westeros. She won’t rule Winterfell. She doesn’t want to be Lady of a great castle. As she told her father, “that’s Sansa,” not her. 

Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell. That’s the reason behind her direwolf’s name, and why Lady’s bones were returned to the north to Winterfell when she was killed. Sansa became Lady of Winterfell even before she has returned North.

There are many tragic aspects to Sansa’s story, but she’s without a doubt, a leader. We’re shown that over and over in the text from her saving Dontos from Joffrey to her calming the ladies and some of the men during the Battle of the Blackwater among other instances. I think that you are under the mistaken impression that to be a leader, you must be a fighter like Arya, but that’s as far from the truth as it possible to be.

I also put no value in the arguments that Sansa was mean to Arya. Yes. The sisters fought. Yes. Arya is jealous of Sansa and thinks that she is good at everything. Nonetheless, that is not Sansa’s fault, or because of anything she did. Arya is not interested in being like Sansa and doing what's expected of the Lady of the manor. That why try as she did, she never succeeded in being seamstress or learning the names and sigils of the various houses. That's not where her interest lies.

The sisters are different as the sun and the moon, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Most sisters are. Most sisters also fight and sometimes call each other horrible things in anger, but at the end of the day, they love each other. This is the case for both Arya and Sansa. We know this because we get their thoughts on the page. And when they reunite, because of what both have been through, they will understand each other a bit more, and love each other a whole lot more. They will be pack.

#ask stormcloud #thoughts on this and that #arya's endgame #arya stark #sansa stark #jon snow #hades and persephone #the night's king #corpse queen #night's queen

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Father’s gentle hands

Summary: When Ned comes home to Winterfell he gets to feel a child of his kick for the first time.

I realised Ned never felt a baby kick in the womb until Sansa since he was away while Cat was pregnant with Robb and we all know what happened with Jon. So here’s early marriage nedcat fluff and Ned with his kids <33

Ned didn’t know why he felt a slight disappointment at that his wife didn’t meet him in the yard as he returned from Karhold. A moon’s turn he had been gone and though the weather had been unusually stable for that time of year in winter the trip had been no pleasure. Though why he had got through the journey home by imagining Catelyn meeting him as he rode through the gate he didn’t know.

Maybe because she was carrying his child. He had discovered so much happened in a moon’s turn when a woman was with child, surely he had missed something while he was away and he wanted to know what it was. It was the first time he paid so close attention to an unborn child, there seemed to be a lot he didn’t know.

He didn’t remember when his mother had carried his sister and younger brother, he hadn’t been there when Catelyn carried Robb. And Jon… well, he had come after it was all said and done.

“You wouldn’t know where Lady Catelyn is?” he asked the stable boy that took his horse as soon as he had his feet on the ground.

The boy shook his head.

“No, m’lord.”

Before Ned could say anything else a delighted yell could be heard and he turned to find his son running towards him. His absence hadn’t been as long as it felt like, but had Robb still not grown a little taller since Ned last saw him?

With a smile he scooped the boy up in his arms and held him up in the air.

“Father!” Robb squealed.

His little laugh was lovely. How Ned despised being away from home, how he despised not hearing Robb’s laugh for so long. His boy had the sunshine from the south and the north’s resilience.

“Robb!”

“You’re home!”

“Yes, I’m home.”

He put Robb back on the ground again, ruffled his mop of auburn hair with one hand.

“Did you do as I told you and kept the castle safe while I was away?” he asked.

Robb nodded, beaming. The pride would have been obvious from miles away.

“Me too!”

Only then did Jon make his presence known and Ned had to embrace him, as well. Ever the careful one, always a step behind his brother.

“My brave sons” he said as he ruffled Jon’s hair.

When he looked at them both there was a slight sting of sadness over that they could never truly be brothers. Not equal the way trueborn brothers were. Though as long as they were friends and there was no ill will between them he would be happy.

“Robb, do you know where your mother is?” he asked.

Now he had seen two of his children, he wanted to see the third. And he wanted to see Catelyn.

“The sept” Robb told him.

Idyn, the woman who most often attended to the boys, lengthened the answer a little.

“Lady Stark told me to bring your son to meet you as you arrived” she said. “She was busy.”

Ever since she found out she was with child Catelyn had prayed several times every day, and wouldn’t sway from that. It was most important to turn to the gods to keep the babe healthy, she had told him when he asked her.

“I’ll take the boys if you want to go to her, m’lord” Idyn then continued.

“That would be good, Idyn. Thank you.”

He would rather not set foot inside the sept though he could meet her outside.

Robb protested and wouldn’t agree to go with Idyn and Jon before Ned promised he would come to them afterwards. It was time for supper soon, he wanted nothing but to sup with his family after so long away from them.

So he made his way towards the sept. He was very rarely there, only when he needed Catelyn for something and she was there. He had been in there no more than twice since it was finished. That was her place, as the godswood was his. He needed not invade.

He felt like a fool when he stood there outside and did nothing but wait. People passed him, some looked like they wanted to ask what he was doing, but no one did. They just nodded towards him, said a polite greeting. Even though it wasn’t long he had to wait there it felt like an eternity.

Though all that was forgotten when the doors opened and Lady Catelyn stepped outside. The smile that lit up her face when she saw him made it all worth it.

“My lord” she said. “Do forgive me for not coming to you immediately, I was in the middle of my prayers.”

Just as he had suspected she had grown rounder since last he saw her, it was obvious even with all the clothing she wore to keep the cold off. It happened so quickly.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady.”

She came to him and he got to lean down and kiss her cheek. The scent of her, of sweet flowers. He dared not embrace her, didn’t know if she wanted it, but as he straightened up again she took his hand, weaved their fingers together.

It made his heart flutter and he saw how a slight blush covered her cheeks.

“I’m happy to see you home” she said softly.

The sound of her voice was as lovely as she was.

“I’m happy to be home” he said to her.

If he had any luck there would be at least some time before he had to leave again.

“I believe our babe agrees.”

He didn’t have time to ask what she meant by that before she had moved his hand to rest against her stomach, putting her hand on top of it. And he felt a slight pressure against his palm from below it.

“It’s kicking” he said.

He heard himself how stupid it sounded when he said it with such wonder, but it was hard to care when he felt his child moving beneath his hand.

Never before had he felt a child of his moving before it was born. The world seemed to slow, he held his breath and his heart beat hard against his ribcage. When he thought of what he would return to during his travel he hadn’t even considered that. Yet it was as exciting, if not even more, as the rest of it. It was as if he had not truly realised he would have another child until then and there. He would once again be a father, his child was alive. It was there, kicking.

“It happened for the first time just a few days after you left, it’s stronger now” Catelyn told him.

The look on her face was as proud as Robb’s had been earlier.

Once again she weaved their fingers together, that time while his hand was splayed across her stomach. The kicking ceased and came to a stop, but the feeling in Ned’s chest didn’t do the same.

“Our child is strong” he said.

The feeling made his voice sound weird.

“It is” she agreed.

She looked at him and she looked so happy, her eyes sparkling. He must have been smiling back at her, it felt like he did.

When he kissed her she kissed him in return, raised a hand to his cheek. She was so soft, the mother of his children. Several children, two of them.

Her cheeks had turned even redder when they parted and she turned her face downwards. But she didn’t seem unhappy in any way, and her hand remained on his even as the child didn’t kick anymore.

“Every time I have felt it kick I have longed for when I would get to share it with you” she mumbled.

“Is that so?”

Catelyn had longed for him, longed to let him feel their child moving.

She glanced up at him, her eyes still gleaming.

“When I carried Robb you weren’t with me, now you are. I want to share what I can with you.”

“Now I’ll be here.”

He knew he couldn’t promise to always be there, that he wouldn’t have to leave again, but he also knew he wanted what she could share. He wanted to be there. With her and Robb and Jon and the child.

“I was going to eat a small something, would you keep me company?” she asked.

“That I would gladly do, I’m feeling a little hungry myself.”

#stark family feels babey #ned in the middle of falling in love with his wife and being a dork babey #ned stark #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned x cat #my fic

[baby-starks]

Ned: *coming back from Robert’s Rebellion with jon* can we keep him?

Catelyn: *sigh* just this once

Ned: *coming back from the Greyjoy Rebellion with Theon* ...can we keep this one?

Catelyn: I swear to god this is the last time...

Ned: *coming back from an execution with 6 direwolves* ...cat?

Catelyn: OH COME ON

#game of thrones #incorrect got #incorrect quotes #ned stark #catelyn tully #Starks #this is why cat didn’t want Ned to go south

[magalidragon]

For the Drabble challenge: 29 + 30 please! 😁

Here’s one! I have #30 coming up in a minute! This is set in a new universe, just something sweet and soft and maybe a tad angsty!

Safe Haven | 29. “Come over here and make me!”

"Daenerys get down from there and come here!"

"Come over here and make me!"

Jon muttered under his breath, storming towards the large oak tree behind his house-- and hers-- rummaging around in the dirty leaves and mud to find the knot at the base where he put his foot and then the groove just a foot above his head for his hand, beginning to haul himself up the back way towards the house above him.  "I'm going to kill you," he vowed, hating when he had to get up this way because she'd cranked up the rope ladder.

He emerged at the top, crawling over ungracefully onto the platform and fell to prop his back against the wall, peering into the treehouse where she sat, her face a beautiful mess of fury, fire, and pain.  She sniffed, hiding it behind her hand, and he ducked his head.  He knew she didn't like it when he saw her cry.  His dragon was always so strong.  He hit his head against one of the tree branches that curved out from the main trunk, which was in the center of the house.

It was hard to tell what came first, the tree or the treehouse.  It had been there forever; he joked that hte Children of the Forst must have built it.  It belonged to no one, stuck behind his house and hers, in a space of the Wolfswood that did not fall on his family's property or hers.  He drew his knee up to his chest and hooked his arm around it, holding onto his ankle.  "Dany, please," he said softly.  "It's not the end of the world."

"You're leaving!"

"I was always going to leave!"

"You didn't <i>tell</i> me!"

He would give her that one.  He closed his eyes, sighing hard.  Couldn't take it back.  "You knew I was going to join," he muttered.  There wasn't much for him.  He wasn't interested in going to college.  He had great grades, was one of the top of his class, but it wasn't for him and he knew it.  "I didn't want you there when I did."

She scowled, reaching over and picked up a stray beer can from the other night when they'd spent the entire time that his cousin had a party hiding away in their own private one.  She chucked it at him, with no heat behind the action.  "I hate you."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

He crawled towards her, repeating the words.  Over and over.  "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"No," she cried, when he pulled her small frame into his arms, and she cried into his chest as he rocked her.  She hiccuped, clutching his shirt.  "It's all changing Jon."

"I know."  He was leaving the only place he knew as his home, joining the military, disappearing into wherever or whatever they wanted him to do, although he had ideas.  Ideas he wouldn't tell her about because she could convince him otherwise.  He kissed her brow.  This was the only place she had thought of as her home, after an entire life of moving from place to place.  He exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.  "Dany...if you were with me...I would not have done it and...and I have to do this."

"I know."  She tilted her face up, the sunlight dying away at the end of the early summer day, her face a pale oval, tears streaking.  She blinked her violet eyes, looking indigo in the dim light.  Her silver hair was tangled, dirty from spending most of the day in the treehouse.  She brushed her lips along his pulse, racing.  "Hold me Jon, just...just hold me until the end."

If he had his way there wouldn't be an end.  He nodded and squeezed her close, until their hands grew bored, their emotions needing release, and they peeled at each other's clothing until they were making love under the stars, still not close to being 'experts' at the act even after the last few months of numerous hours of practice.

When he woke up in the morning, she was gone, and he stared at the carved heart in the tree trunk, smiling at it.  he wouldn't see her again; he had a feeling she was already on her way to Essos.

One day, he hoped, and he gathered up his clothes and climbed out of the treehouse, tossing the rope ladder up so no one could get to their safe haven.

--

Dany had not been back since she left for college. It broke her heart, being back here, but she had to return, because it was Ned Stark's funeral.  It was important for her to be there; he was always so kind to her, the weird silver-haired "Ghost Girl" they called her.  He knew her family's issues, why her mother had relocated them up North, as far away from anyone in the South who might know about her father's embezzlement and crimes. She hated running, she just wanted a place to call home.

And it wasn't even really home until she had discovered that ancient treehouse in the woods behind her house.  Except she wasn't the only one.

It became their place.  The weird bastard child with no mother and father, left to the charity of his aunt and uncle, and the see-through Ghost Girl.  They were the best of friends.  They did everything there.  It was where she had gone to cry over her brother Rhaegar's death, her brother Viserys running away and leaving them, all the kids making fun of her, and the highs and lows of friendship and heartbreak.  They watched meteor showers and stared at the stars, they both had their first drunk moments there-- and hangovers-- the first time they sampled Shade of the Evening-- she hated it, he threw up-- where she hid her cat Drogon from her mother for a week before he got out and ended up in her bedroom.

It was where they had their first kiss-- she wanted to know what it was like and he had already told his cousin he'd kissed someone-- laughing and giggling through it.  Then it was where they relaized they were in love with each other, shouting and angry because he'd gone on a few days with Ygritte Wilde who was telling everyone she'd taken his virginity and where she had been stood up on a 'date' that turned out to be his stupid fucking cousin Sansa setting her up for humilation.

They'd admitted their love, they had fumbled through their first time there-- and second, third, and fourth too.  It was where everything important happened.

It was where he broke her heart.  Where she broke his.

She stared up at it, reaching up with a branch to knock at the rope ladder, grunting from effort since it was caked to the wood from years of weather and countless leaves falling.  A clump of leaves and sticks fell, almost showering her with the detritus, and she smiled, lightly touching the frayed rope.  "Well if I die climbing this thing, that's appropriate," she muttered, hooking her foot into the bottom and making her way up.

It was like time stood still in the treehouse.

It was dusty, piles of leaves and dirt in the corners.  There was a blanket that had been eaten through by some animal, nothing but thread now.  She used to be able to stand straight up in it, but now she crouched, glancing around, smiling at it all.  There were a couple of band posters they'd tacked up, the paper caked onto the walls now.  If she touched it it would probably turn to dust.

And the trunk in the middle, with the carved heart, weather worn and the wood darkened.  She traced her finger along it.  DANY + JON.

She hadn't seen him yet; the funeral wasn't until tomorrow.

They had a lot to catch up on, she supposed, rocking onto her heels.  It was for self preservation she'd left him that morning.  That they'd ceased all communication.  It would kill her to keep it up.  They needed to leave.  To create their own lives and futures.

She exhaled, a puff of cold air coming out and she frowned, glancing down and realizing that the ashtray that she had made in art class was still there.  Except there was a single cigarette butt in it.  Delicately, she lifted it, and her eyes widened; it was still warm.  "Bloody hells," she cursed.

"Hi Dany."

Whipping her head, she fell backwards onto her butt, feet sliding under her.  She gaped at the opposite doorway; the back entrance up to the house, the way that they had to take if one of them had pulled up the rope ladder.  "Jon," she gasped.

He looked good.  Dark curls over his forehead and ears, his beard trim and lines threading from his eyes.  Gray, singular eyes, that made her think of the winter storms and the angry seas.  He smiled shyly, an arm draped over his knee.  "I heard you and...and I don't know why I hid," he admitted, shy.

She swallowed hard.  She wanted to yell at him for some reason.  He'd been in the papers six months ago; a dangerous mission at the Wall.  He could have died.  "Jon," she repeated.

He scooted a little closer to her.  "You look good."

Her hair was shorter than it had been.  She didn't know what to say.  What did you say after all this time to hte only man you had ever loved?  The only boy?  She took a deep breath, exhaled hard, and then did the only thing she suspected one could do.

She kissed him.

Lunged towards him, arms flying about his neck, and planted her mouth so hard on his, she knocked him backwards, and he grunted, the breath pushed out of him from her tiny body sitting on his.  He grabbed her hips and kissed her back, as urgent and desperate as her.  They were in heavy parkas and scarves, but none of that mattered, because she could hear his heart racing in time with hers, and feel the same hot bloody pulsing through him as her.

He broke the kiss a second later, hand rising to cup her cheek; it was cold, but she didn't mind, because the shock reminded her this was real.  "Dany," he sighed.

"I love you," she mumbled.  Tears trickled down her cheeks.  "I love you still Jon.  I don't care if you've changed, or...or if you're with someone or something...because I will always love you."

He smiled slowly and nuzzled his nose against hers, their hot breaths mingling.  "I love you too."  He paused, his brow wrinkling.  "And...and there's no one..  There's never been anyone but you."

They had so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, but for now, she needed to just remind herself that he was there, with her, in their safe space, away from anyone else.  She kissed him again, and again, and buried her face into his neck, smiling, finally at home.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #drabble ask

[hilarychuff]

In I Carry It In Mine, if Ygritte had not died, would he have picked her over Sansa? Because he chose her when he never chose Sansa. She seems like the first in his heart.

hi! i know you're not the first person to read i carry it in mine and get that impression. if it's too uncomfy for you, it is ok to decide it's not the fic for you!

personally, my short unspoiler-y answer is no. he already didn’t choose ygritte within the scope of the story. he already chose to go back to the watch instead of staying with her, so he definitely wouldn’t pick ygritte over everything. part of why he has a relationship with ygritte in the first place is because he thinks it’s the only one he’ll ever get, so if given other options, she def wouldn’t be the first choice, especially not when compared to his soulmate.

but honestly i am very excited to get my first anon message about one of my fics so if you want to read on and hear my thoughts in some more depth, i am going to take this moment and reflect for a sec on that relationship!

also, i’m not sure how far you read, but this will have spoilers at least through chapter 7 of i carry it in mine! i’ll put it under a cut

for the most part, up until sansa arrives at the wall, jon’s storyline is the same. i think a lot of people expected him to have behaved differently at many points because he already knew sansa was his soulmate, and i can totally see and understand why. they expected a lil more canon divergence early on bc they expected that that major of a change would have more major impacts for jon.

i kind of see it differently in that, to me, it didn't change anything. it's just one more thing that jon secretly really desperately wants and believes he can't have because of his status as a bastard. it's just one more way that life is super unfair for him. and while it raises sansa up on his list of priorities in a way she's not necessarily on his mind in canon, it doesn't actually make having some sort of relationship with her in whatever capacity he wants it any more achievable than it is in canon. that's part of why he doesn't say anything at all after he gets his mark and just waits to see what hers is. and then when hers is someone not him (he thinks), he's worried about what that means for her, but he already believes it doesn't mean anything for him. to him, her getting someone else's name really was kind of like, "lol, you REALLY thought you could have a soulmate???? you really thought someone would call you jon stark and make you an official member of the family??? wow that is so sad lol"

soulmates are rare and special in this world and there is some respect for that but it also doesn’t change the rule of the law or how society functions in westeros. people have to stay within their station. 

and when he goes to talk to ned about sansa’s mark, what jon basically hears is like “yeah shit sucks, world keeps turning, sometimes you don’t get to be with your soulmate but life goes on. you can still make the best of a bad situation though. cat didn’t get to be with brandon but she’s with me now and we have a family we love. that’s a good thing."

i think by the time robert and the court comes north jon has recovered enough from that “bitch you thought” blow and has internalized ned’s message enough to be like "ok best of a bad situation i'll still take what i can get and just be sansa's devoted lil sworn sword and honestly i've decided that is not only good enough for me but now i really want that" and then he's told he can't have that either like he can’t even have THAT and he's like FINE GODS I GUESS I'LL JUST GO TO THE WALL LIKE UNCLE BENJEN for all the same reasons he decides/wants to in canon.

and then later on, when he doesn't ride south to save sansa from the lannisters/join robb's fight/etc it's still for all the same reasons he can't and doesn't in canon. he tries and is stopped. the consequences for deserting the night's watch are still the same. the stakes for all of his family members are still the same. 

some people really didn’t like this bit: 

His father had been his first thought all that time ago when the Wall received word from King’s Landing that the Hand of the King was in chains. Arya, he’d thought next. And then last, bittersweet, Sansa.

some people read it as sansa was his last priority of the three of them, and i totally see why! she is literally listed last! but personally, to me, it is more like something you know you’re not allowed to have so you try not to think about it, but not thinking about it doesn’t make it go away, so it’s still right there, bittersweet, something that you can’t have that you still can’t have. 

and that moment also is given to the reader as part of him in the cave with ygritte. he’s reflecting back on it and we’re skipping a lot of canon ground at that point. we’re skipping right to the part where jon is ready to romanticize what’s going on with ygritte, and i think that’s when the conversation with ned where ned was like "you still can choose to have love/happiness even if you're not with your soulmate" comes directly into play. at the time he was like... kicks rocks i hate this small town... etc emo boy whatever. he already tried to best of a bad situation once and got shut down. but then in that moment he’s like ok i guess THIS is the moment. THIS is the only choice i get. it’s this or nothing, and i’m really tired of having nothing, and i’m really tired of thinking i have nothing and then being told i actually have even less because after accepting that my fate was with the watch i had to turn my back on the watch too, or at least pretend to. so if THIS is the only choice and the only thing i get to have ok yeah i’m making it and i’m going to have this. 

the thing is, even then after that, he does still make the same choices as he does in canon to leave ygritte behind and return to the watch. he kind of thinks “would it have been different if she was my soulmate. would i have been able to do that if she was my soulmate��� but ultimately it doesn’t matter because she’s not. (imo tho the answer is yes bc jon has a strong internal sense of duty/honor/etc and also also i think if he really stopped to think about it instead of making the best of a bad situation he would’ve realized the best of a bad situation still sucks. and it was a bad situation.)

and then there is the ramsay stuff and jon not immediately going to rescue sansa, and i really get why that upset people too and i think if someone can’t get past that it makes sense! it is ok to stop reading! 

but again, to me, it’s the same thing as what happened in canon. jon not leaving the wall in canon to go save “arya” doesn’t mean he didn’t love or care for arya. him not doing it now for sansa doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her or care about her or want her to be safe. i think in i carry it in mine vs in canon he does think about it more but realistically he comes to the conclusion that a) if he tries to leave the wall and interfere in the rest of the kingdom, he’ll be going alone. and he as one person alone is not going to be effective. he’d die trying. b) if he tries to do it not alone, well, he dies then too and is executed for desertion. c) if he somehow manages to do it, then what? they have no resources and no one to turn to. no money to hire a boat and leave westeros. no keeps that wouldn’t execute him for being a deserter and return her to ramsay. no way to get over the wall from this side. but melisandre tells him d) if he waits and sends mance rayder, sansa will come to him and he’ll actually still be alive to help her. 

and then alys karstark shows up instead and he thinks it’s all on mance rayder to do what he can now or maybe stannis and then he gets the letter that sansa escaped and he’s like ok fuck it i have to do SOMETHING and i think this letter threatening the night’s watch and me as the lord commander gives me enough plausible deniability, but the reality is that it still doesn’t. and he gets killed. 

and then chapter 7 is where the ygritte stuff and the sansa stuff kind of meets again, because when jon first sees sansa he thinks it’s ygritte. and to me that was because literally getting killed kind of plunged him back into young emo jon for a second. he can never have what he wants. he will fully die if he tries to have what he wants. he will literally get murdered by some people he thought he could trust if he tries to have what he wants. instead he needs to learn to live with not having it. so when sansa actually shows up at the wall he really can’t believe it and part of that is because he won’t let himself believe it because how many times can he want something and be told no???? he gave up. 

but then he actually CAN have it and she’s HERE and she came looking for HIM and part of that is because he DID send mance and the spearwives after her. maybe he’s not as cursed as he thought. it’s a turning point. that’s when things start to change for him both internally and within the story.

i think he tells her about ygritte not to be like “look i had this great love blah blah blah” but because she wants to stay and talk and instead of reflecting on all the shitty things that have happened to them and to their family he is trying to give her something beautiful. proof that there are some good things in the world. so he takes a story that he has already unconsciously really romanticized to himself to make it bearable and he romanticizes it even further to tell it to her. he wants to give her a song. 

and honestly when she asks if ygritte is his soulmate he wants to kind of say the same thing to her that ned said to him. he’s being like “hey, whatever targaryen’s name you have, forget about him. forget it. you get to find and choose good things in life. things haven’t worked out for you so far with your soulmate or like... in general really, but that doesn’t mean they never will. you can still have good things and you can still have love like i know you always wanted and i want you to have everything you want.”

imo he would choose sansa above everything if he thought he was allowed to make that choice.

which is a long long long way to say that i think if you sent jon to therapy and he had a lot of time and space to just unpack things he would realize that his relationship with ygritte has a lot more in common with some of sansa’s relationships than it doesn’t, but he is trying to hold onto something that he managed to see as good in his life and he is trying to share with sansa that things can be good. 

(i think if sansa ever heard exactly how things went down with jon she would be like... jon. ruh roh. that sounds bad!!!!!! that kinda sounds like stockholm syndrome!!!! but the only person who could tell her that story is jon and he does not think of it that way because how much can one guy take, frankly.)

anyway!!!!!!!! you are the reader and you are the one having the reading experience and if the reading experience is not the one you want to be having, it is ok to stop reading! 

but if you just wanted to know how it makes sense in my head and how i think of it so that you can enjoy the story more and maybe get over some of those speed bumps, then i hope this helps ❤️

thank you for sending me an ask!! 

#i carry it in mine #my writing #jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsa au

[esther-dot]

LF posed as Sansa(13) father and he is molesting her in books. Sansa once confused Hound for her father. Hound also was predatory and abusive to her when she was 12. He posed as father to Arya(11). Joff act as Sansa 'father' during her wedding to Tyrion and molested her during the wedding. Robert B her supposed 'father in law' was dismissive of her. It feels like the 'father figures' in Sansa arc are not so good. Also Ned is the first to 'betray' her and gave her daddy issues.

My first reaction to all of these abusers and the fact that they're placed in a "father" position to Sansa is mainly just: WTF?! Enough, we don't need this. *weeps*

But, I suppose it does work as criticism of their patriarchal society. I've seen a king's right to approve/disapprove of marriages romanticized a lot, so emphasizing the horror of that and the unhappiness of a father having the ability to dictate to his daughter who she must marry (Lyanna, Cersei, Sansa...), is certainly part of what's going on. And, Martin likes to look at the same thing from different angles, to have a good person wrong their daughter and have a bad person use the same method to put her in a bad situation...it's a more effective way of critiquing something than simply "he's an evil person with evil intentions who did an evil thing." The problem is certainly how evil people may abuse a situation, but more importantly, that good people might abuse it too. The system is a problem.

I always read Sansa mistaking the Hound for her father as a way to heighten her fear/create more of a shock. Little kids may grab onto your legs/reach for your hand and then look up and burst into tears because you aren't the right person. Going from thinking you're their favorite person in the world to finding you're a total stranger is a shock. And considering how threatening the Hound is/the way he behaves, you really feel sorry for poor Sansa when that happens to her. But now that you mention this pattern, the idea of the men who should protect her, failing her one by one, and being linked to the "father" position somehow seems a deliberate pattern.

I wrote this, anti sans@n post a while ago/talked about the bloody cloak imagery because that seems to be how Martin is showing who fails their children (fuck you Rhaegar), but even though Ned did love his children, want to protect them, he betrothed Sansa to Joffrey, took her South, killed Lady. Martin has him recognize his contribution to the death of innocents (link), and while he acts to save Sansa, his choices contributed to the death of her innocence, which is heartbreaking. Of course, Ned and these other men are foils, but there's an established literary theme of killing a father (literal or metaphorical), so it's impossible to think Martin unknowingly placed these men in that role to Sansa. She was inadvertently involved in Ned's death and Joffrey's death, and I assume a big reason why LF poses as Sansa's father is to allow this idea to play out. She will be the one to end him.

We also have the Jonsa of it to consider. LF is Sansa's Uncle (by marriage) and pretends to be her father. Ned pretends to be Jon's father although he's actually his Uncle. Ned is a good person and LF the absolute worst, so while Ned was protecting Jon at great personal risk, Sansa is LF's victim. This contrast between "father's" is certainly intentional, although other than placing Sansa in Jon's shoes, I'm not sure how necessary?

Although, now that I say that, in the show they created a lot of parallels between the LF/Sansa and Dany/Jon relationship, and I don't think that was D&D's fabrication because they didn’t deliver on it. And it is weird that just as LF wanted to marry Cat and now has turned his attention to Sansa (her daughter), Dany was told she should have married Rhaegar and may turn her attention to Jon (his son). I mean, the main purpose of the mention of Dany/Rhaegar is for the Dany and Cersei parallels (I assume), but I think this definitely features. We do have that moment when Dany sees herself as Rhaegar which is part of this tangle in that, it allows for a faux "father" figure to be a threat to Jon in the future as well. And of course, Jon will likely need to kill her just as Sansa will oversee the execution of LF.

You know, we all know how much Martin likes messy, but I think we undersell just how much. 😬

#ask dot

[nicketynic]

Prompt: Jon Snow falls in love with Sansa Rivers, Brynden's bastard.

Catelyn Tully Stark had never forgotten the strange, painful parallel of watching her uncle walking through Riverrun’s gates, her lord father’s bones in tow, cradling a babe bearing his look, imagining it eerily similar to Eddard’s return to Winterfell, the return that brought his bastard son inside the walls of his ancestral seat before his trueborn heir had ever graced them. 

Her feelings for Jon Snow aside, Sansa Rivers was her dear uncle’s only child, bastard-born or not, beloved enough to be brought with him to RIverrun as he took up regency for Edmure. Through letters, Catelyn watched her grow, transitioning from sweet, spirited girl to kind, dutiful young woman, thoughtful and grateful toward every bit of advice Catelyn offered. 

By twelve, Sansa had stepped so naturally into the role of Riverrun’s surrogate lady, just as Cately had before her, and remained so at sixteen when Robb’s march south saw armies and lords aplenty descend on the castle. Then Ned was gone, and sweet Sansa was a steady source of comfort and support in a sea of grief and loss. How could she not love this wonderful, giving girl, everything she would have wanted in another daughter if the Mother had seen fit, for all she never regretted helping Ned secure his bloodline, for all that Arya was a willful, spirited, irreplaceable gift?

Ned was lost to her, and a solemn specter of his likeness stood stalwart at their son’s side. While loss and his unwavering loyalty toward Robb had eaten away at the bitterness toward the bastard, nothing could stop her hackles from rising the first time she saw Snow’s eyes land on Sansa, widening with surprise and interest. So intent was she on diverting that attention, she nearly missed when Sansa began to return his gazes, until she was as moon-eyed as the boy. It was only the march into the Westerlands that relieved Catelyn’s vexation with the whole affair, and as the war raged on and months became a year, then two, she became certain the infatuation had long passed. 

Now, Jon Snow was a Stark-born bastard of a different variety, no longer a political unknown but the last scion of a dead dynasty, poised to have his pick between several noble seats. Some argued Dragonstone was his right so long as he let the name Targaryen die, Robb stood eager to see him landed and titled in the north, and Uncle Brynden himself had mused whether Harrenhal would be an acceptable compromise (granted to House Tully by way of Whent blood), if only to keep his daughter close by. 

Catelyn was wrong that time and distance would kill the attraction between Snow and Rivers, for all that Sansa had never spoken of or inquired about him within her hearing. Sansa herself had presented her desire for Jon Snow’s hand in marriage, and Brynden was showing no signs of refusing. Feeling the weight of his niece’s gaze upon him, Brynden raised his head, bushy silver brows over Tully blue arching expectantly. 

Catelyn hesitated for a moment, straightening subconsciously in her chair before she spoke. “Uncle, are you certain this is the decision you wish to make? The boy has prospects now, but the Targaryen legacy is liable to haunt him for the rest of his days. His children as well. Is it wise to subject Sansa to that?”

Brynden studied her for a long moment, deep wells of Tully blue full of something impossibly sad and wise. “Trust me when I say, little Cat, there can be no better judge of that girl’s happiness than Sansa herself. Her life’s already been hardship enough since the day I gave her the name ‘Rivers.’”

For the first time since his fateful decision, Brynden Tully was fully certain he had made the right choice when he plucked up a little red-haired waif from obscurity all those years ago, Tully auburn a beacon to draw his eye among a group of war orphans at Fairmarket’s motherhouse. All the evidence he needed was the soft, besotted look in Sansa’s eyes, the confidence in the way she spoke of Jon Snow’s love being true. That was all he could have possibly wished for the child who held his heart even if she wasn’t born of his body, much like the clever Cat sitting nearby. 

Let it never be said that the Blackfish of Riverrun didn’t look after his own. 

xx

Contrary to their elders’ assumptions, Sansa Rivers and Jon Snow hadn’t been blinded from the hardships of their world by infatuation or innocence, and had long since forged their own path ahead together. 

This day, Jon sat quietly in the shadow of several large old elms in Riverrun’s godswood. His eyes were closed, whether in prayer or sleep his audience was uncertain, only that he paid her approach no notice until he felt the light pressure of her hand on his shoulder, warm breath tickling against his skin with a whisper in his ear. 

“Perhaps it is improper to interrupt a man in such serious contemplation, but the solemnity on your face should be far removed from the beauty of this day.”

He jumped at the initial touch, glowering. Sansa allowed herself a few giggles at his disgruntled expression, leaning against his shoulder and letting her lips tease against the sensitive place below his ear. 

Jon looked at her sharply, and she responded with a soft reassurance and a firmer kiss to his neck. “I circled this clever spot you found from every direction I could conceive of, love. I only saw you since I knew where to look. We’re safe.”

Jon relaxed, turning in her arms to shift her closer, Sansa settling comfortably in his lap. She circled her arms around his neck, drawing his mouth to hers in a lingering, adoring kiss. She drew back at the need for air, giving him a cheeky smile. “Husband.”

“Wife.”

xx

For weeks, Sansa had felt the weight of eyes on her. Over the years of men coming and going from Riverrun, she had become accustomed to the hard, lustful stares thrown her way, unabashed in their audacity given she was bastard-born with no noble title to protect her modesty. The only thing that kept their stares as only stares, their hands from never daring to pinch or grope, rip or bruise, was the power of her father and cousin’s affection for her. Nothing more, certainly not through any virtue of her own, as barbed, gossiping tongues saw fit to remind her every season she was forced to play host to the ladies and daughters of Cousin Edmure’s bannermen. 

When she finally distracted herself enough for the chaos of preparing for war, she was shocked to discover the owner of these particular eyes. King Robb’s bastard half-brother, taciturn, solemn Jon Snow. A man who seemed too serious, too stoic, too devoted, for any woman to draw his eye away from his intense focus on duty. She puzzled over his interest, and several times she felt the burn of his gaze, she turned around to seek the source. More often than not, his expression was carefully composed into a sullen frown, and he was quick to turn away, but once or twice, she caught him unguarded. 

His expression naked and open, wistful yearning laid bare for her to see, unique to the entitled vulgarity she’d reluctantly grown used to over time. His was a quiet longing, appreciative and warm every time his eyes landed on her. Still he wouldn’t approach, not even as she began to return lingering looks of her own, not even when her smiles grew soft and inviting. He never came. 

So she went to him herself.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, my lord. Please tell me if my presence is unwelcome, and I’ll leave you be.”

“Your presence could never be unwelcome, my lady. And I know we’ve discussed that I’m no lord. Please, call me Jon.”

“Then you should remember I’m no lady, but I know from experience you’ll demure. So be it.” She smiled, slow and enigmatic. “Jon.” She drew his name out, testing out the sound, and Jon could have died from shame at the flash of heat it caused him. 

“Jon,” the sound of her voice, soft, husky, and alluring, was intoxicating, his name slipping from her tongue sweet as honey. “Jon, I’ve felt your eyes on me for weeks. Always watching me. Never approaching, Why? Am I wrong”

He couldn’t remember a time when his tongue had ever felt so thick and at a loss for words. “N-no, you’re not wrong.”

“Do you want me, Jon?”

She’d bewitched him, surely, how else could he justify actually giving voice to his next words? “Yes,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “Gods help me, do I ever.”

Her beautiful face hardened, something in her eyes growing cold. “So I’ve often seen, more through the years than I care to count. You’ve been kind, Jon. Courteous to a fault. Do you feel you have more a right to me because you haven’t resorted to slobbering and pawing?”

“No!” Jon went milk-pale, horrified at the very implication. “I would never dishonor you! I was never going to tell you, I swear it. Never belittle your worth with a delusion that I’d have any hope of your hand.”

“Hand?” In her confusion, something softened, peering at him with a puzzled, considering expression. “You mean to wed?”

Jon looked ill at the very idea of continuing to discuss his feelings, but he resolved to finish if only she could feel some measure of safety in his presence again. “A boy’s dream, my lady. I know that. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.”

“Oh, Jon.”  She drew closer, and closer still, panic rising in him as he saw faint tears glistening in her eyes. “I do. I so wished I was right, that what I saw in you was true. You just proved that.”

Hands on his shoulders, lips a breath away from his, Jon trembled, fists clenched at his sides to keep from touching her. “I won’t dishonor you,” he ground out. 

“Then wed me. But don’t leave me without knowing your love.”

“You can’t mean-”

“But i do. You return to war in a few days.”

“And you want to make yourself a landless bastard’s widow?”

“The hope is that I don’t become a widow at all. But where’s the stigma in being a bastard’s widow when I’m a bastard myself? I adore you for your honor, Jon Snow, but it’s not your honor I want to know before you ride into battle.”

“Gods help me. Gods help us both.”

It was the gods he prayed to save them that they wed themselves before later that night, kneeling before the sad-faced weirwood, then bedding down beneath its red-dripped branches. 

He kissed his love with the virility of youth, with the guilty passion and love he’d been harboring. They separated only before the need for breath became too great. He exhaled softly, not daring to open his eyes as deft fingers threaded through his dark hair to pull him into another kiss. His arms tightening around her, his hands grew restless, aching to explore further. Desire raged through him in a sudden storm of longing, tantalizing him to the point of desperation. 

He groaned, a low rumble resounding through his chest. At the sudden sound, they pulled away, each regarding the other with shy, darkened eyes. 

It was Jon who broke through the tentative silence. “I cannot leave you with child, Sansa,” he whispered softly, touching his hand to her cheek. 

She leaned into the touch, gently sighing at the contact. “There are ways around it, love, for all that I would love to have that piece of you with me.”

“I want that as well. Someday.”

“Then come back to me.”

Jon shifted closer, dipping his head to press his lips to her ear. “Always, so long as I am breathing.” He kissed her again, allowing his lips to linger for just a moment before descending in a trail of soft kisses down her jaw and neckline. Sansa responded with a breathless gasp, her hands working up into the folds of his tunic to meet bare skin. He groaned as she touched him, aiding her in allowing the garment to fall away from his shoulders. Drawing her into his embrace, her body molded into his as he pressed close. She gazed down at him, brushing heavy hair away from his eyes, tracing her fingers along the strong features of his face. The intensity of his dark gaze followed her every movement. “Love me, Jon. Please?”

He did not hesitate, his hands beginning to stroke and caress, his mouth seeking hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. Locked in a lover’s embrace, he pressed her back against the ground, the soft earth and the fragrant grasses of the garden floor cushioning their fall. Their world faded to the touch of mouth and skin, passion overwhelming every sense but that of each other. 

Jon sighed contently as he gave into the moment. “I’ve missed you so very much.”

“I missed you as well. Thank you for keeping your promise.”

He kissed her softly, his eyes so warm and full her heart swelled with feeling. “I promised you always, as long as I breathe. I wasn’t certain you would still want this, knowing I’m not who you thought.”

“Nonsense. Jon Snow, Jon Waters, Jon Blackfyre, it doesn��t matter, as long as you remain Jon at your core. And Jon loves me still.”

“As long as I breathe,” he repeated softly, this time catching her mouth in a deep, soulful kiss. Sansa’s arms twined around his neck as she opened beautifully to his passion, his ardor, his devotion, fingers burying in his hair to drag him impossibly closer. 

She pulled back just enough to speak, only a breath’s distance between their lips. “And if my kisses steal your breath away?”

“Then we’ll share it. We did promise to share this life together.”

“Then i can’t wait to share that journey with you.”

#jon x sansa #jonsa #asoiaf #my fic

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

As someone that likes both Sansa and Arya, what’s your take on Ned’s parenting? I feel like Ned really needed to sit them down together after the trident and explain to them the dangers of the Lannisters as well as drawing a line for acceptable behavior. Say to Sansa: you cannot tell Arya you wish she was dead. Say to Arya: it doesn’t matter what Sansa says, you cannot beat her up. Ned never talks to Sansa after he kills Lady and his talks with Arya aren’t enough. (Sorry for sending all the asks

Oh my gosh don’t worry about it. I love asks…I’m just sometimes slow with them. Fair warning, this got...long

At his core Ned loves his children; he really does. He also doesn’t know them super well or at least isn’t super in touch with them and he is not in charge of raising them. Which is pretty on par with the Westerosi fathers we see. He’s still a heck of a lot better than Bobby B and Roose Bolton over there. There’s still some distance there. Which again considering the universe Martin has made and the social standing it makes sense.

Ned does kinda sorta address the don’t-hit-your-sister thing with Arya when he finds Needle. But, admittedly, it is kind of a joke.

“For true." He smiled. "If I took it away, no doubt I'd find a morningstar hidden under your pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.” – Arya II, AgoT

But I think part of the reason he isn’t that worried is that even Sansa is surprised when Arya hits her.

“Arya, stop it!" Ned shouted. Jory pulled her off her sister, kicking. Sansa was pale and shaking as Ned lifted her back to her feet. "Are you hurt?" he asked, but she was staring at Arya, and she did not seem to hear.” – Eddard III, AGoT

After that the worst Arya does to her is throw a piece of orange at her and while it was unkind and Arya needed to be reprimanded for it, it wasn’t like it was unprovoked. This isn’t like the show where Arya sheep-shifted Sansa’s bed (that still annoys me) and threw fruit at her at the feast for the king for fun. When Arya does it, they are arguing about Mycah…the same subject that had Arya kicking her sister.

“Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. "Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them."

"It's not the same," Sansa said. "The Hound is Joffrey's sworn shield. Your butcher's boy attacked the prince.” – Sansa III, AGoT

Feels like the adult sitting right there should have ended that conversation.

It doesn’t matter if Sansa is in the right not to be mad at the royal family or that she can’t. The issue is that Arya is 9 and has a thing about lying and is traumatized. Remember even though it is never brought up again, Arya is hiding in the woods for three days. A 9-year-old little girl. In the woods. In Westeros. The fact Ned didn’t turn around or send at least Arya back is honestly one of the times I wish I could shake a fiction character and demand answers. Why Arya was in the south in the first place still boggles me, but I’ll get back to that.

It takes Ned until Sansa III to actually talk to the girls together. This should have been like Eddard IV or Sansa II or something. Sansa III is a bit too late and we can see that because Sansa is just plain mean in this chapter, the girl has reached a breaking point. Arya ruins her dress. Which is bad, no argument here. The issue is that she gets an apology. She gets one in front of Ned and refuses to accept it.

“Enough, Sansa." Lord Eddard's voice was sharp with impatience.

Arya raised her eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister's forgiveness."

Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. "What about my dress?” – Sansa III, AGoT

This conversation between the girls goes on for a pretty minute in front of Ned. Instead of just standing there he could have given some Stark speech about forgiveness or something. Instead he just lets it go until he tells them that they are leaving and just kind of does his best to comfort Sansa about not being queen and dips. That’s it. He doesn’t mention that fact that Arya came up with two different ways to make it up to Sansa. What he should have done was tell Arya she had to mend the dress or clean it or whatever because she messed it up and tell Sansa that that was the way her dress is getting fixed. You don’t let it just go on like that. They are 11 and 9, they don’t know when enough is enough it why some voice of reason is needed. 

Part of the issue is, as mentioned above, Westerosi highborns parents aren’t how we think of parents. They are pretty hands off. Martin doesn’t even let us see Arya and Cat together. Ned bit off more than he could chew. To be honest, I’m still unsure why he brought Arya along. He never really tells us and even Cat just chalks it up to her needing refinement.  

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

I guess the plan was to marry Arya off to a Southern lord? He didn’t need her to go to keep Sansa company, Jeyne was already going. It was just a bad plan. And then you add the incident at the Trident (aka Joff “kitten killer” Baratheon is left unsupervised and adults suck at the Trident) and the depression and trauma that both girls face and it gets worse. 

At least he gets Arya Syrio. What does Sansa get? She wanted high harp lessons, find a harpist or whatever. If you can find the first sword of Bravos just wandering around you can find someone who plays the harp. It would have given Sansa an outlet that she needed as well as maybe putting a balance in her life. A different perspective or something. 

Ned should have talked to both girls about going to KL. He should have had joint and separate conversations. Contrary to fandom belief 11 and 9 are different ages. Sansa can take a little bit more information because she is older. Why he doesn’t give it to her is a different question. I think he relies on the Septa to do it. If Arya hadn’t spiraled and had a weapon, I dont think he’d have a big sit-down with her.  The issue with letting the septa take charge instead is that the septa doesn’t really get the political intrigue either because that just isnt her job. 

I think Ned is a man who loves his children and got way in over his head. In different universe where the incident at the Trident doesn’t happen and the court is a bit more stable (IDK Baelish gets lost at sea or something), then i think it might be kinda okay. There would still be problems, but they might seem less severe. 

#Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Ned Stark #They need super nanny #they really do #valyrianscrolls #ASoIaF #Ned tries #He really does #i still love ya ned

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

An interesting fic idea that I never see is; Lysa doesn't marry Jon A, either he or she decides that no this isn't gonna happen and Lysa gets to leave Riverrun and heal somewhere else whether it is at Harrenhall with her Whent family or maybe even at Winterfell with Catelyn (although I wonder how'd that make her feel, probably not great I imagine...but Benjen and Lysa bonding as friends sounds like fun)

Oh, goodness, I’d love a universe where Lysa didn’t marry Jon Arryn. It would have to be her deciding it wasn’t going to happen, I think, because Jon refusing her would mean not getting the support of the Riverlands during Robert’s Rebellion, and I can’t see any universe where he’d give up that alliance. I also struggle to imagine Lysa putting her foot down against the match, given that she didn’t so much as protest openly enough for Catelyn to notice something was wrong - like, sure, maybe teen Cat was the world’s least observant person, but I suspect it’s more likely that there was enough pressure on Lysa to accept the match that she went along with it without ever letting on just how much she hated it. From what she says in canon, she went along with it because he was old and she thought he’d die soon, so why bother arguing, but there were clearly other pressures, too, ones that especially would have emerged if she’d been more vocally reluctant. Obviously there’s the fear of what might happen to her if people found out and she couldn’t get a good marriage, but there’s also the need to get the hell out of Riverrun - and Jon Arryn was the easiest ticket out of there. Hoster told Lysa that she ought to be grateful that Jon would take her “soiled”, and setting aside how awful a thing that is to say to your daughter, this would have supported both aforementioned reasons why Lysa was under a lot of pressure to accept the match. But if, somehow, Lysa rejected the match...wow, love that for her.

The theme of home is just so important - Stannis fought and starved for Storm’s End and had it taken from him while he was exiled to Dragonstone to resent the loss and want his home back. Dany is searching for a home. Sansa and Arya desperately long for Winterfell, to go back to their home. From Brandon and Rickard to Lyanna to Ned, there’s a theme of Starks riding south only to never return home. Aegon and everyone with him are exiles and refugees, trying to return. Arianne calls Sunspear home while for Quentyn, it’s Yronwood that he longs for when he’s scared, which must add to Arianne’s hurt that Doran wants to supplant her - he’d be giving away her home. Catelyn and Lysa both spent years away from their childhood homes, but the vibe is so different. Catelyn left when she got married, made a new home, and returned to Riverrun before her death; Lysa left, did not come to be as at home in the Eyrie as Cat was in Winterfell, and never went back to her childhood home. So Lysa getting to actually get away from Riverrun and get a break? Going somewhere where she could actually start to recover instead of having more trauma piled on? That’s the good stuff.

I can’t imagine her happy with Cat in Winterfell, for a lot of reasons - for one, it took Cat herself a long time to be comfortable there, and she was married to the lord, with Stark children. It would be worse for Lysa, who wouldn’t have a real place. And for another, Catelyn did not know Lysa’s pain. She did not know about the pregnancy and didn’t even have an idea who the boy Hoster was deliriously cursing was - she considered a young squire, hedge knight, tradesmen’s son or apprentice, or singer, but not their father’s ward. These things together would make Winterfell a not great environment for Lysa - she’d have a place only because of the sister she could never live up to, and probably be pushed to explain a lot more than she wanted to. But Harrenhal? 🤯🤯🤯 That’s awesome. Love that.

#dearxstorm #replies

[endlessnorth]

band!au + enemies to lovers + “shut up for a second, will you?” for the prompt game, please! 💕

encore || requested by @anonymous 

send me an au + trope + piece of dialogue & i’ll write a ficlet in response! (no repeat prompts, please)

band!au + (semi) enemies to lovers + “shut up for a second, will you?”  

The drummer isn’t bad; he’s quite good, in fact, at least in terms of skill and style. He plays with a shite ton of ego, though, and Gendry’s certain that his personality isn’t suitable for the band as a group - not to mention that the sultry looks he keeps shooting through his curls will be incredibly distracting once he’s onstage. With one sideways look at Anguy, he figures they’re both thinking the same thing. 

 “Yeah, no,” Anguy says to Gendry under his breath, before waving the drummer off. “That’s it.” 

The guy twirls his drumsticks in one hand and does one last fill, looking more than a little smug as he stands from the kit. 

“Well, uh...” Anguy begins, “Satin, yeah?”

The drummer, Satin, nods. 

“Right,” Anguy says apologetically. “Look - you’re really good, Satin, you’ve got a lot of flair and skills. I just don’t think you’d fit in with the kind of music we’re trying to play. Sorry, mate.” 

Gendry had been expecting Satin to outright blow up or throw a tantrum, so he’s genuinely surprised when the guy just shrugs, flips his hair out of his eyes and leaves the room with a casual “okay.”

Gendry sighs into his hands when the door is fully closed. “That’s nine of them now,” he informs Anguy tersely, referring to the eight other drummers who they’ve already had to let go. Anguy just rolls his eyes, but honestly, it’s starting to concern Gendry. How hard is it to find one drummer to go along with them? He’s sure they’ve tried out every university-age player in King’s Landing, except maybe for-

“Arya Stark?” Anguy calls out. “We’re ready for you.” 

Seven hells. 

Gendry jerks his head up just as the door swings open. Arya slips her book bag off her shoulder and meets his eyes immediately, her grey ones already flashing with defiance. 

“Hey, Gendry.”

“What are you doing here?” He says curtly, which makes Anguy jump in surprise - because Anguy was unaware of the fact that he and Arya Stark have history between them. “I thought you had a band already.”

“I did. Meera dropped out, though - we can’t play as a two-piece, and I’d like to keep drumming through the semester. So I checked out the student board and happened to see your advert.” She gives Gendry a sarcastic grin. “It’s not a problem that I signed up late, is it?”

“Of course it’s a problem,” Gendry says loudly, at the same time that Anguy tells her, “It’s all right.” 

They stare at each other. “Could you hold on just a minute?” Anguy asks Arya amiably. “I need to speak to my bass player.”

“Oh, sure.” She nods and goes to set herself up at the drum kit, despite Gendry’s repeated insistences that she stays still. 

“Mate,” Anguy says as he leans in, “what the hells is wrong with you? The girl wants to drum for us - no harm in that.” 

Gendry does try to restrain himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me an extra player was auditioning today?” He says through gritted teeth. 

Anguy lifts one shoulder awkwardly, lowering his voice. “I didn’t think it was important - we make schedule changes all the time. And I didn’t know you two knew each other.” He raises an eyebrow. “How do you two know each other?”

”We don’t really,” Gendry says quickly. He doesn’t have time to get into any of that, much less fully explain the animosity between them. “It’s just that she’s difficult. Really difficult. You won’t like playing with her. We can find another drummer.” 

“Where?” 

“I don’t know. But we will.”

“Gendry-” Anguy gives him a look that drips with annoyance. “Look, I’m sick of this. I paid my share of the hundred crowns to rent this place, so she’s auditioning. Okay,” He says louder than necessary, “you ready, Arya?” 

Gendry shakes his head; Arya slips into the seat behind the drum kit. She’s so short, her head barely even reaches the cymbals, but it’s clear that she’s comfortable where she is. “Ready.” 

He sits in silence for the next minute or so, not bothering to look at Anguy because he knows he’ll be ecstatic. Arya’s a fantastic drummer - she always has been. Even as a bony ten-year-old playing in Gendry’s garage, she’d had incredible power and rhythm, like the music just flowed through her. 

That hasn’t changed. If anything, she’s gotten ten times better.

She mouths the final eight count under her breath, eyes narrowing, her whole face very focused. Anguy gives an incredulous laugh with the last crash of her cymbals.

“She’s perfect, mate,” He whispers to Gendry. “Right?” Gendry just nods, frustrated. “Perfect,” Anguy repeats so Arya can hear it. “Really nice job. Gods!”

“Thanks!” Arya stands up from the drum kit, beaming, and wipes the sweat off of her forehead. Her eyes flit dismissively over Gendry and settle on Anguy. “So...am I in?”

--

She is in, in the sense that Anguy wants her in the band very badly. But Gendry gets the guitarist to hold off on commitment for just another few days, saying that he needs to talk to Arya about the prospective rehearsal schedule. And Anguy’s in such high spirits about her drumming that he doesn’t seem to notice Gendry’s very shitty excuse, or particularly care.  

Just deal with it quickly, he says cheerfully, some other band might get her soon. 

Which was sort of the idea. 

Gendry corners her the next day anyways. Arya’s sitting on a wall with one of her friends, a girl with dark eyes and hair the color of sea glass. As soon as she sees him coming she grimaces. “Bye, Wylla,” Gendry hears her say, just before she slips off the wall. 

Without Anguy there, being close to her is more awkward than he’d anticipated. They hadn’t been alone in so long, not since he moved away from the North. 

“What is it?” She says acridly. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” About the fact that we used to be best friends. “About the band.” Until I abandoned you six years ago.

Arya purses her lips. “You’re not going to let me play, are you?”

Gendry blinks, taken aback. “What?” 

“You could’ve just called the flat.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. Whatever. I have class-”

“Wait. Arya,” He grabs her arm, “it’s not like that.” 

“Really?” Arya snaps, except this time, she looks like she might cry. And that’s not a familiar sight for Gendry, nor a welcome one. When she was younger she’d never been able to quite keep her emotions in check. It had gotten even worse when Ned and Cat died.

“You know, Gendry, I didn’t just audition to be an arse. I know you think I did, but I didn’t. I was hoping - I thought you might want to be friends, even though everything’s been so terrible between us. I wanted, at the very least, to try.” He opens his mouth. “But it doesn’t matter, because you’re such a bloody prick who can’t keep his-”

“Shut up for a second, will you?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Just..” Gendry scrubs a hand over his face. “Please, let me talk.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Talk, then.”

He takes a breath. “I’m sorry about the audition,” Gendry starts off with. “I was rude. Should’ve just let you play.” That’s the easy part. “And I should’ve tried to be friends with you when you got to university, from the very beginning. But I didn’t know how to, and you were so angry at me.” 

“Because you left,” Arya says. She doesn’t pull her punches, as usual. “You were my closest friend, and when Mum and Dad died you were all I had. But then you left, went south, for what? For Robert? He was just a stupid drunken sot who didn’t even care about you.”

But he had money. And he was family, and at eighteen Gendry had been stupid enough to leave Arya for those two things. She was at her lowest point when they read Ned’s will and found out that Robert was his father. It had all made sense, then. Why Ned had taken Gendry in after his mother died. Why he’d always promised Gendry that someday, he would have more. 

It felt important. So Gendry had just disappeared one day on a whim, leaving Arya nothing but a text message to say goodbye. Something like, I need to find my father. Something like, I hope we don’t turn up in the same city years from now, because I don’t think I could ever look you in the eye. Something like, I’m so sorry. I really am. 

“I realize that. But,” Gendry inhales sharply. “I want us to be okay again.” 

“I don’t know if that’s possible.” 

“Arya.” He reaches out, holds her hand. She flinches but doesn’t let go. “Please? Just try.” 

She stares at him, and for a moment they’re children again, scraping their knees on the pavement of Arya’s driveway, shouting at each other over the sound of Jon’s video games, sitting on the hood of one of Tobho’s broken cars. “Yes,” she whispers after a minute that feels like forever, “okay. I’ll try.” 

And she practically flings herself into his arms, and it feels so good to hold her. It’s far better than just trying. 

“Wait a minute,” she murmurs after a moment. “Am I your drummer, then?” 

“Yeah.” He laughs against her hair, having almost forgotten the whole point of this. “You’re in the band.”

“Anguy will be happy.” She pulls away from him, and with the way her grey eyes are sparkling, Gendry thinks that he could kiss her. It isn’t the first time he’s felt that way. 

It certainly won’t be the last.

--

a/n: it’s not a true enemies to lovers (my apologies, anon), but i’ve gotten a lot of requests for that trope & decided to approach it slightly differently with this au. happy sunday, and much love to you all 💖

#gendrya #endlessnorth #arya stark #gendry waters #arya x gendry #gendrya fanfiction #my writing #drabble requests

[pax-2735]

GoT Ficlet

Notes: As usual, I own nothing except the mistakes. AU - canon divergence, in the sense that its set in canon world, but I just picked and choosed whatever I wanted. Why is Robb KitN when Ned is still alive? Maybe they all thought Ned died in KL and made Robb king and when Ned returned he didn’t want the crown anyway. Maybe because I love King Robb but couldn’t bring myself to kill Ned. *shrugs* just roll with it.

There’s nothing I love more than your sexy mind (except maybe your hot body)

Lady Catelyn purses her lips as her eyes travel across the high table to find Sansa, who is busy entertaining herself conversing with some of the northern lords. She is perfectly courteous, her soft melodic voice drifting over the music and loud voices cluttering the hall, but even her kind tones cannot mask the barbs and japes she’s throwing left and right nor the narrowed looks of her interspeakers whenever one of her caustic remarks hits a little too close to home.

It’s easy to see why Lady Stark looks less than amused with her oldest daughter right now.

Lord Stark has made a feeble attempt to rise from his seat at a particularly well delivered back handed compliment but Robb’s hand on his arm had stayed him and he has since given up all pretense at not being amused by the situation. Robb is even worse, his mouth twitching with barely concealed laughter and his eyes glinting with mischief as he watches his little sister handling men thrice her age.

The conversation turns towards politics in the south – a poor choice of topic to be discussing with a lady, particularly one so young, and the fact that they do is a testament to how much the North respects the King’s sister and her keen mind – and Sansa’s political commentary turns even shrewder.

Lady Catelyn narrows her eyes as she turns her blue gaze to her husband and son, who are doing a piss poor job of hiding their amusement, before she settles her gaze on him, and Jon freezes. Granted, he will be the first to admit he wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t finding the whole thing incredibly funny – he has always derived a great deal of pleasure out of watching Sansa reducing grown men to fumbling green boys – but the look Lady Stark gives him is enough to reduce him to the latter as well.

“Thinking can be… such a dangerous pastime.” Sansa’s tone is perfectly demure, her blue eyes wide and innocent as the men around her dissolve into rumbles of laughter. Robb doubles over as he nearly spits out the wine he has just taken a gulp of as Ned bows his head and places it against his hands with a mumbled ‘for fuck’s sake’. Lady Catelyn snaps her head around to look back at her daughter.

“Robb.”

“Right.” Robb’s hand lands on Jon’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Would you mind going to get your wife before she roasts every single man in this hall?” He leans forward to give Jon a wink. “And at least try to get her to be quiet?”

Jon gets up slowly from his seat, his eyes already riveted on Sansa. “I don’t mind getting her at all.” He leans forward, his hand squeezing Robb’s shoulder in return and he lowers his voice somewhat. “But I don’t know how quiet she’ll be about it.” He smiles saucily and Robb gives him a playful shove coupled with a mock glare. But there’s nothing mocking about the look Catelyn Stark gives him as he passes behind her and he realizes that maybe he hasn’t lowered his voice enough.

He feels more than sees as she turns to Robb with a glare. Robb is quick to stop her though, with a raised hand and a heavy sigh. This is a traitorous situation for him, Jon knows, as he plays the shield between his mother and his chosen brother. “Mother. I know you don’t like it and that you would prefer if it wasn’t so. But Jon is my brother in everything but blood. He is Hand of the King. And he is her husband.”

The lords who have gathered around Sansa easily part as they see him approach. She has her back to him though, so it’s only the sound of his voice that alerts her to his presence.

“Sansa.”

She turns slowly, her eyes appraising him quickly with a contemptuous smirk on her lips before she bows her head in greeting. “My lord husband.”

He keeps his eyes locked on hers, doesn’t break their connection as he extends a hand to her before addressing the lords. “Forgive me my lords but there is something I must speak with my wife at once.” There’s a mumbling of assents as she takes his hand and steps closer, tucking her arm in his as befits a high born lady before they take their leave.

They make their way across the great hall without interruption. There are many who nod their heads as they pass and Jon can see more than a few knowing smirks from the lords and commiserating looks from the ladies. He knows exactly what this looks like and no one will dare to intervene between a husband setting his wife straight.

Sansa keeps silent until they reach the doorway and even then her voice is low, ensuring that no one hears her. “Did they send you to get me?”

He nods, an almost imperceptible shake of his head and she purses her lips even as her eyes betray her, shinning like sapphires in the low light. “And are you going to scold me now, as though I were a child?”

He stops abruptly, his arm escaping her grip to snake around her waist and pull her closer. The move is so sudden that it startles her, her hands instinctively flying up to brace against his chest, his own hand moving to her neck to tangle in the fiery tresses of her hair.

They’re standing directly under the archway, still in full view of the room. If he looks up, Jon is certain he will see every norther lord watching them, Robb’s smirk and Lady Catelyn trying to kill him with looks alone as she asks the seven to help her. But he never does. Instead, he keeps his eyes focused on her, on the way her eyes have grown as dark as the midnight sky, on the way she puffs out a breath as her tongue darts out to moisten suddenly dry lips.

He doesn’t bother to lower his voice this time. “What I’m going to do to you is hardly appropriate for children.” Her eyes widen as she realizes his intentions but she makes no attempt to stop him and that’s all the permission he needs as he lowers his head to take her mouth with his.

He intends for it to be brief, a mere touch of lips before he can get her away somewhere more private to show her exactly what he intends to do, but the sentiment goes right out the window as she pushes herself harder against him, her hands threading across his neck to tangle in his dark curls, deepening the kiss. Her teeth nip his bottom lip and he feels her warm tongue licking her way inside and tangling with his own as her body practically melts against his and he is lost.

She is warm and soft and willing and gods, so is he. His hand dips dangerously low on her waist but instead of stopping him, she moans into his mouth, using her grip on his hair to tilt his head so she can deepen the kiss even further. He knows he needs to stop this but that’s the last thing he wants right now.

Eventually he pulls back, more from a need to breathe than any actual sense of propriety – or lack thereof as the case may be. He wants to chase her skin down her jaw and neck, wants to pull her lips back against his but settles for leaning his forehead against hers instead, brushing their noses together. Behind them, h can hear the hushed voices and barely concealed laughs that their little display has pulled forward from the crowd but she is smiling, her cheeks flushed pink whether from embarrassment or excitement, he cannot tell.

His hand finally leaves its firm grip on her waist to grab her own before bringing it to his mouth and grazing her knuckles with a kiss. This seems to please their audience immensely, wolf whistles and cat calls resonating across the stone walls, along with some good natured ribbing about the necessity of heirs. Jon steps back, giving Sansa’s hand a gentle tug and he sees her looking coyly towards the lords, who are now raising their mugs in bawdy toasts aimed at them, before her face splits into a wide grin.

She steps forward before curtseying graciously to them, ever the proper lady, and the hall echoes with laughter and cheers once again. She’s laughing as well when she turns back to him with flushed cheeks before she laces their hands together and they race back to their chambers.

And this time when he kisses her Jon has no intentions to stop.

#jonsa fanfiction #jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #works-by-pax #game of thrones #fanfiction

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7? NSFW? Sternclay? Pretty please 🙇‍♀️

7: It’s our one year anniversary fuck how does one celebrate an anniversary of rivalry and one-sided devotion?

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts. 

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order. 

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal. 

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.”  He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.” 

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern. 

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints. 

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor. 

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche  but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish. 

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me--do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away. 

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“...Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks. 

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before. 

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and  arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.” 

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him. 

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained. 

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it's made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.” 

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.” 

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out. 

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold. 

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up. 

“Please, Barclay,  please.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?” 

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been spying on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.”  He lowers his head meekly. 

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it. 

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.”

“Wait, how can you know that.”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock. 

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment. 

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor. 

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries. 

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans. 

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, agent.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him. 

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH--shit that felt good--amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.” 

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips,  and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor. 

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response. 

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come. 

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.” 

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, yes.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet. 

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly. 

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #super hero au #prompt fill #TAZ Amnesty

[ladycatofwinterfell]

A new marriage and an old one, pt1

Summary: Robb is getting married and Catelyn have been married for many years. This is a happy story about the Starks (mostly Ned and Cat, but also the others) that takes place in a world where AGoT never happened and they’re all living happily in Winterfell.

Rating: I’d say mature, but message me if it should be changed.

English is not my first language, so I apologize if there’s any spelling and grammar mistakes. I hope you enjoy it :)

~*~

She had not seen Ned since morning the day before. He had told her that he had to work all day and didn’t want to be disturbed. Then he had not been in the Great Hall for supper and he had never came to her during the night. Even though he had promised that he would. And he had not been in the Great Hall to break his fast. She just couldn’t find him. He was not in his chambers, not in his solar, not in the godswood, not in any courtyard, not in the Great Hall, not with any of their children. She just wanted a simple good morning-kiss, but Winterfell was too big for her to search all of it, it would take her a week. She would have to go back to her duties and wait until he appeared again.

Robb was to marry in a little more than two weeks and Margaery Tyrell was to be his bride. She was a lovely girl and Catelyn had no doubts about that they could have a good marriage, even if it was arranged. But before the marriage could begin, there had to be a wedding. And a wedding required so so so much preparations. Catelyn had, along with many other things, been tasked with making a veil to match the dress Margaery was to wear and she was not quite finished yet. Catelyn didn’t understand why Sansa, who was better than her at embroidery, had not got that task placed in her lap. Not that Catelyn was bad, she was better than most, Sansa just had an incredible talent and Catelyn had so many other things to do. But Margaery had wanted her to do it and who was she to deny the bride of her son? She knew fully well about the hell with summer snows and horrible cold that Margaery was experiencing, she would do whatever she could to make her time in the North a little better. It was also and incredible honor to be chosen to make a veil for a bride, and it was rude to deny that honor.

She had almost arrived back at her own chambers when she rounded a corner and walked straight into Margaery. Since her future daughter-in-law leaned more towards the petite side, the collision almost sent the poor girl flying. What a good start.

”Oh” she gasped. ”I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

But Margaery only laughed. She was very pretty with her brown doe eyes, sweet features and long chestnut hair.

”No need to apologize, Lady Catelyn” she said. ”No harm was done, now was it?”

”I suppose not” Catelyn said relieved, it would not have been good if she had injured Margaery so close to the wedding.

She expected the smile on the girl’s face to falter, but she remained smiling.

”Have you finished my veil?” she asked.

Damn it, of all tasks she could have asked about, it was the veil. Catelyn had finished so much, just not the veil. She was sure of that it would be finished in time, but it still bothered her that it had taken her so long to make it.

”Uhm, no” she admitted. ”But I was just about to continue with it. And I assure you of that it’s almost done, just give me another day.”

Margaery shook her head slightly and laid a hand on Catelyn’s arm. She looked very assuring in a motherly way for being so young. She was half Catelyn’s age and still Catelyn felt like it was the other way around.

”No, no, no. I didn’t mean to stress you, take the time you need. I know how much you have to do” she said.

She had a lot to do. And still she had just spent more than an hour running around the castle in order to find her husband so that she could get a kiss. Reasonable way to spend time when you were buried in duties.

”You said you were going to work on the veil now, would you mind if I sat with you?” Margaery asked.

”It means bad luck if you if you see the veil before your wedding day” Catelyn immediately said.

That was common knowledge, the bride was not supposed to see the veil before she put it on on her wedding day. If she did see the veil, it meant an unhappy and childless marriage. Highborn girls were taught that early, surely Margaery knew about it.

”I know, but I can sit with my back to you” she insisted.

Catelyn was still unsure. She didn’t want an unsuccessful marriage for her son and his sweet bride. They were so young, they had everything in front of them. Ruining it now would be incredibly foolish.

Margaery leaned closer to her so that the people passing them wouldn’t hear what she said.

”I’m very nervous, and I have a lot of questions” she whispered.

“I’m sure your lady mother would answer your questions“ Catelyn said.

“But she hasn’t done this whole northern thing. You have. I just want to speak to someone who knows what it’s like to do all of this.”

For a second Catelyn saw herself standing there. Nervous and scared about marrying a northern man she barely knew. Walking around with the knowledge of that she would have to live in his frozen castle until the end of her days. The North was not a welcoming place, she really understood why Margaery was nervous about marrying into it all. And she would answer her every question to the best of her ability.

”Of course” Catelyn said compassionately. ”Just make sure you never turn your head.”

”Thank you so much” Margaery said and smiled again.

They walked together the last few steps to Catelyn’s chambers. Catelyn called for a servant to get a fire burning in the hearth, it was so ungodly cold in the castle and she didn’t want to sit with her cloak on. Then she placed Margaery in a chair with her back towards her and took the veil out from the drawer in her desk where she kept it when she was not working on it. It was definitely one of her finer works. Fine white transparent fabric, and she was working on embroidering a golden rose with grey wolves circling around it. It looked quite good, she hoped that Margaery would like it.

”Ask whatever you want, I will answer your every question” she said as she started with her needlework.

She had to distance herself from the fact that it was her son that would be Margaery’s husband and just think of it as if she was to marry a person Catelyn did not know.

”How long have you been married to your lord?” Margaery asked.

Catelyn had to think a bit to answer that question. She had been married for a long time, and it didn’t immediately come to her exactly how long it had been since her wedding. But she managed to remember.

”I think it should be about twenty years now” she finally said. ”And I have been up here for almost nineteen.”

She had spent a year away from her husband just after they married and remained down in the south while he was off at war. She had birthed twins that year. Robb had came first, and Jon second. They were the same age, but Robb had been first and would therefore inherit Ned’s titles as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. At times she felt bad for Jon, he had been so close but still he wouldn’t get more than Hoster, who was her last born son.

”Then I know I can survive at least nineteen to twenty years” Margaery joked.

Catelyn chuckled and could imagine that Margaery smiled even though she couldn’t see her face. She was confident in that both of them would survive a good bunch of more years, even though she at times believed that the cold would be the end of her.

”With a bit of luck it will be even more” she said. “Though it will sometimes feel impossible.”

Margaery was quiet for a while. Catelyn guessed that she was thinking of her next question and waited. She focused on her embroidery, didn’t want to push Margaery.

”I have thought a lot of children” Margaery said after a while. ”I want to give my husband many little ones, is it difficult getting with child? Does the cold climate change anything?”

Personally, Catelyn didn’t have much trouble with getting pregnant. She had been with child pretty regularly since she married. In twenty years she had got Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Lyanna and Hoster. The last two were also twins and had been born two years after Rickon. But she also knew it was hard for some women, her sister for example. In regards to the horrible cold, she didn’t think it make it harder. If anything it had made it easier because it was even more pleasant to have a warm body close when it was very cold outside.

”I haven’t had any trouble with it at all, but I know women that it is hard for. I think it’s different for everyone, some easily gets pregnant, some has to try many times and for longer periods of time in order to get pregnant” she said. “But of course willingness from both parts doesn’t hurt. And the cold doesn’t change anything from what I know. Except for that it’s nice to have someone close.”

”How long did it take for you the first time?”

”I conceived Robb and Jon on my wedding night.”

Margaery mumbled something under her breath that Catelyn couldn’t quite hear, but it sounded like it was something along the lines of ”hard to do it faster”. Catelyn had to bite her lip in order to not laugh.

”What is the bedding ceremony like?” was Margaery’s next question.

Bedding ceremonies was something made up by men. No woman enjoyed it, but they had to endure. Hers had included torn clothing, hands in places where she wanted no one to touch her and comments that she could have lived without. And the actual bedding had not been very good either. Nothing against Ned, but she had not felt much at all.

”I can say that being carried off is the worst part. When it’s time for the bedding most men will be quite deep in their cups, so they won’t be very... careful with you. And they will say bawdy things. At my bedding a man told my husband that my breasts were so good that he wished he had never been weaned. That is the kind of stuff you will hear. You can return it if that makes you feel any better. The bedding itself isn’t bad, but also probably not the best thing you’ve felt that first time. But don’t worry, it gets better.”

Catelyn and Ned had absolutely not done it perfectly that first time. It had been a little clumsy and not very pleasurable. It had taken time to learn each other, but all that time was entirely worth it. She knew every little part of Ned and exactly how to make him feel pleasure. And Ned knew precisely what to do in order for her to come undone in his arms.

”Does it?”

”Practice makes perfect, my lady” was all Catelyn could reply to that.

Margaery giggled.

”Do I have to share a bed with my husband?”

”Not if you don’t want to” Catelyn assured her. ”There are no laws that say that a lord and lady must share a bed. You don’t even have to share chambers if you don’t want to.”

”Do you share a bed?”

”We do.”

Catelyn was too cold to sleep alone. She didn’t understand how she had survived the first two years up in the North when Ned had only came to her occasionally. Or how she had not frozen to death during the night since he seemed to have abandoned her.

In the early years she had been bothered by her lust for Ned, had been ashamed of how wanton she was and had been afraid of that he would be disgusted by it. But he filled her every need each time she wanted him to, whispered about how beautiful she was, how much he enjoyed what they were doing. And with time the fear and shame faded. Though she was still sometimes embarrassed by herself.

”Is religion a problem?”

”Not if you respect each other. You may not believe in his gods, but as long as you respect that he does, and he does the same for you it’s alright. Faith won’t be a cause of conflict.”

Ned had built her a little sept that she could pray in, respected that she didn’t like the godswood and its heart tree. When Margaery married Robb the sept would be hers too. Their husbands could keep the godswood for themselves.

“That direwolf...” Margaery said. “Do I need to be careful? It’s so big. And it’s got big teeth.”

“The direwolves are kind, they won’t hurt you. At least not intentionally. Though they can be quite fearsome, I know. I would lie if I said I wasn’t afraid of them in the beginning.”

She missed the time when they had been pups. They had been easier to handle, easier to feed and not so scary. Now all of them were freakishly large. And though they were tame and loyal like common dogs, they were very different from dogs and a lot harder to take care of.

”Do you ever get used to the cold?”

Catelyn laughed. You didn’t. Never. You walked around wrapped in furs and you slept wrapped in furs and you ate wrapped in furs and you prayed wrapped in furs. You lived your life wrapped in furs. And you were still cold.

”No, you don’t. Not me, at least. I keep my husband in my bed for a reason.”

Margaery laughed a little.

”And here I thought it was love.”

She looked up and saw Ned standing in the doorway. That’s why Margaery had laughed. So he had finally decided to turn up. Where the hell had he been? It had been more than a day since she last saw him.

”It’s really cold up here” she said with a smile. “And you’re warm.”

”Starks were made for cold” he said.

”And I was not, good thing I have you. Now, I’d like it if you told me something. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since we broke our fast yesterday.”

”I can tell you many things, my lady, but not that” he said. ”Not right now, at least. You will get to know soon.”

What an annoying answer. Couldn’t he just tell her where he had been and why he had abandoned her the night before?

”So what are you doing here then, my lord?”

”Do you know what day it is?”

That was not an answer to her question. Not even a little.

”No, Eddard, I don’t know what day it is. The celebration of abandoning-your-wife-and-not-telling-her-where-you-have-been?” she asked.

”Lady Margaery, may I have a moment alone with my wife?”

”Of course, my lord” Margaery said and rose from her chair. ”Thank you so much, Lady Catelyn.”

”Come back if there’s anything more you want to know” Catelyn told her.

Margaery didn’t turn to look at her, but she curtsied anyway.

”Thank you.”

Then she left and Catelyn put the veil on her desk. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at Ned.

”Now tell me, what day is it?”

He closed the door, and walked over to Margaery’s chair. He turned it around so that it faced her and sat down.

”Do you really not remember?” he asked

Catelyn tried to remember. It was the middle of the summer, there were no celebrations. It had been an extremely long summer and a warm one, even up in the north, but there was nothing to celebrate, that wouldn’t come until the the big autumn harvests. And there were no namedays, and the wedding was to take place in two weeks.

”I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember. What day is it?”

”I’ll have to show you something to make you remember then. Come with me” he said and stood up again.

That made her curious. What could he show her that made her remember? Did it have something to do with where he had been?

Ned offered her an arm and she took it as she rose from her chair. He caught her lips in a kiss before she was standing straight. It took her by surprise, but she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She had missed him during the night, the bed was so cold without him.

”I’m sorry for leaving you last night” he said when they broke the kiss. ”I’ll make it up tonight. I promise.”

Why couldn’t it just be tonight already?

”Sounds nice to me” she smiled and kissed him again.

”But before that” he mumbled. ”I will show you what I’ve been up to.”

~*~

#game of thrones #asoiaf #catelyn tully #catelyn stark #ned stark #eddard stark #ned x cat #cat x ned #eddard x catelyn #margaery tyrell #robb stark #robb x margaery #house stark #a new marriage and an old one

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Ghost of the Red Keep, ch7

AO3 Link

Arya spends her seven and tenth name day on the road along the Blackwater Rush.

It shouldn’t have taken them so long to reach the inn that Ned had directed them to just south of Riverrun, but the journey was slow and often complicated. They keep off the main road, avoiding villages if they can, and making camp at night. They couldn’t do anything to call attention to themselves, not when all of the information they can get out of King’s Landing is second hand.

They’re still not entirely sure if what they hear is true.

Arya spends much of the early days of their journey teaching Gendry the best way to stay on his horse. As a city boy, he is not suited to riding long term, and the bouncing in the saddle makes him surly and unpleasant.

Sometimes when it gets bad, Arya dismounts and rides with Mya instead, or sometimes even walks. She insists it’s to spare the poor horse having to carry their combined weight for too long.

Mya’s fun to talk to, so Arya pelts her with questions. She tells the both of them about how she grew up in the Vale, and before she’d been brought to King’s Landing she had led teams of mules up the treacherous rocky roads and paths.

“I do remember our father coming around when I was little, before he was the King,” she tells them, “Mother told me he came even after he lost interest in her. When Jon Arryn came to see me and invited me back to King’s Landing...I guess I just thought maybe I’d gotten lucky and he wanted me around again.”

It makes Arya sad, how little regard Robert had for any of his children.

“You lead mules? That’s pretty amazing,” Arya comments. Mya smiles shyly, petting her steed’s mane. With her short hair and trousers and confidence in the saddle, Arya feels her and Mya are going to be fast friends.

The package that Ned had given her was mostly clothes; smallclothes, a couple spare shirts, her extra breeches, a green wool kirtle she previously only wore when forced and her cloak. It’s only autumn still, but winter is creeping closer and while the Riverlands are far more mild than Winterfell, the snow will still fall.

Strangely enough, Arya finds herself enchanted by the look of the land around her. The trees here have turned, all colors of red and gold, and even the Blackwater Rush is clear and blue this far from the city.

Not that the journey is all pleasant.

Arya manages to sell her gown rather quickly. It’s not for a great sum of money, but enough in case of necessity. Which means that for most of the trip, they sleep outside if it’s dry, and Arya does her best to hunt for their dinner.

Admittedly, after chasing cats, squirells and rabbits are quite easy. Mya, it turns out, knows how to make a simple rope snare, so that works out well enough.

The nights are lonely. They sleep in shifts so there’s someone always keeping watch. When Arya was younger, she’d shared a bed with Sansa, to both of their consternation. Despite this, it had been strange to come to King’s Landing and have a whole bed to herself. Now she doesn’t even know where Sansa is.

Laying in the grass one night, Arya quietly admits,

“I’ve never been away from my family for this long before.”

Gendry starest off into the deep blue of the sky. There’s been a series of increasingly beautiful clear, sunny days, even as the temperature drops.

“I still don’t know how to handle the open space,” Gendry responds slowly, “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in that cellar.”

“Being above the stables wasn’t so bad,” Mya comments from the other side of the fire, “Until it was. I never realized how much I needed other people before until I was stuck in that hayloft not having seen a living person in three days.”

Arya will never let them go back there, not either of them.

It’s during one of these unusually clear, beautiful nights that Arya can’t resist the urge to kiss Gendry again. She just wants a little comfort in this uncertain time, and it seems he feels the same.

Gendry’s hands are winding their way through her hair, when suddenly Arya hears from the other side of the fire,

“If you’re gonna do that ‘stead of keepin’ watch, can’t you at least wait til I’m completely asleep?”

They break apart, embarrassed.

Over the next few days, Arya feels Mya watching her.

When she finally can’t take it, and asks her why she’s staring, Mya tells her,

“Just don’t hurt him okay?”

They’re gathering kindling for the fire, and Arya is so surprised by that that she actually drops her bundle.

“Wh-why would you think that I was going to do that?”

Mya’s face is stony, impassive.

“I had a boy back in the Vale. He was a squire. He said he would marry me when he became a knight proper. Then he did, and his parents made him a match with a highborn girl he’d never met, and I had to watch him marry her.”

Arya sits on the ground, holding the bundle of sticks on her lap. Thinking about this makes her insides ache.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Mya first, “That sounds awful. “

She pokes at the ground with a stick.

“That was always the future I thought I would have. And I didn’t want it, I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t like being proper, and I didn’t want to be a pawn for anyone’s game. I still don’t want any of that.”

Mya sits beside her.

“If I was a proper lady, I would have never met Gendry. Proper ladies don’t wander around in cellars chasing cats. And proper ladies don’t carry on entirely clandestine friendships with bastards, even kings bastards.”

“Friendships?” Mya asks with a raise of an eyebrow.

Arya laughs.

“It started like that. The kissing’s new.”

And some days, the kissing helps keep her from slipping down into despair.

Even the unusually beautiful days are marred by fear. Every twig breaking or distance rock falling makes Arya think they’re being chased by the Queen’s men. Or the king’s men, they’re Joffrey’s now, she supposes.

It’s the morning that Arya notices the horses are nervous. They’re just past Harrenhal when Arya quietly tells them,

“There’s something following us, but I don’t think it’s human.”

Mya’s eyes go wild.

“Do you think it’s a bear, or a shadowcat-’

Arya shakes her head softly.

“I don’t think it will hurt us. It’s been following us for a long time, but it hasn’t struck.”

Arya gets her answer two days down the line. She’s extinguishing the fire when there’s a rustling in the nearby bushes causing her to go stiff. Her hand reaches for Needle, when the huge, gray figure walks straight into the clearing as though she feared nothing.

“Nymeria?” Arya whispers breathlessly. The wolf, now the size of a small pony, went straight towards her, knelt, and rested her snout on Arya’s lap.

Arya’s rubbing her hands through Nymeria’s fur, when she realizes Mya and Gendry are both staring at her in horror. Gendry steps towards her, slowly, carefully, but Mya is still frozen.

“This is Nymeria,” she tells Mya, rubbing Nymeria’s ears and making her back paw thump.

Nymeria continues trailing them, not too close. Not close enough to be spotted by anyone else they wander across, not close enough to spook the horses. But at night, she keeps close. Close enough to help keep them warm as the temperature drops. Arya wonders if part of Nymeria think they’re pups.

Father must have let her out, let her leave the Godswood to follow them the night they fled. This is the thought that propels Arya through the next few days.

Then the rain starts.

Camping had been difficult enough as it was, with their minimal supplies, but they had made due, and between the three of them, they could survive, even if barely, off the land.

The rain stops all of this. Now they are cold and wet, instead of just tired and hungry and frightened. The heavy, freezing downpour soaks their clothes and bedding, extinguishes their fires, and sends most of the prey further into the woods. After less than half a day, Mya begins shivering heavily, and Arya wonders if maybe the poison had some lingering effect on her health after all.

They stay at the first inn they come by, the room costing one of their carefully hoarded coins.

The innkeeper pays them no mind and they try to warm up by the fire and eat their stew and bread. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a real proper, hot meal, Arya thought. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed again.

But it also means that they have to listen to the others in the inn. They’ve managed to avoid others, and they don’t know anyone here, what if Joffrey had spies...Arya sips her stew and tries to keep her head down.

Some of the men in the Inn have apparently come from King’s Landing, and they go on and on about the new boy king. Their words aren’t complimentary, even the ones about King Robert. Some say the queen killed the king and then herself, some say the king poisoned the queen and then drank the poison himself. A few insist that the new king obviously did in his own parents, the sadistic little shit. Arya just tries to ignore what they say. They don’t know if any of it is true.

Which becomes harder and harder when one of the men, a travelling merchant apparently, starts talking about the last execution he saw while in King’s Landing.

“One swing, and his head came clean off! Imagine that, one day you’re hand of the king, the next your head’s on a pike!”

Arya stomach upturns itself, her stew spilling itself back into her bowl.

“‘msorry, “ Gendry tells the innkeeper, helping Arya up and throwing an arm around her shoulder to help cover her face. “I think my sister must still be feeling the road. We’ll get out of your hair.”

Arya can’t even summon the energy to object to being called his sister.

The room they’ve been giving is tiny, with a single bed that looks like it’s about to split at the corners. Arya’s proud of herself that she manages to make it to the bed before collapsing into tears.

The featherbed shifts beneath them when Gendry sits beside her, and her head slumps into the crook of his neck as her tears continue to slip free and the hacking sobs force their way from her throat.

Gendry takes her hands in his and squeezes them. He’s been much more openly affectionate with her lately, though he still pulls back and says they shouldn’t sometimes, and right now Arya is incredibly grateful for it.

Part of Arya’s mind tries to convince herself that what that man said could not be true. That Ned had had a plan, he wouldn’t have been executed.

But she remembers how frightened and frantic his face had been the night they left. How tightly he had held her before letting go. He knew this was a risk.

That doesn’t stop the hole from opening up and sucking in what remained of her heart.

Arya’s sobs have slowed when the door opens softly, and Mya steps in to join them.

“‘M so sorry Arya,” she says, sitting on Arya’s other side.

“Your father was a good man,” Gendry assures her, “Most men in his position wouldn’t have given half a shit about us.”

After some time, Arya’s sobs finally cease, though the ache in her chest remains, and she suspects it will never leave.

“Mya,” she says into the silence, “Did those men down in the main room say anything about who’s Hand of the King now?”

There’s a pause, and Mya bites her lip before answering.

“I didn’t recognize them. Somebody named Baelish.”

Arya’s heart stops and her blood freezes. It’s all she can think about for the rest of the night, even crammed into the tiny bed between Gendry and Mya. She never liked Baelish, and had heard others call him duplicitious for years. It made too much sense. Play on the queen’s spitefulness and dissatisfaction, play on the king’s love of drink. Play on the prince’s sense of unfettered entitlement and desire to be unchallenged. All ending with him holding the power.

“I’ll kill him for this,” she whispers, unsure if Gendry’s still awake to hear. If Baelish still lives, he will die by my hand.”

They call him Littlefinger, and he is not a large man. Arya wonders how many jolli nuts she would have to shove down his throat to make him die right there. She wonders if Needle would be enough to cut through his skinny little neck.

Silence, and Arya assumes she was unheard, before Gendry’s voice responds, low and gravely.

“I think the best way you could get revenge would be to survive. Live through this and tell everyone. What your father wanted to do.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and his eyes are still squeezed shut, but he reaches out and pulls her to his chest. Arya breathes in deeply, letting his scent wash over her. Letting the warmth ease her mind, or at least attempt to.

The rain continues, but much more lightly, and so they leave.

In the days following their night at the inn, Arya still occasionally feels attacks of despair. She’s a girl now without a father. When she starts to slump and her breathing starts to stutter, Gendry will lean forwards and hug her tight to himself.

“I remember when my mum died,” he tells her, whispering into her neck, “I felt like I was all alone. I felt that way until my master took me in, and still sometimes after that. I would have probably fallen to that again in that cellar if I hadn’t met you.”

Arya’s heart begins to flutter. It’s been doing that a lot during very inappropriate times.

“You’re not alone though. Your mother and brothers are still alive, back in Winterfell. And you have us now.”

“You may be away from your family now,” Mya interjects from her horse, “The two of us can act as your family until you can get back to them.”

The closer they get to the Riverrun, the more Arya is stuck on this. Should she leave once they find Harwin? Should she try to go home to Winterfell? She misses her mother terribly, and Robb and Bran and Rickon will be there, and maybe Sansa even made it back somehow…

But she can’t leave Gendry and Mya. Father told them to take care of her, and so she has to do the same for them. She won’t be able to leave until she can be sure they’re safe.

That night, she rolls over and lays her hand on Gendry’s chest and her face on his shoulder. She doesn’t really want to leave them at all.

A few days later, Gendry presents her with a bouquet of half crushed wildflowers. Arya’s so shocked, she can’t even say thank you. She never once in her life thought that anyone would give her flowers. That seemed like something from one of Sansa’s stories, but it feels different here, somehow.

Mya sees her wandering aimlessly with them flowers clutched between her fingers and starts laughing.

“What?”

“Gendry asked me the other day what he should do if he had wanted to court you and you was just a regular bastard like us, not a highborn lady in exile.”

Arya looks down at her hands dubiously.

“And you told him to pick me flowers?”

Mya laughs again.

“Told him to give you a gift of some kind. There’s no forge here, so he can’t make you anything, and I don’t think he’s much of a hand at woodworking. He can’t even linger around offering to fix things for you. And he can’t impress you by hunting, you’re better than him anyway.”

Mya glances over to the end of the clearing, where Gendry’s remounted his horse, pointedly not looking in their direction.

“I think he’s worried you don’t like them,” then softer, “I think he wanted to find some way to make you feel better.”

Arya looks back down at the flowers in her hands, suddenly precious, if still silly. She tucks the stems into the end of her braid, and goes to join Gendry on his horse. She climbs in front of him, not saying a word, but lets her braid fall down her back, where she knows he can see it.

Mya can’t stop herself from laughing at them afterwards.

They find Harwin where Ned said they would, in a tavern south of Riverrun. Tavern might be the proper word, but from the number of pretty young women without much excess clothing, the main purpose is fairly clear, even to Arya.  

She barely recognizes him, his hair has begun to thin and he has grown a beard. His eyes light up seeing her, though she puts a finger to her lips to shush him.

She waits outside with the horses, eyes training through the tavern windows for Harwin to follow her.

“I’ll lead you three off tomorrow, it’s only a few days ride from here, and you’ll be safe. It’s an inn run by two sisters named Heddle. Their father’s passed on, and they’re protecting a group of orphaned children there. They could use the extra hands, and they won’t turn you in.”

Orphaned children, Arya sticks on, she still has a mother at least.

“Harwin-” she interrupts, “Is my father really dead?”

Harwin bows his head.

“I’m afraid so, child. I heard the day I reached the Riverlands. Took all I could not to ride back and get revenge myself. But he was my lord, and now I’m on my own. His ghost would come back and smite me if I didn’t keep you safe though.”

Harwin pauses a long time.

“Once we get you there, you must stay. It’s not just your father-”

Arya’s heart sinks again,

“His discoveries have found their way out of the capital. Your brother’s declared war over his execution, and Stannis and Renly will likely soon follow.”

War. This was what Ned was worried about. Joffrey on the throne, a bastard, but no way to prove it, Robert’s brothers at odds.

And Robb...and to think part of Arya had wanted to run straight for Winterfell. War. Would she lose him too?

Arya coughs to interrupt the conversation.

“I should go rescue my companions and tell them the plan.”

Rescue ends up being the appropriate word. When she re-enters the tavern, the little out of the way table Gendry and Mya are sitting has been joined by a girl with thick black curls who’s leaning a little too far over Gendry’s side.

Mya’s sipping her ale politely, but Gendry’s red as a beet and can’t seem to meet the woman’s eye. Arya starts to laugh as she sits down at the spare chair, and lays a possessive hand on Gendry’s wrist.

“Afraid we can’t spare the coin for your services, so you’d be best spending your energy elsewhere.”

The woman nods.

Arya cocks her head as the woman retreats. As soon as she is out of earshot Arya chuckles.

“Oh thank the gods,” Gendry mutters, still red in the face, “I was one inch away from claiming you were my wife and were right outside.”

Arya feels her ears turn pink.

“It’s good you don’t seem interested, she looked like she could have been one of your sisters too.”

“She said her name was Bella,” Mya interjects from the otherside of the table.

“We’ll add Bella to the list then. The lost bastards of House Baratheon.”

The three of them leave in the morning with Harwin riding ahead. The temperature has turned and every day gets colder and colder. Nymeria circles closer to them at night, and the wind turns. Every once and a while they have to ride further into the wood because other riders appear, and they don’t know who they are. They could be Tully men, but the Riverlands are too central. Lannisters could ride north, the kingsmen could have followed them west, and bandits are a problem across all the kingdoms.

Eventually the inn comes into view, a squat building in a clearing. There’s not much activity until they approach, but there is smoke coming from the chimney. When they dismount their horses, a young woman with brown hair and a long face comes through the door.

“Told you we can’t take any more orphans Harwin, we have enough of a time keeping track of this lot.”

After she says that, another girl, maybe Arya’s age, and looking much like she comes out too, flanked by a gaggle of children of many ages.

“One or two might be orphans true,” Harwin starts, “But they need far less looking after.”

The woman- Harwin had told them her name was Jeyne- looks them up and down.

"Are people looking for you?"

Arya nods softly.

"Do they know what you look like?"

The three of them exchange a glance, and Arya shrugs.

"Don't think so."

“What can you lot do for us?”

“I’m a smith,” Gendry speaks. “I can fix anything you might need, even if travelers don’t come by much.”

“And I can hunt,” Arya adds, “Could be useful at keeping the small ones fed.”

“We have two horses with us,” Mya says last, “And I’m good enough at fetching and carrying.”

Arya looks at Jeyne, pleadingly she hopes. Eventually, she sighs.

“Good enough,” she says, lips pressing into a line. “Come on in and get warm, you too Harwin.”

Harwin enters the inn first, the smell of hot stew on the fire enticing them away from the cold.

Arya reaches out to hold Gendry’s hand.

“Winter is coming,” she says, “In winter you shouldn’t say no to a hot meal and a bed.”

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #fic

[tigereyes45]

@evanlilydanser Here is your request! i hope you enjoy it!

As the Storm’s End enters Arya’s line of sight a chill crawls up her spine. It was the first time in years that Arya felt nervous about anything. She stands proudly and grips the railing tightly. She was Arya Stark. Kingslayer, world savior, Azor Ahai to some, and the daughter of Ned and Cat Stark. She would not fear returning to a place she never called home. After all, she was heading back to Winterfell after this. Davos already swore to deliver her maps to King’s Landing once she got them to him.

“I can see the castle! It’s so big!”

“Not as big as Winterfell my little Snowflake.” Arya teases as the little girl next to her starts to get excited.

“Is this Westeros?”

“Yes, it is. You see that is just the bay up ahead but the towers in the distance are your father’s castle. Then we’ll go to visit your aunt and uncles.” Arya promises as she has promised a hundred times before.

“Like Uncle Bran. The raven man who visits my dreams?” She bends down and wraps her arms around her daughter. She didn’t fear the raven’s visits but her daughter’s behavior was often erratic afterward. The last time the Raven had visited was a week ago. The night after she had decided to sail back home to Westeros. She was twice as energetic afterward. Sometimes even picking up Needle and running throughout the ship below deck with the weapon swinging wildly in her hands. It was days before she had calmed down. Arya had had to take Needle and hid it so she didn’t hurt anybody. Now after long travels, her daughter would finally be able to put faces to all the names she knows.

Arya sets her daughter on the rail in front of her. Instinctually her hands grab for the rail. Arya wraps her arms around her daughter’s stomach as her small hands hold them both against the rail. Seven years she had been gone. Seven years she had spent mapping out the west that was West of Westeros. The mysterious seas and lands no others have had the chance to know.

Arya had seen so much of it. Almost all of it with her daughter by her side. She squeezes her daughter closer to her as they get closer to the land. She had only written Gendry one letter. A letter to tell him that she was pregnant with his child back after she had gone a third month without her moon blood. She never got a reply so she never wrote another letter. When she wrote to her sister about deciding to come back Sansa had insisted she dock south at Storm’s end first. When Ser Davos sent her a letter he wanted much the same.

So here Arya was returning home to confront her child’s father and her family. She hopes her findings are enough to smooth over any hurt with her family. Yet with Gendry she knows it won’t affect things. It won’t fix them.

“Mommy are you okay?” Her daughter asks as she squirms in her grip. She wiggles until she was able to look at her mother’s face.

“Of course it is my little kitten,” Arya promises as she pats down her daughter’s hair. Her hair was a gorgeous black. While her father’s had looked like coal her’s was an inky color. Solid, and glossier then Gendry’s ever was. Her face was long but her jaw was shaped like his as well. Arya remembers tracing her fingers along that jaw before leaving. It was all in an attempt to remember him as well as she could before she would leave. Was she remembering it well at all?

“You’re sad.” Her kitten claims as she frowns.

“No, I’m not sad. I just haven’t been back for a long time.” Arya explains.

“Docking! We’re docking!” The men shout back and forth as the crew prepares to dock and tie down the vessel. Arya squeezes her arms around her daughter once more as the men behind them start running back and forth. Her kitten always became frightened whenever the men began to run on the deck. Ever since Addam fell off and drowned when he went running. Arya had told her it was only because it was raining and the deck was extra slippery. None of that helped, however.

“Mom! There are people there!”

Arya chuckles as her daughter starts to count them. She never realized how much she took for granted that people worked on docks. This would be her daughter’s first time meeting someone who wasn’t their crew. Hopefully, it’ll be a positive experience for her. Arya lifts her little girl up, setting her on top of her shoulders.

“Is my little kitten ready to meet Westeros?”

“Yeah! I’m going to kick it!”

“You can’t kick a whole country sweetie.”

“She can try!” Shouts Durran her second in command. He was wearing his finest clothes today in anticipation of getting to see home. The Stormlands man had sailed for two decades before Arya had found and hired him in Kingslanding. He had almost as much of an interest in the West as she did.

“Uncle Durran! Wanna kick Westeros with me?” She asks excitedly basically jumping on her mother’s shoulders.

“I thought I did when I left it. Or that I would kick it before I got back at least.” Durran jokes making a swift move across his neck with his finger for Arya to see.

“Glad you survived. Now you can help guide us to the castle in Storm’s End.” Arya points out pleasantly.

He offers her a raised eyebrow. “I thought the captain would want to go North first.” He points out as her little kit reaches out for him. Durran takes her in his own arms and holds her still as Arya looks back out towards the docks.

“In time, Durran, I will.” She looks softly at her daughter. Her black hair flying in the wind. The way the strands fly reminds her of the way a squid’s tentacles move when it was first being dragged out of the water. She almost looks more like a Greyjoy then a Baratheon. Arya frowns as the thought floats through her head.

“We are going to visit my father first!” her little kit announces. Durran hugs her tighter to him careful to press a hand over the ear that wasn’t against his chest.

“Does the lord know you’re coming?”

“His Lordship probably does.” She looks over to see they were being tied down at the docks now. “I guess we’ll find out if my brother sent him notice or not.”

“Pardon me captain, but I know we were out of paper yet I feel like you should have tried to send some sort of message to him. Lords don’t like sudden interruptions.” Durran’s voice is low as he talks. His eyebrows burrow down and his usual smile was gone. He was concerned about them. After all these years away Arya’s crew had grown to be her family. Her pack. His concern was valid but Durran didn’t know Gendry. No one knows Gendry like she does.

“Don’t worry Durran. It all be okay.”

“If you say so Captain. I still insist that Coratt, Rufus, and I come with you.”

“If you three come who should we trust command of the ship with?”

“Hugh can watch it. He been taking on more responsibility as of late. I trust him not to run off with the ship.” Durran explains letting go of her daughter’s ears as the girl pulls at his hand.

“Fine.” Arya looks around to see that Hugh was currently hanging off the side of the ship. He tugs on the rope to check it’s strength. “Hugh guess what?” She shouts across the deck. Hugh looks up with surprise. He lets go of the rope for a minute only to immediately start falling back. Arya offers Durran a speculative glance. Only for him to smile proudly as Hugh scrambles back up by using the rope.

“You’re in charge while we’re gone! Corrat, Rufus, you’re both coming with us to Storm’s End!” She rolls her eyes as they Durran’s smile grows. “Happy now?”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Good. Now, do you wanna go on shore Little Cat?” Her daughter cheers as she scrambles out of Durran’s hold. Arya grabs Durran’s shoulder as her daughter runs towards the ramp the men were still setting up. She squeezes it before offering a small smile. After everyone, she lost Arya was finally home. All those years without payment, without ever knowing what would happen next he had remained steadfast. A loyal ally on the cold, un-caring seas.

“Your welcome milady.” Durran rests his hand on top of hers. He squeezes it in return as Arya watches her daughter touch Westerosi soil for the first time in her life.

“I’m no lady Durran.”

“No. I don’t imagine you ever were Captain.”

“Mother!” As her kitten’s scream fills the air Arya’s heart constricts. Feeling as if someone had just punched her square in the chest, she runs. Letting go of Durran Arya pulls out her valyrian dagger. She leaps over the side railing of her ship and lands on the edge of the boardwalk.

Almost immediately she spots her men running for her daughter. As she runs with them she finally spots her. Her daughter was standing in front of a man looking as if she was about to cry. The man however was was on his knees waving his hands up and down. His face was covered in a hood, and judging from the rest of his attire he was a commoner.

“Don’t cry! Please stop crying,” the man begs. As he looks up and sees all fourteen of the men and her running at him his face pales.

Arya grabs her kitten and pulls her away as Tomas and Brandon tackle the man down. She points her dagger at him as she looks over her daughter. “Are you hurt? Why did you scream?”

“I was running to land and then out of nowhere, the man was there. I could get past him. He looked scary. Mom I think he’s a giant!”

“He didn’t touch you, or try to pick you up?”

“No.” Her daughter looks up a ther with big, confused steel grey eyes.

“Sweetie there are going to be lots of people you won’t recognize. You should only scream like that if you feel unsafe.”

“But he’s a giant!”

“The last giants died in the last great war of Westeros. I’ve told you that my dear. Just because the men of the crew aren’t as tall as him doesn’t make him a giant.”

“You’re shorter than all your men!” The man announces boldly as he tries to push off Tomas. Brandon was barely helping to keep him down as his arm stays on the man’s shoulders.

“You should know better than to scare a little girl.” Arya retorts waving Brandon off. The brown haired riverlander motions for Tomas to let go.

“Yeah well you’re little girl shouldn’t be alone on the docks. I thought she was lost.”

Arya holds her daughter’s hand tightly as she glares at the man. “My name is Arya Stark. Sister to Queen Sansa Stark of the North. If you touch my daughter again my men won’t be the ones you have to deal with.”

Somehow the man’s hood had stayed on during the attack. His face was covered but she could see his lips make a little o shape. He hadn’t been expecting royalty to come through. Arya knew she shouldn’t be so quick to threaten a stranger, but strangers were dangerous in Westeros. They often brought death on their heels.

“Throwing titles around like that. How do I know you are who you say you are? Princess Arya has been lost for years.”

“I’ve returned.” She growls through gritted teeth.

“Aye and with a little girl!” He was angry, his tone vicious and accusatory. “From what I heard Arya Stark loved no man. Now you say you’re here and even have a child. How old is that girl?”

“I’m eight years.” Her daughter answers as Durran comes up. He rests a hand on Arya’s shoulder. His eyes asking her what she wanted to be done.

“Please take my daughter Durran. I do not want us to have to chase after her on our entire way to Storm’s End.”

“Yes Captain Stark,” Durran adds emphasis on her name as he takes her daughter.

The man was as quiet as stone now. His lip was pressed in a thin line. The edges of his frown twitching as he stares at her. “I imagine that’s the girl’s father. He should better watch her too. What if I had been someone dangerous?”

“I still don’t know that you aren’t.” She retorts lifting her blade up towards his neck. Arya doesn’t even bother to respond to the notion of Durran fathering her child. This random man had no right to that information. She takes a few steps at the man. His frown deepens as she gets closer. His arms were shaking at his sides and from the lack of bulges in his pockets he had no money. He could have been trying to ransom her little girl. Unless he spoke the truth and honestly had no idea who she was. Arya somehow doubted that. There weren’t many women who were captains around this part of Westeros. When she was only her blade’s length away from the man she realizes the sides of his face were wet. He was crying.

“Who are you?”

The man pulls his head down furiously. Wet, blue eyes meet her gaze. Arya freezes as she realizes that this was his lordship, Gendry Baratheon. He takes a step closer to her, completely ignoring the tip of the dagger. It digs into his shirt as he takes another step closer. Arya pulls the weapon away from him as Gendry speaks.

“Bran said to watch for your ship. I’ve been here for three weeks. Ever since I received his letter. Davos has been taking care of Storm’s End for me.” He explains still watching her. His tears still flowing freely from his eyes. “You have a daughter?” His voice sounds heartbroken. Arya suddenly becomes acutely aware that her men have all started heading back to the ship. All save for Durran who remained steadfastly by her side. She looks down at his feet. She knows she has to look at some part of him. Even if it wasn’t his face like he deserved.

“We have a daughter,” she explains suddenly feeling breathless. She waits a moment for him to yell, to accuse her of lying. To demand that she leaves, but when nothing happens she looks back at him. He was staring at their daughter now. Arya reaches out for his face. She stops herself and leaves her cupped hand there. In the air between them unsure of if she was even allowed to touch him anymore. She hadn’t imagined it going like this. Arya hadn’t felt so unsure of everything when she first arrived. How had he changed everything in a matter of moments? How was he always able to do that with her?

“Her name is Cat.”

“Your mother,” he realizes finally looking back at her. “Arya, why did,”

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if I would ever come back. Then there was an accident and we haven’t had ink in years. We ran out of paper a year ago. So only Bran knows.” Only because Bran did not need letters to know.

Gendry looks hurt as he grabs her cupped hand. He pushes his cheek into it and holds her there.

“He should have told me. You should have,” His breath catches and Gendry squeezes his eyes shut. “Gods Arya I’ve waited so long for you to return. I thought you dead, and now,” he looks back at Little Cat. His tears slowly dry up and his lips curl up. “I’ve missed so much.”

Arya rubs her thumb over his cheek. “We’ll catch each other up.” She makes the promise without thinking. She realizes after that they may never be caught up. He had missed so much of their daughter’s life thanks to her. She had stolen it all away from him. From them.

“Little kitten, meet your father.” She nods to Durran. The man sets Cat down and whispers something into her ear.

“My father is a giant?” The girl asks in all seriousness.

The three adults laugh together at her. “She’s bull-headed,” Arya explains apologetically.

“Just like her father.” Gendry lets go of her and bends back down to Cat’s level. This time with his hood down and a smile on his face. “Hey there Cat.”

“Are you my Uncle Jon? You have dark hair like Jon is supposed to.”

Arya sighs. “Cat I just said this was your father. Don’t be rude.”

Cat laughs and holds her stomach as she bends over. “I know that. I was playing a joke. Uncle Bran said dad likes jokes.”

Gendry looks at Arya, confused. Arya shrugs and motions to her head. Bran was always doing weird mind things. Gendry smiles, half-understanding. That was as much as anyone could understand. “I have no idea where your Uncle Bran got that idea, but I am far taller than your Uncle Jon.”

Arya steps away as the two talk. Durran follows her lead. Gently he takes her arm and guides her a few feet away from them. His face was a mix of joy, and concern. “Captain?” He looks back at Gendry and Cat. “Are you sure this is okay? If this is how your Lord Gendry reacts, how will your family?”

“Better than him,” Arya admits smiling at her family. Sansa and Gendry were the two she was expecting to react the worse. If this was how little drama there was from Gendry then she expects even less from her sister. Especially since Bran had more than likely told her or Tyrion. If it was the latter then Tyrion had definitely written to her sister. Cat grabs Gendry’s hands and compares them to her own. When she grabs parts of her hair and places them on top of his head Arya realizes she was seeing how much of her father was in her. A child’s curiosity was an amazing thing.

“It’s good to be home.” As Arya speaks Durran smirks, and for a moment she thought she saw a strand of white in the first mate’s hair. As she blinks the sun out of her eyes it’s gone again.

“Welcome home Arya Stark.”

#game of thrones #got fanfic #fanfic #gendrya #gendry baratheon #gendry waters #arya stark #child oc #gendrya child #au #ff #fanfiction #got request #game of thrones fanfic #Oc crew #yes that is a subtle hint #Yes I think #jaqen h'ghar #is still following arya

[missjillyv1991]

The Lone Wolf of House Lannister

From my FanFiction account with the same username, here is my longest running fic :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing: A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of GRRM and I wish that I owned Game of Thrones so that the final season was not such a friggin disaster.

                          Chapter 1: When the Past Comes Knocking

It was midday by the time Lyra awoke to the hot, bright Dornish sun. Groaning at a bright ray shining directly into her face, thus making her skin hot, she pulled a pillow over her head as a shield against the offending light and its heat. Last night she had celebrated her nineteenth name day with her family. It was a quiet, reserved family affair; rather than the large celebration she had for her eighteenth name day, which included many of the nobility of Dorne. Still though, to this very day, Lyra felt embarrassed about the whole affair, but her family had insisted that her eighteenth name day be a grand affair.

It's the day you reach majority! You must have a celebration, was what her mother, Meria Martell, had argued when Lyra told her that she didn't want an affair of a celebration that day.

I'm not a Martell! Lyra had stubbornly grumbled back to her mother.

You may be a Stark in name, but you are still half Martell. Besides, t'would be inappropriate not to have a celebration for the future Lady Stark of Winterfell, Lyra's uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, had argued to her response. After stubbornly arguing back and forth between her mother and uncle, Lyra realized that neither would budge on the issue. In the end, Lyra relented and her mother planned a rather grand affair for her day of majority. In fact, the even was so grand that even her betrothed, Robb Stark, traveled all the way down to Sunspear for the event; of course, he was accompanied by his mother, Aunt Cat, who is the current Lady Stark, Robb's sibling's, the lady-like Sansa, the ornery Arya, little Bran, and the Stark's ward, Theon Greyjoy.

Thankfully though, for her nineteenth name day, Lyra's Martell family allowed for a more reserved family affair; however, could one ever actually call any Martell celebration a "reserved, family affair"? Of course not! Everybody was drunk off of the finest wine in Dorne, even Prince Doran! The wine, of course, being compliments of Prince Doran himself whenever there was any kind of celebrating in his household. Lyra's other uncle, however, the fiery passionate Prince Oberyn, was always drunk at every celebration he has ever been to; unlike his older brother, Prince Doran, who rarely got drunk and always has a calm, collected demeanor. In fact, sometimes Prince Doran could be so cool headed that Lyra even wondered if he was actually a descendent of the Rhoynar. Of course, always drinking alongside Oberyn, his paramour, the exotic and equally passionate Ellaria Sand, was always drunk along with him. In addition, Oberyn's bastard daughters, Lyra's cousins, who were collectively known as the Sand Snakes, were typically drunk as well if they were old enough so stay up all night at feasts. There was also Princess Arianne, Lyra's buxom oldest cousin, and Prince Doran's heir, who drank a lot as well; unlike her younger brother, Prince Trystane, who tended to drink less, much like his father. Finally, there was Lyra's mother, Princess Meria, the 'little sister' of Doran and Oberyn, who had insisted that her only child's name day not go unnoticed at least to her family; which all led to last night's fun! With all the drinking and laughing and stories shared, Lyra couldn't help but to actually enjoy her name day. Something she didn't do often.

For Lyra, having the family involved in any celebration was always a painful reminder that her father was never around; the Mad King saw to that before she was old enough to remember him. The most painful reminder these affairs brought these days, though, was the fact that Lyra was a Stark and not a Martell. Granted, Lyra was proud to be a Stark, but at times, she also wished that she was a Martell like the rest of her family. Her father was Brandon Stark, and his only legitimate heir, but Lyra had grown up in Sunspear and she knew the Dornish better than the Northmen. Needless to say, she had rather complicated feelings about her place in the world. Lyra was the sole Stark in a family of Martells; who, to their credit, always treated her as family and always made her feel like their home was also her home; a place to feel like she belonged. Still, though, no matter how much she was loved by her Martell family, it was a reminder that she was all but actually banished from what should be her true "Homeland": the North.

Lord Eddard Stark, Lyra's lord uncle whom she rarely saw, was a "Man of Honor", as they call them outside of Dorne, and he did not feel right about the fact that his older brother's only child, the child who should be the true heir to Winterfell, would never receive her title; which is why she has been betrothed to her cousin, Robb Stark, Ned's oldest son and heir to Winterfell. Ever since Lyra was eleven and Robb was ten they were told that they would one day be wed, which is why her and her mother make a trip to the North once a year and stay with the Starks for a month, without the other Martells. It always feels foreign and strange to Lyra every time they make these trips; she was so used to the familiarity and the natural inclusion of the Martells that her Stark family, the family that is supposed to be her main family, always felt more like friendly strangers with whom she spent a month with once a year. To their credit, the Stark children and Ned always did their best to make her feel welcome, which made her feel guilty because she knew that the North would never be her real home. However, Aunt Cat, Lady Stark, is cordial to Lyra, but she also keeps her at a distance, like Jon Snow, Ned's bastard. Lyra's mother always said that Aunt Cat treated her this way because she didn't understand the love her and Brandon had for each other, but Lyra knew better. When she was old enough to understand the relationship between Jon and Aunt Cat, and why Cat hated her kind, noble cousin so much, Lyra realized that Cat was a proud woman and Jon's presence wounded her pride, which is why she also could not be close with Lyra; like Jon, Lyra's existence wounded her pride because she was the constant reminder that Brandon broke his oath to marry her by marrying Lyra's mother on an impulse instead. Though Lyra supposed that she should feel lucky that she was not treated with open contempt like Jon, and that Cat actually tried to be an aunt to her, but her pride always got in her way. Apparently, at least according to Robb, Aunt Cat's pride and inability to accept Jon's meer existence, as well as her pride and inability to be a proper aunt and future mother-in-law to Lyra, caused quite some contention between Lord and Lady Stark. Lyra tried to be understanding and to see these situations from her aunt's point of view, but it still hurt Lyra that she was being punished for her father's broken oath, and Aunt Cat's open contempt and loathing of Jon absolutely made her blood boil to the point that she would sometimes excuse herself to avoid an outburst of anger towards her future mother-in-law.

The Houses Martell and Stark, of course, always enjoyed the political aspect of this marriage alliance; together, they had Westeros closed in from the North and the South (though Dorne was not "technically" The South). Even the children got to enjoy this alliance in various ways; for one, Sansa got to enjoy the alliance when the small Martell party brought their annual crate of lemons as part of their gift to House Stark for having them as guests every year. As for Theon Greyjoy, he got to enjoy the Dornish handmaidens accompanying the Martell party. Robb, on the other hand, got to enjoy the presence of his betrothed, something he did not truly care for or look forward to until he was about fourteen years; as children, Lyra and Robb were always more or less playmates. They would usually either practice archery or spar with training swords, which Lyra usually beat him at, thus earning her the response from little Robb that as his future lady he was simply letting her win; or Lyra would join Sansa, Jon, and Robb in playing knights and maidens. During this game, Sansa and Lyra would dress up in their finest dresses and borrow their mothers' jewels, while Robb and Jon would duel for their favor. When they all became older, however, these games stopped and Robb and Lyra's relationship and interactions changed.

When Robb was around fourteen years of age, Lyra began to see him differently; rather than another child to play with, Robb and herself began to see each other as something more akin to romantic partners to whom were betrothed. She supposed it was likely due to the fact that he was beginning to reach manhood and finally became taller than her, but Lyra began to actually flirt with Robb. A gesture which he was initially shy to return, but gradually Robb began to do so happily as they spent much more time together, alone; which sometimes led to some rather scandalous activities. At this point, Lyra found herself beginning to find Robb to be quite handsome. Lyra had always found her uncles, Ned and Benjen Stark, to be rather handsome men; in fact, Lyra found many men with the traditional Northern build and coloring to be quite handsome. Robb, despite having inherited more Tully features like his mother, was built more like the Northmen; having a stronger, taller, and more rugged build like his Stark relatives, a trait he shared with almost all of his siblings. Dornishmen were typically average in height, but very lean and graceful in build, which are the kind of men Lyra was used to seeing. She supposed that perhaps the reason why she found Robb so much more appealing than the Dornishmen who often tried to woo her, was because he was a Northman like her father; or perhaps, he simply seemed more exotic to her than the Dornishmen.

Lyra, on the other hand, had inherited more Martell features, but she did still have some of the tell-tale Stark traits from her father; she was a little taller than the average Dornish woman, had thick long waves of dark hair, and a long face like the Starks, but she was built lean, had dark eyes, and olive skin (albeit fair olive skin, unlike the traditional Dornishman) like the Martells. In addition, her nick-name in childhood had been "horse face", a trait Lyra shared with her cousin Arya Stark, and something the Stark boys and Theon occasionally made fun of her for. However, the way Robb has looked at her during her visit when she was sixteen years, told her that he no longer found her face to be so long. In fact, he even teased her good naturally about the fact that she had "grown into her face quite prettily". For years, their houses had been trying to make them spend more time together in order to spark romantic interest, which had been all for naught until then. Now Lyra and Robb enjoy their time together, and he feels more like a friend and suitor now. Robb may not be passionate or fiery like her or her family, he was more cold and reserved like his father in Lyra's opinion. However, Lyra did not mind this because in turn, Robb was kind, noble, and honorable; he was a good man. Despite the fact that Lyra was bored in his company sometimes, she felt like she could marry him and be happy as his lady wife. Admittedly, she may need to get used to the North, but eventually she felt she could be happy being the Lady Stark of Winterfell, a title she should have had since her father's death. A title she would soon have since Robb had already had his eighteenth name day some time ago and their families were now talking about marriage arrangements during their last visit to Winterfell.

Despite all of this however, Lyra would say that she was probably closest with Jon Snow out of all of her Stark cousins. It was Aunt Cat's ire towards her, and to a much greater degree, Jon Snow, which ended up being the whole reason why her and Jon were so close. Lyra and Jon would spar with sticks as children, and when they got a little older, they would even sneak a spar here and there with sparring swords. Robb would never spar with Lyra after he was fourteen years, claiming it as "unfair" and "dishonorable" for him to fight a future lady, especially if said lady were to be his lady one day.

*****************************************************************************************************As Lyra was just about to doze off again, she got knocked in the face by something furry.

"Meraxes!" It was Lyra's cat who had jumped on to her pillow, the cat she had received from her deceased uncle, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, when she was about five. Her and her parents were visiting King's Landing and she had befriended her cousin, Princess Rhaeneys. Prince Rhaegar and Princess Ellia were so pleased that both girls had become so close, that they each received a kitten to celebrate the occasion. Rhaeneys had named her cat "Balerion" after one of Aegon the Conqueror's dragons; so Lyra, being just a little girl and wanting to emulate her royal cousin and friend, felt inclined to name her cat "Meraxes", especially since that was the name of the dragon that her cousin's namesake rode, Queen Rhaenys, one of King Aegon's sister wives.

"Silly cat..." Lyra muttered as she gently lifted the elderly cat down.

"Ugh...seven hells...", Tyene mumbled to herself, waking up. "Did we really fall asleep talking all night?" Tyene questioned Lyra.

"Yep", Lyra answered, stretching. "You were going on and on and on about how much you fancied Prince Doran's newly pledged knight", Lyra rolled her eyes at her cousin. Tyene was so fierce as a warrior but she tended to fall for knights like a love-sick maiden.

"It's midday, let's see if there's still any breakfast left", Lyra said splashing the cold water on her face. Drying her face with a towel, she began brushing her hair down, which had become rather volumized and frizzy from sleeping. Lyra considered herself rather fortunate to inherit straighter, finer hair than Tyene, who kept hers short so that it was easier to "deal with" as she had put it. Lyra generally just wore her hair down and brushed, preferring the freedom, but she did have the sides pinned back a little so that they would stay out of her way. She also normally wore black kohl liner and lined her eyes similar to a wolf's, it highlighted the brown in her eyes and made them more prominent while also protecting them from the rays of the Dornish sun; but now, Lyra was tired and just wanted to eat. Throwing on a light purple dress and black belt, she waited for Tyene to finish getting ready, then they went down to the kitchens to, embarrassingly, pick at the remnants of fresh fruit brought out for this morning's breakfast.

*****************************************************************************************************Getting down to the kitchens and seeing that all of the fruit from breakfast had been consumed, Lyra and Tyene had to beg for some bacon, cheese and toast. The head chef finally relented, called it a late birthday gift to Lyra, and told them not to make a habit out of it. Bringing their food to the main Dinning Hall, where the rest of the Martells were having their midday meal, the two girls sat down with the rest of the family.

"Hey!" Tyene exclaimed to her older sisters, Obara and Nymeria, "you could have woken us up you know!"

"Oh but little sister!" Obara sarcastically said, "you were so besotted with Prince Doran's new knight that we thought to give you and Lyra the day to recover from all the talking Tyene probably did". Obara was goading Tyene, something Nymeria usually did; but Obara thought it shameful that her little sister acted this way around knights.

Tyene was about to retort back when Doran's Head Guard, Areo Hotah, came in. "Lady Lyra", Areo addressed her, "Prince Doran has just received a raven from Winterfell and requests your presence. Your mother has already arrived. I would be happy to escort you". Areo was scary-looking, as a hulking fierce warrior wielding an axe-like spear should look, but he was always very calm and polite. Doran and Oberyn often spoke of his ferocity in battle, but they also joked about how polite and professional he was outside the battlefield.

Lyra trailed behind Areo Hotah as he led her down the hallways towards Prince Doran's solar. It was a beautiful day with a mild breeze. Maybe it's cool enough to go for a ride later, Lyra absentmindedly thought to herself.

Arriving at Prince Doran's solar, Areo announced Lyra to her own uncle and mother, who looked as if they were in the heat of a passionate argument. Lyra's presence interrupting their argument, they both stared at her a moment before her mother spoke.

"Lyra", Meria said, glaring daggers at Doran, "the Prince of Dorne has something to tell you".

Prince Doran, considered his sister for a moment with a look of distaste before composing himself back into his usual cool manner. "Robb Stark has called in his banner men in the North", he began.

Lyra, quickly realizing the gravity of the situation, sat down and seriously listened to Doran's words. Quickly sobering up.

"He is proclaiming himself 'King in the North'", Doran continued, occasionally glancing at the scroll, "he wants to expedite your marriage, making you 'Queen in the North'. In return, he wants my men to fight in his war. He is promising that in return, he will help Dorne, the North, and the Riverlands break away from the Crown. King Robb tells us that upon winning against the Crown, Dorne will be freed from the Seven Kingdoms and regain it's former glory as an independent kingdom of Westeros", Doran finished. He must have then seen the worry written all over Lyra's hungover face because he added, "Do not worry child. You will not be going". At this Lyra's mouth dropped.

"W-wha", Lyra was lost for words. The Martells hated the Lannisters and the Crown because it was held by King Robert Baratheon, the man who wanted the deaths of Lyra's cousins by her deceased aunt, Ellia, and uncle, Rhaegar Targaryen. The man who also upheld Ned's claim to Winterfell over Lyra's by Royal Decree so that Ned's claim would be uncontested, and so that Dorne, fighting alongside the Targaryens, would not lead the North against his rebellion. Dorn had the opportunity to finally get revenge on the Lannisters, specifically Lord Tywin, and Baratheons.

"What in the Seven Hells?! Why not?!" Lyra exclaimed to her uncle the Prince. Why were the Martells not taking this "golden" opportunity that would make Dorne an independent kingdom again, make Lyra a queen, regain her seat in Winterfell, and fulfill their long held family revenge in one bloody war? Doran's gaze hardened, reminding Lyra that though he is a gentle ruler and an old, wheelchair bound man, he was still THE Prince of Dorne.

"Because King Robb may have won every battle so far, but he cannot win this war", Doran spat this more to Lyra's mother, Meria, who was still glaring daggers at him, rather than to Lyra herself. "Tywin Lannister is a seasoned general, and he has won every war he's ever fought". Doran looked back at Lyra continuing, "I have much better plans concerning your future than for you to become the fallen queen of a traitor king".

Softening his gaze at his niece, Doran then asked, "Do you understand why I cannot let you marry Robb Stark?"

Lyra calmed herself and considered Doran's words about Lord Tywin Lannister. He is the same man who slaughtered House Reyne and effectively kept the Seven Kingdoms at relative peace while the Mad King was tearing it apart. After much consideration concerning Tywin's long history in battles and in wars, Lyra begrudgingly came to the conclusion that Doran was right.

"I understand why Prince Doran", Lyra finally answered.

"Good", he replied, relaxing back into his wheelchair, "now, go on and have your midday meal with your cousins".

As Lyra got up to leave her uncle and mother, Doran suddenly spoke to her just before pulling the door open to exit his solar.

"Please-" Doran suddenly stopped Lyra as she was exiting,"tell your uncle Oberyn that our sister and I would like a word".

With that, Lyra left for the Main Dinning Hall.

Princess Meria, however, was not easily pacified on the matter. "Doran, THIS is our opportunity! Why are we not taking it?! An alliance like this with the North would create the perfect strategy to become and remain independent again as a kingdom! The northern most regions in alliance with the southern most region would create the perfect pincer move against the Crown! We could have Tywin and that awful King, Joffery, on their knees, begging for mercy within two years!"

"Because sister", Doran drew himself up before his younger sister, "I am The Prince of Dorne and I have spoken on the matter. In addition, your daughter's inheritance predicament gives her an opportunity for an even bigger future than Queen in the North or Lady Stark of Winterfell that will actually last". Doran looked at his little sister angrily, while she stared at him with surprise. "Now, if you will sit down and listen to me, you will understand why; and if you wait and be patient enough for the results, it will please you more than this proposal and her previous future".

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

End Note: What do you think? Have I set it up well? More will be posted soon!

#game of thrones #jaime x oc #fanfiction #star/martell OC