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fadingdaggerr · 1 year

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part one | part two | part three | part four

pairing: brienne of tarth x gn!reader

summary: every journey ends with you coming home | 8.1k

warnings: got s8 spoilers, canon-typical violence, angst, mentions of death/dead bodies (non-descriptive), injury, lesbians being lil gay creatures, making out, mini-epilogue-ish ending :)

note: tada, tis the end the the home series! thank you so much for the love on this little series, i enjoyed writing it so much. brienne holds a special place in my heart, and so does the skyforth now. god i gave it so much lore on accident. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this last chapter. love ya

the battle of the bastards had resulted in tremendous loss for every side of the battle, but lady sansa was determined to get her home back. with her will alone, she brought the knights of the vale, littlefinger still willing to do anything and everything to keep her loyalty. sansa’s soldiers were still late, hundreds were dead, gone. rickon, her own kin. nearly one hundred skyforth, and wildlings too. the boltons lost more, sansa saw to that. you couldn’t help but admire her strength, she had grown from the ‘little bird’ as the hound called her into a bird of prey.

the move from castle black to the lands around winterfell had allowed for better hunting, as well as more space to spread out the village. the battle has left you with varying injuries, broken ribs and arm, lacerations across your entire body, but this meant nothing when it came to the loss of your men. larkin and brienne hovered over you for weeks, bringing things to you, taking things you held, offering arms to help you walk. my ribs are broken, not my legs! you had finally shouted at brienne, quickly muttering an apology. she was just happy to see your personality return after weeks of conversations that were meek and quiet from your pain.

brienne had felt selfish for missing you while you recovered. she missed your fireside conversations, your compliments, your voice, you. gods, you had several broken bones, injuries galore, and you were grieving the loss of so many friends, and here she was missing hers. she missed you and you were just outside the castle. she could only bear so many nights of this until she had forced you to leave your bed and walk around with her. you spent most of your time in your tent, not letting anyone in and only leaving when no one was around. this had been the first time she had seen you again.

sitting together at the fire, there was a comfortable silence. you had leaned your head against her shoulder, and she was sure nothing was better.

—

preparation for the long night was starting to feel like a lost cause, it felt like the only saving grace were daenerys's dragons, but you couldn’t admit this. no matter how many daggers landed in the bullseye, or how many arrows split into one another, it hadn’t felt like enough. larkin was training for hours on end, practicing with podrick and the others as much as possible, but brienne knew. she saw the look in your eyes every time he’d trained as of late.

“he’s not going to fight, is he?” she asks you quietly, keeping her gaze on the training in front of you both. the sun was coming down now, meaning the night training would begin soon, but larkin was an overachiever much like you.

“no. i intend to keep my promise to his mother, i’m not letting him get himself killed. he’ll stay in the catacombs with the others,” you reply, you’re stern in your tone but your rapid blinking gives you away. she knows that you’re going to feel bad when he finds out. you love him and hate to disappoint him, but you’re not sacrificing him, not a chance. she only nods in response.

you nod to the right, silently asking her to follow and she does, she always does. she can tell there was more you wanted to say, something you didn’t want anyone else to hear. when you stop next to a fire, she feels happiness bloom in her chest. this was your spot. you and her next to the fire, discussing anything and everything. it was a welcome pattern in her world, and one in yours as well.

you exhale deep breath, “i don’t want him to have to watch me die.” brienne’s eyes dart to you, she can see the tears in your eyes threatening to glide down your cheeks, but your face remains cold, unphased. she doesn’t know what to say to you. she didn’t have a child, she couldn’t imagine what you were feeling.

“you don’t know that you will,” she says, mostly for herself. the thought of you dying is not a welcome one. she thinks that she would kill death if he came for you.

“you’re right, i don’t know that i will, but i do know that it’s likely. he doesn’t need to see another parent die, once was well more than enough.” brienne almost smiled, she hadn’t heard you refer to larkin as your son, or you as his parent before. perhaps it was the impending doom that softened you to the title, but more likely you just stopped lying to yourself and accepted that you were a parent. something that you hadn’t thought you’d be or dreamt of, but something that you had accepted.

“then you’ll just have to survive then,” brienne finally smiles once she says this.

you turn to her, returning the smile with a faint one before replying, “i’ve got a reason to try.” your lips form a tightline, forcing you to keep whatever you wanted to say back into your mind. brienne pretends not to notice.

—

tormund giantsbane was a massive walking headache that seemed to follow you around. when the tents had been set up, extra tents were given to the free-folk. this worked well for everyone, except for you it seemed. being friends with brienne only meant that talking to you about her was all the man seemed capable of. he commented on her body, her skill, her eyes, her height, for hours and hours. was he wrong in what he saw? no, not at all. were you glad someone else saw her beauty? of course! but was the fact that someone else wanted her making you dream of cutting him limb-by-limb? oh, absolutely. he had yet to talk down upon her, so you were forced to listen to him until your ears bled.

“i wish to make babies with her,” tormund says bluntly. all conversation halts, everyone either looking at you in fear or at him in humor. larkin fake gags next to you, making ragnall chuckle. you elbow the boy while staring at your plate, biting your tongue to keep the venom from spitting.

“you were thinking it too,” larkin whispers.

“which part?” ragnall says with a quiet laugh. your arm reaches around to smack him upside the head, motherfucker muttered under your breath.

you hurry the rest of your food into your mouth, before standing to leave. you could not bear to listen to another second, killing him was getting too tempting. larkin asked where you were going, only to be met with a grumbled outside. you make your way through the snow to the targets, hoping you could channel your aggression elsewhere.

my woman, you’ve returned to me. center target. my blonde beauty. center target. do you think she’d like to know why my name is giant? center target. you pictured his face in each one. his comments made her uncomfortable, she didn’t have to say anything for you to know that. you lied to yourself and told yourself that was the only reason he angered you, you also tried this lie on ragnall who promptly told you he wouldn’t “work for liars and fools.”

“did that post do something of offense?”

you nearly jump out of your skin, hand over your heart, “fucking hell woman! warn me next time.”

brienne laughs lightly, “i tried, but it seems you were too heavy into quite the assault on those targets. what’s wrong?”

“i respect the free-folk, but god damn would muzzling that red one do the world some good,” you sigh out, it’s as close to the truth that you can offer, “he’s lucky he isn’t harmful in his words, that’s about the only thing saving his ginger ass right now.” brienne nearly cackles at your word choice.

“are you starting to regret having them move into the village?”

you shake your head, “not at all, maybe just him. the rest are normal people who don’t talk about who they want to ‘make babies with’ while i’m eating. cultural differences or not, who needs to listen to that over and over again?”

brienne’s eyes are wide as ever as she blurts, “making babies?”

“you’re biggest fan apparently has very big plans for your future together, it’s all i hear about these days,” you say as brienne’s face screws up in disgust and embarrassment. you can’t help but smile at her, finding the face she was making to be quite cute. she groans to herself, a muttered fucking gods under her breath. “i take it you don’t share his appreciation?” you joke, earning a smack to the arm in response.

“i’m only joking, no need for violence,” you both laugh, “what brings you to my humble and irritating abode?”

“i was going to get a drink, but you weren’t there. i was not in the mood to deal with all of them alone,” you chuckle and nod in agreement at her statement, “feeling even more proud of my decision knowing the topic of conversation.”

you cringe, hearing tormund’s words in your head again, “men have seemed to have only mastered cruel words and incredibly uncomfortable ones. unfortunately, i think your groupie may take the top prize for the second one.”

brienne’s face goes from playful to thoughtful, almost insecure, “i thought something other than callous words would feel better, but it still feels like mockery all the same. It’s just mockery with a goal of a quick fuck.”

you can only nod at her words, you hadn’t experienced her life. even as a noble woman of a respected house, she had been belittled, only her father saw her potential for so long. others only saw her as a fighter, the great brienne of tarth, the very same they would sing horrible songs about.

you take a deep breath before asking, “do you remember what i said the first time we met?”

“those suitors were fools?” she offers, “the whole lot of them, if i remember correctly.”

you smile to yourself, “yes. i’d like to amend my statement and say that men are fools, every last one. especially the ones who don’t see you, actually see you.” these words seem to render brienne speechless. she silently thanks the night’s darkness for covering her warmed cheeks, a part of her wanted to ask what you saw. her bravery seems to fold when it comes to you, and her question dies in her throat, waiting for another day.

—

rangers come back with news that the night king will be upon winterfell by sunrise. jon snow delivers this information to everyone with clenched fists and teeth. the king of the north spoke of preparations, orders given to each faction of his army, he spoke with house and group leaders to give direction for troops. brienne stood behind sansa, facing you. she watched as you listened to jon, eyebrows furrowed, eyes fixed on the man. she had never truly seen you in commander mode, only ever being with you in the calm between storms until now. she noted larkin’s presence, you had finally told him he would not be fighting once the rangers returned.

“skyforth archers will join the wall, swordsmen and riders will be on the ground. our climbers are archers and dagger throwers, they’ll be best suited in towers and high points,” you relay to jon, “i’ll stay on the wall as well, i’ll have access to my archers and climbers from there, section leaders can handle the others.” he agrees with your plan, glad he had waited for your eyes to stop scanning the air as you painted the layout of the troops in your mind.

“maybe this one is a real commander after all,” tormund jests.

“exactly, the commander, not the placeholder. unlike yourself for mance rayder,” you snap back as you rise from the table, a “follow-me” motion sent over your shoulder to ragnall. he follows with a silent laugh and a shake of his head. he looks back at brienne as he leaves the room, raising his brows before stepping out to follow you.

some hours later, a rider approaching winterfell was announced. no one else was expected, making everyone’s hands subconsciously hover over their weapons. a brown stead with a single rider comes through the doors, dismounting the horse and lowering his hood, his face finally comes into view. jaime fucking lannister.

you just about groan when brienne vouches jaime at the hearing. she trusted him, would fight with him, the same she said about you. what felt like a personal nod of trust, and for you, devotion, was stripped away of any real meaning. larkin stepped back slightly and held the crook of your elbow, “breathe slowly, commander.”

at his words, you realize your breathing was erratic at best. your mind finally came back to your body, clammy palms and ears ringing. you kept a straight face the best you could, looking more angry than calm, but it was better than the anguish that bubbled up within you. a moment you had held onto for months, one that comforted you in dark nights, ripped away. ripped away by the very person who gave you the memory. you hear the murmurs of bullshit and is she fucking mad? from the men behind you. the slightest turn of your head silenced them, the sharp stare told them all they needed to know. no fucking around tonight.

when the meeting was dismissed, you turned immediately, ale was the only thing on your mind now. you told oskar you were going to be alone, and to tell men to enjoy what would be a last night for many. you roamed the halls of winterfell, finding a quiet room with a hearth and some lounge chairs. a grateful smile for the inviting quarters passes your lips as you start a fire and sit on a couch while cradling your drink. this wouldn’t be a bad last night, you’d be warm at least. you couldn't tell how much time had passed, only snapping out of your comforting dazeat the door creaking. opening one eye, you turn to see ser davos in the doorway.

“apologies, i was just looking for a quiet place. i’ll leave you,” he says kindly as he turns to leave.

“don’t be foolish, ser. you can join me in my silence,” you say with a little waving motion. he smiles a little, coming to sit across from you.

“not one for the larger festivities down stairs?” he asks.

“we can celebrate when we win, i’d rather a more relaxed night if it’s to be my last,” you say calmly, death was not a foe. it was an inevitable force, the least you could do was greet him with slightly less malice. ser davos nods in understanding, he’d known death’s door, he was as well acquainted as you were.

another finds your small, warm sanctuary. this time, there’s no apology, no leaving. looking back you see blonde hair slicked back, blue eyes looking between you and davos. you nod to the seat next to you, and she moves over to sit there. she looks into the fire for a moment, eyes scanning the flames for answers to an unknown question before looking back to you.

“larkin was looking for you. i told him i would find you for him. did i, or will you find him later?” she asks, knowing that you’re still grappling with leaving him.

“he’ll find me, if he doesn’t podrick will find you, and here i’ll be,” you say, tilting your head towards her. she huffs a small laugh, and this makes you smile slightly. your prediction seems to come to fruition as podrick steps in the room, eyes landing on you. he steps back out and you hear a muffled told you they’d be in here before larkin comes in.

he perches himself on the arm of couch, leaning into you with an arm around your shoulders, “i’m sorry i was a dick earlier.” he didn’t need to say more, you knew why he had exploded on you. you’d never been yelled at like that before, let alone by him.

“it’s forgotten. thank you for coming back,” you respond, leaning into him as well. he wasn’t your son by blood, but by the gods would you love and protect him as if he were. you smack his hand as it reaches for ale, “one, one singular, cup. hear me, fool?”

you miss how brienne smiles at the scene, how your love for the boy was stronger than any need to uphold your image as a mighty commander. she saw how there were very few things that had lowered your guard, she had observed them all over the last few months you’d spent in winterfell together. larkin was always a soft spot, and most children at that. you would always squat to their heights, you spoke to them all like they were adults. you had an odd soft spot for lyanna mormont, who had said she thought you were one of the few decent leaders left in westeros. brienne liked to think you had a sort of soft spot for her. you never joked about her appearance, or anything she talked about. you always looked her in the eyes when she spoke, full attention, like nothing else mattered.

loud voices disrupt the peace you both found in this moment, only now noticing that both lannister brothers and tormund were now in the room. brienne notices now larkin looks at you, then her very briefly, before muttering something to you. whatever he says makes you swat him away, making him slightly topple off his perch.

as the night carries on, happier chatter turns to reminiscing on journeys and triumphs. you talk about your first victory in skyforth, then the first when you became commander. upon podrick’s request you spoke of how you went from fighter to strategist to commander, and the fates of the two men who thought they could easily disrespect you. brienne chuckles as she watches all the men in the room gawk and sit a little straighter in their seats, you just look at her, appreciating the sight.

tyrion discusses the victories of ser davos, podrick, and jaime. his eyes freeze on brienne, “ser brienne of tarth, defeated the hound- pardon me, lady brienne.”

“she’s not a ser?” tormund turns to her, “you’re not a knight?”

“women can’t be knights, it's tradition,” she responds dejectedly.

the wildling quickly says, “fuck tradition.”

you raise your glass, “that has got to be the most intelligent thing i have ever heard you say, tormund. damn right, fuck tradition.” tormund clinks his horn against your cup with a loud laugh.

brienne rolls her eyes, “i didn’t even want to be a knight.” you and podrick both look at her, faces screaming liar!

tormund leans into brienne’s space, you grip your cup tighter. “i’m no king, but if i were i’d knight you ten times over.” the intelligence apparently leaped out the window after one comment.

“aye!” larkin says quickly, “respect for the lady, you moron.”

you shove back a chuckle, “meathead is right, watch yourself,” you ignore brienne’s gaze, “and any knight can make another knight, it’s not just the king. is that correct or am i making that up, tyrion?” you point your question to the man next to davos.

before he can answer, jaime turns around, “no, you’re right. i’ll prove it.”

he unsheaths his sword, commanding brienne to the center of the room. she’s apprehensive, her eyes move to you without much thought. you’re already looking at her, your eyes in hers. she watches you with shaking breath as you mouth go.

you watch as brienne bends to one knee in front of jaime. her head rises to face him, azurite eyes looking towards him. her left shoulder, “in the name of the warrior, i charge you to be brave,” her right, “in the name of the father, i charge you to be just,” her left once more, “in the name of the mother, i charge you to defend the innocent.” brienne’s tears are visible from your seat, your own forming in your eyes because gods, they’re finally starting to see her. “arise, brienne of tarth,” jaime’s words feel golden, “a knight of the seven kingdoms.”

you can’t contain the joy inside of you that overflows as you see brienne become who she truly is, a real knight, the truest. you clap quickly and loudly, the others joining. she looks at you with watery eyes, and in this moment you can’t be angry anymore. she’s smiling, a real, big, toothy grin, nothing else matters now. you raise your glass, “ser brienne of tarth!” and a chorus follows, a sea of congratulations go towards her.

you go to fill your cup, eyes closing as you rest against the wall. you brienne look around, eyes following her path until she found you. she walks up to you, her eyes now on the floor. “ser brienne, fancy meeting you here.’

she laughs shyly before asking, “can we talk? away from all of them?”

you grab her arm and start walking, “of course.”

—

you reach her quarters after following her quiet directions she gives along the way. she immediately goes to start the fire, and you sit on the edge of her bed as you watch. you watch as the flames grow, and the light warms her face, the orange hue on her pale skin was one of the few wonders in your world.

once she’s satisfied with the fire, she sits next to you, “i have a question.”

you smile faintly as you look at her, “i’ll answer anything you ask me.”

brienne desperately tries to calm her frenzied heart as she asks what had been on her mind for weeks now, “what do you see? when you say they don’t actually see me, what do you see that they don’t?”

she watches as your face drops, eyes going to your hands that were now clenched in your lap. you swallow the cowardice that rose in your throat, telling you to just say she was a great fighter and leave it at that, but lying to her wasn’t an option, not when you’d likely never get the chance to tell her by the time the sun rises. you tear your gaze from your lap and bring them back to her big, blue eyes, shimmering sapphires begging for an answer.

she deserves to know. you swallow your pride, turning to face her properly, knees knocking into hers. “i see grace, in your nobility and your movement. i see strength in too many ways to count, but i see it the most in your honor. you are the most honorable person in westeros, as i said before, oathkeeper is a name fitting of both you and the blade,” you grab her hand, forcing her to look you in the eyes, “but i see more than just an honorable knight,” you smile at her title.

“and what’s that?” she says quietly, nearly a whisper.

“the most enchanting and gracious being, one so much so that it follows my dreams. you are my dream, brienne,” her hand grips yours tightly as you continue, “when i told you that you were beautiful, i meant every word. in my eyes, there is nothing in the world or beyond more fitting for the title,” brienne is looking into you with an intensity that tells you she’s deciding whether she believes you or not. you take a deep breath, “that is what i see.”

the knight’s mouth opens and closes, not words able to find their way out. never had you seen her so flustered, you could only take this shyness as confirmation of her belief, if she hadn’t she would have already been yelling at you. you release one hand from her grasp, with a slight struggle, but a quick squeeze and a brush over her knuckles finally frees you. a hooked index finger rests under her chin, the tip of your thumb hovering just under her bottom lip.

pulling her face in, you place a soft kiss to her blushing cheek, barely a centimeter away from her wanting lips. you linger for a moment, “if we survive this war, i will spend the rest of my days telling you everything i see. i swear it.”

before brienne can respond, horns begin sounding loudly. the night king had arrived.

—

everything was a blur. fire and smoke clouded the air. blood saturated your clothes, some yours, some not. men and women, dead and gone, littered the ground, but no tears fell for them. you ran across the wall, pulling a bow and quiver with you and you found a half-way decent vantage point. the dead climbed the walls, so you could only go higher and higher, firing as you climbed. your aim was rough, adrenaline and dirt making you miss vital shots.

a cold hand grips your calf, pulling you down with sharp nails ripping your skin. you scream in anger and pain, grabbing a dagger from your back and blindly stabbing at the walker’s hands. it was nothing to it, it kept it’s assault and you thrashed and kicked powerfully, nearly knocking the grip loose.

your eyes close as the pain grows, at least i had one hell of a last night, passes your thoughts. and just as you nearly take matters into your own hands, the walker drops, and your hands frantically grip the wall so as to not fall with him. you scan around, other walkers dropped to the ground, littering the ground along with your own dead. shaking hands and legs move on their own to carry you down the tower at a controlled pace, landing you on the wall. you peer over the edge, every wight was slumped against the castle, unmoving, truly dead at last. it’s over, it’s fucking over.

a firm grip on your arm shakes you from your mind, you turn to see a now one-armed dorin. you swiftly grab him, pulling him into your arms, one hand gripping his torn jacket, the other soothing his hair. you whisper questions to him, his arm, other injuries, but he’s too tired to give you real answers, so you just hold him.

his head rises from your shoulder, “the wights… they got into the catacombs. i don’t know how many remain.” your face falls, he knows what your thinking and is already ahead of you, “go, find him.” and by the gods you run, you had never run with so much purpose. you jumped over boxes and weapons and bodies, jumping over the railing, using it to climb down and drop to the ground. larkin was the only thing that mattered, your son, your boy.

you run to the catacombs, skipping stairs and hurdled in. but it was empty of life, only walkers and victims left. not a single body was the curly haired teenager with the scar across his cheek from his own dagger. you sprint back to the yard, desperately scanning for him. “larkin! LARKIN!” you scream as you run, “BOY!” you yell again with cupped hands. the tears that had been building since you saw dorin’s face were falling freely now, your sobs were choking you as you searched.

red hair catches your attention, sansa, by the gods she was alive. you sprint to her, a hand coming to her shoulder. she turns to you, placing her hand on yours, “he’s alive.” your sigh of relief makes another sob rip from you, your hands come to cover your face.

“he ran to find you i presume, the second the wights fell, he bolted,” tyrion speaks from beside the stark girl, your hands leave your face. you nod his way, passing him with a pat on the shoulder in thanks.

you continue searching until you hear a loud cry of your name from behind you, only three people truly knew it. you turned, eyes landing on curly hair and big brown eyes that were filled with held back tears. bodies colliding with a thud and nearly toppling over, you cradle the boy to you, kissing his head repeatedly, muttering i’m here, we’re alive, i love you. he’s shaking against you, bloodied hands seizing your shirt like you could disappear at any moment.

“where were you? why didn’t you stay with sansa? are you hurt?” you pull away from him, inspecting his hands, “what did you do? where else are you hurt?” you grab his face, his face clouded from tears that had yet to stop falling from your eyes.

“i had to stop them from getting to her, i couldn’t leave sansa undefended. i was beating it back just as they fell, i’m okay. are you?”

you chuckle, “i’m alive, and mostly intact. you didn’t answer me, where were you, why weren’t you with sansa and tyrion?”

“i was looking for you, or podrick, or brienne. i needed to know you were alive, had to see for myself,” he answers through a tear-clogged voice. you pull him in, rubbing his back, silently asking for an answer, “i found them, they’re alive. she’s alive.” a choked sob leaves you again, holding your son tighter to you before pulling away.

—

turning the corner into the great hall the next night fills your senses. boisterous laughter and conversation, the clinking of glasses, the smell of ale, wine, and smoldering fire. you watched as people laughed, threw their arms around one another, kissed cheeks and lips. all of it quickly faded, all the voices sounded like they were underwater, you couldn’t see anyone. it all evaporates, and all you can see is blonde hair and a black tunic, a cup in her hand, a smile on her lips. it’s as if a spotlight was upon her, drawing you to her like a moth to a flame.

podrick sees you before the rest, knocking brienne’s knee with his own. she looks at his with a questioning expression, only answered by his head cocking to whatever was behind him. brienne turns with a grunt, annoyed with the lack of straight-forward answer. her world stops, similarly to yours. the second your eyes meet, her mouth drops open, then forms into a huge, toothy smile. you’re quick to return it and pick up your pace, already having a place next to her and podrick circled the table and sat next to jaime instead.

“you’re here,” brienne says quietly, but her happiness is evident.

“so are you,” you respond with a smile, placing a hand on her knee and giving it a quick squeeze under the table before grabbing a cup and pouring some ale for yourself.

brienne’s eyes never leave you, knowing that your words and actions mean more now, she can’t seem to find it in herself to look away. she watches as you talk with the others, notes how you don’t really look them in the eyes and mess with your cup when you speak, how you close your eyes when you laugh, bump shoulders with her when she was the one to make you chuckle. she especially liked how you’d look at her when she’d laugh and your gaze would linger for a few seconds before turning back to the group. she came to the conclusion that nothing could ever be as exquisite as you smiling with your eyes looking into hers, nothing would ever be as warm and inviting as your touch.

after an hour, you silently chugged the rest of your cup, then slid from your seat, “i’ll be seeing myself out. i’m glad to have you all still here with us, truly. have a good rest of your night, gentlemen,” you turn and bow your head slightly, “ser brienne.” she stares silently as you spin on your heel and leave, a small smile thrown over your shoulder. a cough pulls her from your frame.

“you gonna do something about that or should we just give you a rag for the drool on your chin?” jaime says from across the table, an amused look across his face. podrick snorts at the joke, but brienne’s glare has him covering it with a fake cough, making tyrion snicker.

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says as she takes a large sip from her own ale, “so drop it.”

a loud laugh leaves jaime’s mouth, “sure, you’re just staring longingly into the distance daydreaming about… nothing? i didn’t take you for a coward and a liar, interesting how time has changed you.”

she promptly stands from the table, “i’m not going to listen to this. goodnight, gentlemen.” and with that she leaves, not wanting to hear what they had to say about you, or how she was leaving the same way you did, not the way that would bring her to her own quarters.

she reaches your tent within a few minutes, she wasn’t long behind you anyways. she shook away her insecurities, knocking on the post outside the tent. her heart rate picked up when she heard a gentle come in from the other side of the curtain. she steps in, knocking the snow from her boots behind her. you’re sitting up in your bed, untying your own shoes, your cloak was resting on the back of a chair in the corner. you looked smaller, less imposing, but she knew better. her own cloak was stripped from her shoulders as she moved to sit next to you, joining you in removing her own boots. she didn’t plan on leaving soon unless you asked her, and gods she hoped you wouldn’t.

“i was wondering when you’d show up, i figured i’d see you in the morning,” you say as you pull off your last boot with a rough, man-handling grip. brienne chuckles and the grunt that escapes you and you reel back a bit from the force.

“i would much rather be here than in the hall with a bunch of drunk idiots,” she replies, removing her final boot with more ease than you had.

“i’m flattered, kind ser. you abandoned a many drunk idiots for a singular, much-less-drunk idiot, i should be thankful a knight of the seven kingdoms appreciates my company,” you laugh, laughing harder when she bumps your shoulder as she tries not to burst out as well.

she shakes her head, “i’d always prefer your company over others.”

her statement ceases your laughter, your affect becoming more serious, “i’d choose you, over all of them.” she turns to you now, eyes full of something that you can’t place, almost wonder, almost disbelief, “surely you know that by now?”

brienne’s long lashes flutter in front of her eyes a few times, you’re speaking so honestly, so truly. she has thousands of things to say and none of them were enough to describe the feeling growing in her chest as she looks at you. “i’d choose you too, no matter the cause.”

the air was so thick, you couldn’t move. her own gravitational force keeping you in her orbit, seas of aquamarine holding you close. your hand rises, pushing a lock of blonde hair back in formation, gently smoothing it down. your hand traces down, fingers tracing her left ear, gliding with a barely-there touch over the scar from your first encounter. brienne closes her eyes, bathing in the silent affection with a small smile on her lips. your fingers continue the dance over her features, hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing over her skin. this prompts her eyes to open again.

your jaw clenches as you try to get the courage to say something to her. brienne notices, hand coming up to yours on her cheek, resting on your wrist with a gentle grip. she was so gentle, so beautiful. you decided in this very moment there were no words in any languages that could capture the sight in front of you, and you selfishly loved the fact that no one would ever get to experience this moment the way you do. her whisper of your name pulled you from your daydreaming.

deep breath in, deep breath out, “i have no loyalties to any lands. not the north, certainly not king’s landing, i was torn from tarth before i could ever truly experience it, i barely travel to the stormlands as it is,” you pause, anxiety filling your throat, but brienne’s fingers tracing up and down your wrist sooth your rapid heart. “it has taken me most of my life to realize that all these places do not matter in the slightest. they are just flora and earth, we certainly don’t care about that, we care about the concept of home, family. i haven’t a relative left, yet i have all these ridiculous brothers,” brienne laughs breathily at your words, “and though he is not of my blood, i have a son of nearly sixteen. i have the family bit, but i realize after five and a half fucking years, that i finally found my home and i foolishly let her walk away, so i decided i would follow her to my death, if that is what the fates had in store for me.”

you didn’t realize tears had escaped your eyes until brienne’s hand moved to wipe them away, before letting it fall to the curve where your neck meets your shoulders. “you… you are utterly mad,” she says, but you can feel the adoration in her words, making you grin and sniffle away your tears. “gods, you are utterly mad and irrational and impulsive, and apparently have a death wish,” she takes a deep breath, “all this, yet every single night i dreamt of finding you again and never leaving. i dreamt of having a different oath all together, one that swore me to you until my heart stopped beating.”

your free hand rises to brienne’s jaw, hers rests on your thigh. time seems to for you both, taking in each other’s words. she fills your senses, her touch was so inviting, her eyes were hypnotic and deep, pulling you in like tidal waves to the sea. telling her you loved her would never suffice, it was enough, it didn’t quite reach the depth of your devotion. only one thing seemed fitting.

you move from your seat on the bed, her hands fall from your skin. lowering yourself to one knee, looking into her confused eyes. one arm behind your back, one resting on her knee, “ser brienne of tarth, i swear by the old gods and the new to stay by your side, no matter what may happen in our world or in rest of it. i will defend your honor and self, and with complete devotion i will pledge my life to yours, if you will have me.”

her hands go from her lap to cradle your face, moving to kneel on the floor beside you, “only if you’ll allow me to do the same for you. i swear by the old gods and the new, i will protect and defend you, you and your boy. devote myself to you, heart and mind.” heart and mind, heart and mind.

you instantly pull her in, lips crashing together. nearly six years of longing, dancing around each other, gone the second she kisses you back. your lips move frantically together, all desire and love. you grip the front of her tunic, keeping her flush against you as her hands hold your face closer. she’s so soft, her lips, her hands, and her gods her tongue. she was addicting, but nothing compared to the noises that came from her as you ran your hands over her stomach under her tunic. you wanted, needed more of her. she had become your life source, the hole in your chest had completely disappeared, filled with only brienne.

the knight was on cloud nine. she felt drunk off of your lips, more than alcohol had ever affected her. your hands against the skin of her abdomen had her reeling, nearly moaning at your touch alone. she had dreamed of this more than she could say, imagined the feel of your lips, how they’d feel against her own, her neck, her chest. she can only pull you in closer, toppling you both over onto the floor, but she doesn’t let this deter her. she pulls you back in, feeling you smile against her lips as you straddle her waist, one arm holding you up a bit as the other holds her face. she greedily lets her hands run down your body, lightly squeezing your thighs and hips over your clothes, running her hands along your frame. you’re real.

oxygen is less important than you and your hot mouth, much less than your tongue tracing the scar on her lip. your kisses slow much to her displeasure, you pull away but keep your eyes closed. you place a feather light kiss to her lips before pulling away, dropping to hide your face in her shoulder. you hear her breath hitch when you place a gentle kiss to the skin of her neck, only allowing yourself the one for now. her arms wrap around your waist, holding you close, loving the weight of you on top of her. it was warm, grounding.

you speak into her, “you realize you’re stuck with me now, right?”

she chuckles, the vibration of her chest making you smile, “you say it as if that wasn’t my intention.” your head rises from her shoulder to press a sound kiss to her lips, as you pull away she speaks, “are we going to stay laying on the ground?”

it’s your turn to laugh, “depends. if we get up, are you staying with or leaving me?”

brienne’s hips lift and turn, switching your position so she’s now on top of you, strong arms hold her just above you, “how foolish would i be to leave you?” she dips down to kiss you again, and again, then once more for good measure, “we won’t find out.”

you find that laying in your bed with brienne is now your new favorite experience. you lay against her side, her hand drawing invisible patterns on your lower back under your shirt. your own fingers were gently tracing her neck and down to her collarbones, following patterns of faint freckles that lost their vibrance in the cold climate and low sunlight of the north. the string up her tunic was right there, begging you to untie the top of her shirt to follow the freckles of her chest. twirling one of the laces in your hand, you look at her with a silent question, only receiving a silent nod with wide eyes in return.

brienne’s mind felt like it was stuck in a trance, your soft touch was mesmerizing, the occasional soft kisses to her cheek and jaw were clouding her every thought. your fingers slowly, gently untied the top laces of her tunic, permission-seeking eyes looking into hers with each pull of the string. when you had gotten to her sternum, you ceased your movements, then slowly dragged your finger back up to her face. she grabs your hand, bringing it to her kiss-swollen lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. your eyes sparkle at her action, and you can feel your face warming.

brienne’s overwhelmed by the blatant love for her that swirls in your eyes, her hand drops yours to grab your face, pulling you to her lips once again. she couldn’t get enough of your lips against hers, arms wrapped around you to keep you close. she whines as you suddenly pull away from her, but she immediately takes it back as soft kisses dance down her cheek, over her jaw, dipping to her neck. these weren’t kisses of lust, she was sure of it, but ones to let her know how much you cared. she was lost in her bliss, that she barely hears your mumblings through the fog. so beautiful as you pass over her collarbones, gods i adore you before you press a kiss at the center of her chest. you quickly kiss your way back up to her lips, greeted welcomingly by her tongue and smile. she surprises even herself by pulling away first this time.

her words tumble from her mouth, “you are mine, and i am yours.”

your smile grows quick and wide, her words going straight to your heart and into your soul. “there’s nothing i’d rather be,” you whisper, cuddling your face into her neck once again.

—

the following weeks had resulted in the death of daenerys targaryen, first of her name. jaime had left two days after the long night, riding to king’s landing for cersei, both lost beneath the rubble of the red keep. brienne said nothing, anger of his betrayal and the sadness of his death battled each other until she sobbed in your arms after a couple days of holding it all in. the leaders of the remaining houses elected bran stark as the king of the seven, now six kingdoms. the north was her own kingdom, as it had long fought to return to.

the small council was formed, tyrion remained hand of the king as punishment for the conspiracy to kill daenerys. samwell tarly was grand maester, lord bronn the master of coin, your friend ser davos as master of ships. your brienne was appointed as the lord commander of the king’s guard, which you had expected, but still kissed her excitedly when you were alone after hearing the news.

today, she had you walking with her, side-by-side in her golden armor. she had only told you that your presence had been requested by the king, nothing more. larkin was trailing behind you both, watching the way you interacted, he most definitely noted the lack of awkwardness that had previously surrounded you both.

entering the council room, you bow to bran, “good morning, your grace.”

“good morning, commander. lord commander,” he nods to each of you, “larkin.”

the boy’s head pops up, curly bouncing, “hello, your grace.”

“has ser brienne told you the reason for your summons?” bran asks.

“no, your grace. she’s been quite tight-lipped despite my pestering,” you jest.

“in the formation of my small council, i seem to have three seats available. from what i’ve been told, you have quite the number of little spies around the kingdoms,” your eyes shoot to brienne at the king’s words, “completely unnoticed, well-managed. not even varys detected their presence, which is no small feat.”

you clear your throat, “thank you, your grace. they were only here to alert me of any major changes so that we could move accordingly, stay out of battle areas.”

“they’ve done well,” bran rests his hands on the table, “i’d like to offer you a seat at this council, as my master of whispers. i trust you’ll be honest and loyal in what is reported to you, i have been told in great detail of your leadership.” brienne closes her eyes momentarily, already knowing you’ll have something to say about this later.

through wide eyes and a shaky voice you respond, “i’d be honored to accept your offer, your grace. thank you, i will serve you loyally.”

“i know you will, you’re all dismissed.”

walking out, larkin is practically bouncing off the walls, “master of whispers, the master of whispers. this is insane, this is so amazing. can i go tell everyone?”

you laugh at him, “please do, i have something i have to do here.” he’s already gone before you’re fully done speaking, you shake your head laughing more.

brienne speaks up from beside you, “what is it that you have to do here?”

you scan the hall before grabbing her arm and bringing her down a corridor. you push her against a wall out of sight from the world, and tug her to your lip hurriedly. pulling away, you breathily say, “i love you.” she tries to pull you back in but you push her back, “uh-uh, that’s all you get. price for not preparing me for that, you ass.”

she laughs heartily, “i wasn’t supposed to tell you, it was the king’s orders!” she kisses your cheek as you roll your eyes at her, “i love you too, by the way,” another peck to the cheek, “incredibly so.”

you lean into her lips, not being able to stay away. you mumble against her, “i’m holding you to that.”

let me know if you guys would be interested in more skyforth!reader, i actually really love writing about it! feedback is appreciated as always my little queers

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#brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth #gwendoline christie #game of thrones #larissa weems

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raspberryfingers · 1 year

Text

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 8)

WARNINGS: Tywin being the largest asshole ever

Word Count: 6.5k

—————

Ever since I’d given Lord Tywin the ring, things had changed between us. And despite what one might assume, our relationship hadn’t changed for the better. In the last two weeks, Lord Tywin had been cold, flippant, and arrogant whenever I’d tried to talk with him. At first I’d just assumed he was having a bad day, or was frustrated by politics and war, the sort of thing men will let themselves be frustrated by. Then I remembered that it was Tyrion’s name day, and naturally thought that it must’ve been a rather painful anniversary for him. But no, even after that had passed, he did not warm up to me.

It became incredibly apparent to me that I was somehow the problem, and what was most annoying was that I had not a single clue as to why. He’d seemed overjoyed when I’d given him the ring, I mean for the gods’ sake, he’d even called me by my name alone.

But now he was dreadful, always grumbling and making excuses whenever we saw one another. They were not even good excuses either, and some had just been outright lies. I had been meaning to confront him about his behavior anyway, but I snapped today.

It had started perfectly fine, a bit dull at the worst, but fine. My grandmother had other business to attend to—which, in reality, meant she did not want to do anything—and so I took her place in the great hall. Though it was ‘unofficial’, there were certain days where the lords and ladies would gather to gossip, plan, and learn unnecessary information about each other. Today was one of those days, and I found myself enveloped in an extremely boring conversation with several noble ladies.

“Lady Trysta was seen flirting with Lord Darren in the gardens yesterday, can you believe it?”

“Gods, isn’t his wife pregnant with their first child?”

“I don’t believe such nonsense. Lady Trysta is a very noble woman, surely she wouldn’t do something so insulting.”

I wondered how my grandmother managed to survive such droll conversations, though I understood that this was why she had sent me in her place. She might’ve sent Margaery if not for the fact that she was with King Joffrey today, and that thought at least provided some reassurance.

But still, I was not the politician that either my grandmother or sister were. I supposed I just preferred real politics to court gossip, though usually the two must go hand in hand.

When I spotted Lord Varys exiting a conversation across the room, however, I took my chance. It would seem far less rude to exit the conversation if it appeared as though I was going to speak with someone else.

“Excuse me, ladies,” I said softly, moving back from the circle and making my way across the room. I did not stay close enough to hear anything they’d said, nor did I look back to see their faces. I quite honestly did not care enough.

Lord Varys saw me coming and brought his hands together in expectation. I gave him a subtle smile, and he raised his eyebrow in response. When I reached him, he bowed his head.

“Lady (Y/N).”

“Lord Varys, how are you?”

“Perfectly fine, my lady. And how are you?” He asked, lowering his hands to his lap. I’d always found Lord Varys to be an agreeable man. Of course, he was still one to be cautious around, but he was infinitely better than Littlefinger, and the short interactions we’d had were enjoyable.

“I have been better and been worse, my lord,” I answered truthfully, knowing it couldn’t really do me any harm. The Spider gave a low chuckle.

“I hear there is news of the change in the wedding plans,” he mentioned, to which I huffed out. There was another thing I needed to discuss with Lord Tywin, as he had not been willing to give Sansa Stark to my brother. She was now to wed Tyrion, and Loras was to wed Cersei. My grandmother had agreed out of fear of Loras being appointed kingsguard, but I would sooner rot in all seven hells than watch my brother marry Cersei Lannister.

“That arrangement certainly does not make me feel better, but it is not that. May I unburden myself to you, Lord Varys?” I asked, hoping for someone wise and reasonable to listen to me. It was not as though I could talk about it to any of my family members, for I feared they would tease and ask far too many questions. They of all people would be surprised to hear me complain that Tywin Lannister was being rude to me, or at least surprised to hear that I wished to remedy the situation.

“Is it something that can be used against you?” he asked, taking a breath and tilting his head. It was good of him to at least give me that warning, even if I already knew better.

“I highly doubt it. I wouldn’t have even brought it up if it was.”

“Smart of you, Lady Tyrell. By all means, go ahead.”

I smiled, and so did Lord Varys. To say that we were friends was a false statement, but I preferred his company to quite a lot of people’s in King’s Landing.

“Recently, I believed Lord Tywin and I to be having an improving relationship. It was rather nice, because being allies with a man you hate is quite frustrating, as I’m sure you can imagine. But, these last two weeks, he’s distanced himself from me more than is anywhere close to reasonable, and I cannot think of anything I may have done wrong,” I explained, sighing and glancing up at the throne, which sat directly over Lord Varys’ shoulder.

The Spider nodded, contemplating and looking down. I saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips, but it disappeared just as fast as it had come. I might’ve asked about it had he not replied so quickly afterward.

“Don’t worry yourself with it, Lady (Y/N). Lord Tywin can be unpredictable at times, I’m certain that whatever reason he has for being a bit colder than usual is a good one,” he assured me, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder. I sighed, gazing across the room where Lord Tywin himself was engaged in a conversation. He was not saying much, but it was clear that everyone in the circle spoke as if they needed his approval.

At that instant, however, he looked over and met my gaze. He only held it for a moment, though, as his eyes then looked Lord Varys over rather thoughtfully. His face twisted bitterly, and he focused on the man speaking again. Lord Varys removed his hand from me, giving me a rather sympathetic look.

“I- I have considered speaking to him about the subject, though I’m not entirely sure if that would be a good idea considering that Lord Tywin is… well, Lord Tywin,” I said, finally turning my head to look at the man in front of me again. He blinked a few times with contemplation and then sighed out.

“The Hand certainly is a complicated man, but I think if you approached him about it in the right way he might be receptive. I do hope you will figure it out, my lady. It would be quite nice to see you and Lord Tywin getting along for a change,” Lord Varys replied, giving the gentlest of smiles. I looked over at the group of men with Lord Tywin again and got the sudden urge to go over.

“Would you come with me, Lord Varys? I’d like to hear that conversation, and I think being on your arm would seem a more natural reason to join it.”

“Of course, my lady.”

I took the Spider’s arm, and we found ourselves wandering across the hall and joining the circle in a matter of moments. The Master of Whispers was never out of place in any conversation, and beside him, neither was I. Lord Tywin gazed at me for a mere second and then returned his focus to the man talking. I was the only woman in the group, naturally.

“Robb Stark wants to behead Rickard Karstark now. The man went and killed two Lannister boys all because he’s bitter,” one of them said, scoffing out as if the notion was utterly ridiculous. Another man glared and shook his head.

“You’d be bitter too if someone killed your boy. Of course, the man’s a bloody fool for doing it, but the anger is understandable.”

“Well, I hope ‘the King in the North’ does the honorable thing like his father would’ve. He’ll lose all the Karstark bannermen if he does. The war will be over five seconds after the man’s head is gone.”

“And he’s got no substantial allies then.”

Feeling the urge to speak up, I let go of Lord Varys’ arm and cleared my throat to grab all the men’s attention. “Robb Stark is a great strategist if nothing else, gentleman. It would be unwise to underestimate him simply because his numbers are small.”

I expected to meet resistance from a few of them, just as women always do in such a setting, but I had not expected it from the Hand of the King himself.

“His numbers aren’t small, he does not have numbers at all. Robb Stark is just like his father, too honorable, and the second Rickard Karstark loses his head, we win,” Lord Tywin spoke, giving me a somewhat condescending look. Everyone seemed surprised, as he’d been very quiet for most of the discussion. My annoyance grew. Why challenge me in a circle of already skeptical men? It depleted my credibility and made me look foolish.

“I’ve heard whispers that Robb Stark has received a request from Walder Frey. Though the boy is already married, Lord Frey wishes to have his uncle, Edmure Tully, marry one of his daughters,” Lord Varys added, and I appreciated his conscious aid, for Lord Tywin was feeling particularly ‘cunt-ish’ this afternoon.

“And if that were to happen, that alliance could be worrisome and a threat,” I said, proving my point as my eyebrows furrowed with anger. The circle grew awkward as the aggression built between Lord Tywin and I.

“Walder Frey will never make an alliance with Robb Stark.”

“And how do you know that? Did you become all knowing since the last time we spoke, Lord Tywin?”

“I know that because I’m not a fool.”

The circle went utterly silent, and not a single man released or took a breath. I felt my eyes twitch. No, I would not stand here and let Lord Tywin embarrass me. We’d always had conflicts, but how dare he insult me so harshly in front of others?

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said sharply, removing myself from them. As I did, Varys gave me a soft look of apology, and I would thank him for it later. As I walked away, however, I heard Lord Tywin say one last thing.

“Forgive her, gentlemen. Lady Tyrell is young and naive, nothing more than a girl, really. She’s under the impression that commanding her father’s armies gives her far more power and influence than she really has. It would be unfair to judge her knowledge of real politics.”

I heard laughter coming from the group, and only for a second did I stop walking. I felt my heart shatter at his words, though it did not take long for anger to replace the hurt.

How dare he?

How dare he embarrass me so publicly? Because his testing tone and his insults had merely been aggravating to my face, but behind my back and not directly to me, they were unforgivable. After every conversation we’d had? After he’d directly confirmed that he did not view me as childish or stupid, he dared to insinuate that I was both things to a group of men that did not know me?

He was well aware of the fact that I did not like to be discredited, and yet he had said such a thing anyway. Perhaps I had overestimated both how truthful and how understanding the Old Lion was.

Despite this feeling of disgust, I continued to walk out of the hall, though anger and possibly even heat were omitted from every step I took. It would stay that way until I confronted him that afternoon, when it would only get worse.

—————

When I entered Lord Tywin’s office, I thought I might explode. He did not even look up at me when I entered, acting as though I simply wasn’t there. He just went on answering letters, completely unaffected by my presence in the room.

I heard the double doors shut behind me, and even more angry about the fact that he was not acknowledging my presence, I made purposeful strides towards his desk. When I reached it, he still would not lift his head.

“Lord Tywin, I wish to speak with you,” I said, balling my fists at my sides to try and contain my fury. I was also trying so hard not to sound rude that I instead sounded like something was stuck in my throat.

“You already are,” he replied curtly, still scratching something down on his parchment. I scowled, reaching across his desk and ripping his stupid quill from his hands. He did not seem shocked, he simply looked at me with boredom. It was as if he was asking me ‘are you done?’.

“I want to speak with you, not at you,” I clarified sternly, placing the quill down on the wood now that Lord Tywin had at least bothered to look at me.

“And what is it that you wish to discuss?”

I could only gape at him for a moment, raising both eyebrows to ask if he was being entirely serious. When he said nothing, I scoffed and clenched my jaw. “What is it that I wish to discuss? I don’t know, perhaps the atrocious way that you treated me today!”

“I don’t know what you mean, Lady Tyrell,” he replied, giving me the most condescending look I’d ever seen. I, however, was in shock. Lady Tyrell?

Lady fucking Tyrell?

“Lady Tyrell, Lord Tywin? Are you serious? And don’t play stupid with me, you’re above that. You embarrassed me in front of all those lords. You made me look like a desperate fool and an idiot,” I hissed, glaring down at him with more anger than I even knew I possessed. I’d suffered quite a lot of insults in my life, but none so degrading as the ones I’d heard from him today.

“You were behaving like one, Lady Tyrell,” he replied, making my knuckles go white on his desk. In all the time that I’d known him, he’d very seldom called me by that title. Many did, but not him. Not when speaking to me, at least.

“Stop fucking calling me that! I’d rather you call me an insufferable cunt than Lady Tyrell!” I shouted in a rare moment of utter frustration. Somehow, him referring to me that way was even more upsetting than him saying that I was childish. I hadn’t a clue why that was.

For just a moment, there was a flash of surprise in the Lord Hand’s eyes. It had been quite some time since I’d yelled at him that way, and I supposed he hadn’t been expecting it. It seemed that my words had gagged the man, for he merely stood up from his seat to be at a more even level to me. Had I been anyone else, his height would’ve been intimidating, but I knew exactly what he was doing and it only made me more bold.

“You crossed a line today, Lord Tywin. Embarrassing me to my face is one thing, and perhaps you believe I deserved that, but when I’m not even present in the conversation and you have the audacity to call me desperate and witless, that is entirely another! You ought to have had the decency to at least try and defend me as Lord Varys did. No, instead you actively opposed me like my sentiment was somehow the most foolish one you’d ever heard, and if you’re honest with yourself, you know that what I was saying made sense,” I ranted, glaring at him and slowly making my way around his desk as I did. I was taking slow, furious steps, and eventually I was standing right in front of him. There was unbridled anger on his face now, and I was at the very least satisfied to have broken his unbothered facade.

“And what would you have had me say? Whether you believe yourself to be clever or not, I don’t agree with your sentiments about Robb Stark and Walder Frey,” he replied, only addressing the most trivial part of my frustration. I sighed, shaking my head at him.

“I’m not asking you to agree with me, but forgive me for wanting you to have at least not embarrassed me. Is that so unimaginable to you? I mean gods help me, Lord Varys! How is it that Lord Varys, a man I hardly know, made me look more credible than you did? Have I overstated our friendship? Do you truly care for me that little?” I went off on him, taking a step forward so that I was practically looking directly up at him. I was unbelievably angry, though more than anything I was hurt.

“We are not friends, Lady (Y/N)! We are allies. Allies! I have no obligation to defend you anywhere but the battlefield. Nor do I have to honor your image, especially when you are so prone to foolishness. Most importantly, I have no obligation to be kind to you at all. Perhaps if you’d had the sense to remind yourself of that, you wouldn’t be so upset in the first place,” he shot back, nose wrinkling with his anger while he spoke. I was relieved to—at the very least—hear him use my name, but also hurt at his sentiment. Although, I was not just going to accept that. I was not one to overstate relationships, and I would not let him treat me like I was groveling for his affection. After all, it was I who had struggled to see him as anything but an enemy.

“Merely allies, Lord Tywin? Be honest with yourself. You have saved my life during the battle, and you helped me back to my room when my stitches split. You had a new pair of armor made for me which was far more elegant than any reasonable person would’ve asked for, and you paid for the smith to fix my Valyrian steel sword. We quite literally hunted, dined, and slept outside together! You want to tell me that we’re not friends? Even after all that? You’re currently wearing a ring that I had made for you and you truly want to believe we aren’t anything more than just allies?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows and searching for any hint of emotion in his eyes. I was only trying to clear up where he’d gotten lost, or maybe where I had.

Lord Tywin only glared at me, and after a moment he lifted his hand. I watched him grab at the ring, twisting it back and forth to loosen it from his skin before pulling it off entirely. He grabbed my hand then, opening it up and placing the Valyrian steel inside my palm. Looking at it, my heart sank all the way into my stomach. Tears suddenly began to prick at my eyes, but I looked down. The Lord Hand would not see me cry.

We stood there in silence for a minute, and even though he couldn’t see my eyes, he could obviously tell that he had hurt me. He decided he might as well put the nail in the coffin.

“You really still are that naive and foolish girl from all those years ago, aren’t you-“

As I heard Lord Tywin say it, my hurt suddenly turned into fury. How dare he behave like this? I couldn’t contain myself anymore, even if I’d wanted to.

Though my left hand was holding the ring in it, my right hand was completely free. I slapped Tywin Lannister across the face with all the strength I had in me. My hand was stinging, and he let out a choked noise as I did it. His cheek already looked flushed, and I was rather satisfied with it.

Though, my satisfaction did not last long. Lord Tywin’s eyes filled with hot rage, and he gripped my forearms before pulling me into him harshly. I was pressed up against him, glaring up at him with defiance.

“I will not hit you, Lady Tyrell, but be careful,” he warned, tone low and threatening. My chest was heaving, and so was his.

“It won’t be a problem, Lord Hand. I never wish to speak to you again, civilly or otherwise.” I broke free of his grasp, giving him one last glare and turning my back to him. I made my way out of the room in silence, and only once the door had shut behind me did I permit myself to cry.

—————

Lord Tywin sighed, slumping back in his chair and gripping the arms of it. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the guilt that was chewing away at him. Gods, why had he said all that to you?

His cheek still stung, but he was not bitter. He had pushed you so far you’d felt the need to do that, and that hurt more than any physical pain he was experiencing. And truthfully, he couldn’t stand the lack of weight on his left hand.

“Stupid…” he muttered to himself, sitting up straight again and attempting to return to writing letters. He reached for the quill you’d left on the opposite side of the table, his lips pressing together as he dipped the tip of it into his inkwell. He needed to get his mind off of you, that was all.

The Lord Hand began scratching down words on his parchment, but he got no farther than a sentence. He could not get the image of you out of his head. The way you’d frozen when he’d insulted you in the Great Hall, the way your head had refused to lift when he’d given you back the ring. It was gut wrenching.

He could only scowl to himself, pushing his chair back with such force that it scraped against the stone floor and created an extremely unpleasant noise. Lord Tywin stood, going over to the cabinet at the side of the room to pour himself a cup of wine. He downed it much quicker than he normally would’ve.

Gods, he shouldn’t have grabbed you the way he did. He shouldn’t have said any of what he had. But this was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To drive you away? He reflected that it had been a simple concept to consider, but now that you truly didn’t wish to speak with him, it hurt so much more than he’d ever imagined.

The sound of thunder distracted him from his thoughts, and it made him flinch. He hadn’t even realized that it was raining outside, if he was honest. Going over to the window, though, he realized he could smell it. He couldn’t recall the last time it had rained in King’s Landing.

No, Lord Tywin could not bear this. No amount of time or distraction would solve this aching. He needed to speak with you, even if you yelled and hit him. He didn’t care; you looked beautiful when you were angry. Perhaps that was what had caused this… affection to form. He did not like that he couldn’t control it.

Firm in his decision, the Old Lion found himself exiting his office and rushing down the stairs in the Tower of the Hand much faster than he probably should’ve been. He couldn’t have cared less, though. All that mattered to him was clearing things up. What if you couldn’t forgive him?

He pushed these thoughts away, walking through the Red Keep with an unmatched pace. His only objective was to reach your room, it did not matter who he passed by. He would speak to you if it was the last thing he did.

“I’d like to speak to Lady (Y/N),” he said to Ser Elias, having arrived at your door and seeing the abnormally tall man standing in front of it. The knight only shook his head.

“She’s gone out, my lord. She- She went to the stables in quite a rush,” he explained to Lord Tywin, making the older man raise an eyebrow and tilt his head.

“And you did not go with her?” He questioned, perhaps glad that he hadn’t but simultaneously furious that you intended to go out and had no protection. Was this knight the stupidest man in all seven kingdoms?

“I- I attempted to convince her, my lord, but she did not want me. I fear she- she requires some time alone,” Ser Elias answered with embarrassment, knowing that he ought to have done more convincing than he actually did. You were sobbing, who was he to argue with you and make it worse? He regretted it now, though.

“And you’re certain she went out? Do not lie to me, Ser,” the Lord Hand warned, trying to make sure that the knight wasn’t merely covering for you.

“Yes, my lord, she did. You may take my tongue if I'm lying,” he replied, to which the Old Lion nodded. Though, he suddenly realized that you were going out in the rain. Gods, he had to go find you. He did not want you to get sick.

Lord Tywin glared at the taller man in front of him before rushing away, needing to get to the stables as soon as he possibly could. The rain had begun to come down quite hard, and if you had been eager to go out you would still be in the dress you’d been wearing all day, and that was not suitable attire for rain like this. According to many ladies at court, it was not suitable attire for anything. Well, perhaps it worked in one situation.

When the Lord Hand reached the stables, he was practically breathless, and yet he was shouting at the men there to saddle his horse as quickly as possible. They did so, and one of them offered him a cloak for the rain. He considered turning it down, but he figured it might be useful to wrap you in the thing once he found you.

As he mounted his horse and began riding through King’s Landing, he realized there was that problem too. You could be anywhere in the city or in the Kingswood, how was he to figure such a thing out? He tried to recall if you’d ever mentioned anything, perhaps a certain spot that you enjoyed. Thankfully, it did not take long for one idea to come to him. He just had to pray that you were actually where he thought you were.

The rain was a heavy downpour as he made his way through the city, and Lord Tywin felt awful. Had it not been for him, you would not have felt the need to ride out here in such weather to begin with. He was thankfully rather protected by his tall boots and his leather coat, but his hair was drenched. He could not even begin to imagine the state you were in.

The Old Lion was riding as hard as his horse would let him, especially now that he had reached the Kingswood. He was searching desperately, trying to find the location he suspected you would be. His eyes were constantly going back and forth in an attempt to find any sign of you as quickly as he could. Even despite the tree cover, the rain was still coming through with a violence.

The sudden neighing of a horse caught his attention, and he worked his way toward it as precisely as possible. The sound of thunder was quite prominent, and he found himself stopping for minutes at a time to listen for anything besides that.

Eventually, however, he found your horse tied to a tree. Right beside it was a much larger one, and he instantly recognized it as the one you’d tried to climb when the two of you had gone hunting.

Lord Tywin pulled on his reins, stopping his horse and holding a hand above his eyes to block the downpour. He squinted as he looked up toward the tree’s branches, and he let out a sigh of relief once he did. Just as he had suspected, there you were, nestled among the tree’s branches. Thank the gods, you were safe. Now all he had to do was speak with you.

—————

I couldn’t recall how long I’d been sitting in this damned tree. From the moment I’d left the Tower of the Hand, I had begun to dissociate. All I knew was that I needed to be away, and this had seemed the most natural place to come, even despite the rain.

Speaking of which, I was utterly drenched. My dress was soaked, and so was my hair, and yet somehow I did not mind that half as much as I minded the emotional turmoil I was experiencing. It was unbelievably frustrating to feel this way, especially over Tywin Lannister.

It was so degrading, for I’d despised the man for so long and the second that I’d dared to let myself feel anything other than hatred for him, he’d decided to do this. The worst part was I had absolutely no clue what had happened, for when we’d gone to the smith together everything had been fine. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to make the Lord Hand so cold to me, and yet he was anyway.

I found myself wiping tears from my eyes even though I shouldn’t have bothered, as the rain was ten times worse. I could taste them in my throat, and I loathed it. Surely this man was not worth crying over, so why was I? He was rude, overly confident, and the most immoral person I’d ever met. I felt pathetic, and I wanted the tears to stop more than anything. They just wouldn’t.

“Lady (Y/N)!”

I felt a chill run up my spine at the sound of my name, and when I moved my head over to look down, I found the Lord Hand on his horse. He was at the base of the tree, looking up at me with his hand above his eyes to keep the rain off of them. The sight of him was somehow both relieving and infuriating. I did not want to speak with him, but he’d come for me even in the pouring rain.

That didn’t mean I was letting him off the hook, however, and after setting my eyes upon him I instantly turned my head the other way. I had told him I didn’t wish to speak with him and I meant it.

“Lady (Y/N) I- I wish to explain myself!” Lord Tywin shouted up at me, trying to make sure that he was audible over the annoyingly loud rain. I had no intention whatsoever to let him know that I could hear him.

“I have- I have been cold to you these last two weeks, I am not going to feign ignorance. I’ve made excuses as to why I cannot speak with you, and I have actively avoided you. You did not deserve that treatment, and you most certainly did not deserve the things that I did and said today,” he said, straining his voice and pausing in between sentences to think through everything he was saying. He almost sounded breathless, and it struck me as odd.

“I was cruel, and I cannot blame you for your anger. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You- You have gone against your better judgment in associating with me, for I know that I make it quite hard. I’m simply… I’m hesitant, Lady (Y/N),” Lord Tywin continued, and I could sense a certain desperation in his voice. I finally allowed myself to look over at him, and though I could not see him particularly well from the top of the tree, I could certainly see that he truly meant what he was saying. “The last true friend I had was the late King Aerys, and he betrayed my trust in every way imaginable. And you… you already harbor quite a lot of negative feelings toward me, so when you gave me the ring, I- I became afraid. I did not want to permit myself to be hurt if you should suddenly regret tolerating me.”

“So you decided that pushing me away was the best option?” I scowled suddenly, no longer capable of holding in my anger as I turned to face him. Did he really think that his little ‘explanation’ was going to make me forgive him?

“Yes, that is exactly what I decided. And I understand that it was foolish and selfish of me, that is why I am here. I initially believed that- that if I simply pushed you away now it would not hurt me, but the second that you left my office, Lady (Y/N)… even the second that you left the great hall, I understood the gravity of- of my feelings,” he said, grappling with his reins as a sudden clap of thunder startled the animal beneath him. I could only stare at him.

“Your feelings?”

“Yes, my feelings. I desire your friendship, let me be clear about that. Even if I- Even if I believed it was best to push you away, it is not what I wanted. You are infuriating, Lady (Y/N), and I crave it. You yell at me, you lecture me, and then you take my arm all the same. You’re a challenge, and it is invigorating. No matter how many gifts I buy, or how many compliments I give, you’re never complacent. You have made me work not just for your companionship, but simply for the right to be tolerated, so much so that I now yearn for it,” Lord Tywin replied, removing his hand from above his eyes so that I might actually see them. He ran it through his dripping hair instead, slicking it back and blinking hard as the rain came down. I could see the water running down his face, and I pondered that I was like a maiden in a song or a story. Though, Lord Tywin was not my lover, nor was he making a love confession. And unlike those maidens, I still found myself somewhat upset.

“And what happens once you tire of this ‘challenge’, my lord? Why, besides that, do you want my friendship? Because as far as I am concerned, you currently have no problem rejecting my offering of it,” I pointed out, similarly moving the wet hair out of my face. The odds of me being sick tomorrow were almost certainly 100.

Lord Tywin blinked a few more times, wiping the water from his face with his hand and swallowing. He sighed out then, looking down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Because despite my insults, you are incredibly intelligent, not to mention kind—at least when you’re not angry. But more than that, you… you make me smile… and laugh… and I am not known for doing either of those things. I understand that when you granted me that ring, it was not simply an object, but an offering of your friendship. And I- I sincerely regret turning such a thing down. That is why I am here, Lady (Y/N). I am here because I need your friendship, and I am- I am sorry…”

Even despite the rain, I could see that the Great Lion was looking at me with the utmost fondness in his eyes, and I felt my breath catching in my throat as I processed what he was saying. My head did not want to forgive him, but my heart was tugging at me, perhaps even begging me to.

Because I could not betray either of them, I simply stared at Lord Tywin. In all honesty, I hadn’t a clue what I would say even if I felt capable of speaking. The Hand of the King continued to gaze up at me, and when he realized that I had no intention to say anything, he said the only thing that was left to say.

“Lady (Y/N), please come down. You’re- You’re going to get sick.”

Although I could not reply, I certainly could do this. Even I had to admit that the feeling of being continually stuck in the rain like this was growing uncomfortable. Gods, the ride back to the Red Keep was going to be awful.

Carefully, I adjusted my grip on the tree and began to move my legs over to the side. Lord Tywin knew that I intended to come down, and naturally dismounted his horse to make sure that I was safe as I did.

I held onto the different branches and crevices of the giant tree, and slowly began to work my way down it. The bark was rough and damp against my palms, but I felt sure footed even despite that. I made relatively quick work of it, and once I was close enough to the ground I simply jumped down.

I had not accounted for how slippery the leaves would be, however, and so as I hit the dirt I stumbled forward a bit and fell straight into Lord Tywin’s arms. He gripped me firmly, holding just below my shoulders and helping me stand up straight.

“Are you alright?” he asked, making sure I hadn’t accidentally messed up an ankle or something. I looked up at him, swallowing and then nodding in response to his question. He let go of me then, moving over to his horse and removing a cloak from his saddlebag. “Here, you’re absolutely drenched. We’ll go to the inn down the road, the Red Keep is too far for us to get to in this weather. I’m certain at least one soldier will give up his room for the right amount of gold.”

Lord Tywin wrapped the thing around me, rubbing my arms to warm me up and then placing the hood over my head. I had only now realized that I was shivering. He directed me over to my horse, helping me on before mounting his own animal.

He looked at me once more, trying to make sure that I intended to follow him. When I gave him a nod, he spurred his horse and instantly started toward the nearby road. I started after him, eager to get anywhere that wasn’t outside in this wretched rain.

After about five minutes of hard riding, we thankfully came across the inn that he intended to stay in for the night. It suddenly hit me that Tywin Lannister intended to sleep here. I supposed there were a few nicer rooms, but still, it was hardly comparable to anything in the Red Keep or at Casterly Rock. Then again, he’d had no problem spending the night outside before.

I watched him approach a post then, dismounting and tying his horse to it. I did the same, though I was shivering so aggressively that it took me a moment to actually knot the reins. Lord Tywin was waiting for me, and I could see in his eyes that he was concerned for my health. I was certain it would be fine, I just needed to get warm. Now all that was left to do was pray that Lord Tywin and I could acquire two rooms, though somehow, I had a dreadful feeling that we’d end up stuck in one.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro @gbatesx @lockleysgrl

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin imagine #tywin lannister #house lannister #tywin x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a lion in the garden

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atopvisenyashill · 8 days

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I read through your Jonsa meta linked in your bio and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to really love Jonsa but the part where you say J*nerys evidence is weak sauce like I do like the ship but I only want it if it doesn’t go like the show and it also isn’t just some boring king and queen of the seven kingdoms crap but do think what people call foreshadowing for the ship is no stronger than Jonsa foreshadowing but I get dog piled by other J*nerys shippers for admitting this. I do think some common evidence for Jonsa is questionable. Like that GRRM was originally going to have Janos be hung until someone ELSE pointed out that Jon would probably do it the northern way and behead him, or that lady Ashford didn’t end up with the Targaryen suitor. But even still I don’t think that the evidence for J*nerys is strong. Like sorry I don’t think Dany being called bride of fire implies she’ll marry Jon I think she already is the bride of fire. I used to hate Jonsa but I realized that I feel very neutral to it. What I hate is the thought of a love triangle with Jon, Dany, and Sansa. The idea of Dany going mad because she loves Jon but Jon loves Sansa is just so tired and boring and sexist. I understand that a lot of the spite towards J*nerys fans is earned because they can be just as spiteful but my first introductions to Jonsa were in the context of this love triangle and the attitude was so spiteful that it put a bad taste in my mouth for years. But even when I did hate it I felt like other J*nerys fans were being hypocritical when they made of Jonsas for their theories. And I got shat on and accused of being a Jonsa myself for saying so. Like it’s eyebrow raising that George revised his Stark family tree to include a marriage between a Jonnel and a Sansa. Regardless of what George originally wrote, Jon beheading Janos is compelling. I do see the vision even it’s not for me. Jon and Dany don’t know each other exist. I think the only thing that really gives J*nerys leverage is that they loved each other in the show and I’ve always had a hard time believing that George actually gave D&D like two plot points and turned them loose to do literally whatever they could come up with. If the show didn’t exist, you’d be hard pressed to convince me there was a viable chance J*nerys would happen and I really just hate the animosity between Jonsa and J*nerys shippers

I’m gonna take this point by point bc it’s kind of a lot and I want to address it all!!

do think what people call foreshadowing for the ship is no stronger than Jonsa foreshadowing but I get dog piled by other J*nerys shippers for admitting this.

LISTEN i’m glad you agree lmaoooo because my number one bitter hater issue re: the ship war IS that imo the “evidence” for both is kinda opaque, but only one is treated as being legitimate fan analysis. like, people will call sansa’s ghost wolf a reach but dany hearing the lonely wolf is full proof even tho this is the exact same thing. or the entire hullabaloo around how when you use the ashford tourney theory to be about Not Jonsa it's valid analysis but when it is about Jonsa then that's just pushing your ship. it’s the silliness of the argument that drives me crazy, that one take is considered “just starting a ship war” and one is the “proper” reading of the text. we don't know who is properly reading the text because we don't have the entire text yet!!!

I do think some common evidence for Jonsa is questionable. Like that GRRM was originally going to have Janos be hung until someone ELSE pointed out that Jon would probably do it the northern way and behead him, or that lady Ashford didn’t end up with the Targaryen suitor.

WAIT OKAY i'm not trying to convert you here lmao, merely explaining my reasoning for those because I know I talk about the Jason/Ashford thing a lot specifically so - the janos slynt thing for me is less the specificity that jon cuts his head off and more that sansa wishes for someone to kill janos for his hand in ned’s death and jon, without any knowledge of what janos did or how it affected sansa, sees straight to the sort of person janos is and executes him. more so about the idea that sansa is praying for a hero only for the hero to be the bastard brother she had dismissed, the only brother left to her now (or so she thinks). it's about the little ~invisible thread~ tying them together even when they're unaware of it.

as for the ashford tourney theory, i actually do agree that people put a little too much stock in the last targaryen suitor aspect of it BUT. EYE personally have been on that "it's hinting towards brienne" train literally since I heard it, and you can see that in the posts I've made about it, that I think it's about dunk/brienne interrupting the tourney to save sansa - it's just that part of saving sansa includes bringing her to her dark haired targaryen brother-cousin. especially bc imo valarr does feature heavily enough in the original dunk adventure, with his short scene after Baelor is killed, and how both valarr and jon have a lot of issues surrounding not measuring up to The Perfect Heir (baelor/robb), and being known for being kinda prickly, and the whole Doomed By The Narrative aspect of their characters, and this isn't something that valarr parallels with the other targaryen boy, aegon/young griff. BUT also I just think the whole convo surrounding this theory is annoying tbh alsdjf I think there are three concrete avenues it could go down (jon, aegon, or brienne, or some combo of the three even) and I find it. frustrating that this theory started out as a {redacted} theory that is clearly meant to push A Specific Ship And Reading Of The Text but if you apply the theory to literally anyone else, you get accused of doing just that. like are we not all just pushing A Specific Reading (aka OUR OWN READING) Of The Text here??

But even still I don’t think that the evidence for J*nerys is strong. Like sorry I don’t think Dany being called bride of fire implies she’ll marry Jon I think she already is the bride of fire. I used to hate Jonsa but I realized that I feel very neutral to it. What I hate is the thought of a love triangle with Jon, Dany, and Sansa. The idea of Dany going mad because she loves Jon but Jon loves Sansa is just so tired and boring and sexist.

NO YEAH. it's the same with the "blue rose" thing like.....the blue rose/bael the bard story isn't a happy one? "sweet smelling" is often used in this series as a mask for a deadly, poisonous center. I think "bride of fire" is a callback to catelyn's "wedded to his war" more than anything, that like you say, dany is already the bride of fire, she chose the fire when she burned mmd and walked into the pyre, and i kind of bristle at the idea that her being the bride of fire is tied to whatever man she's fucking. the point is that she is foregoing being the bride of a man for being the bride of fire to me!! and also VALID i don't like the love triangle angle, i don't like love triangles because i think they're usually so lopsided where you're clearly supposed to pick a specific leg of the triangle, and i just HATE the idea that either dany or sansa or jon's stories are heading to a love triangle because it's not particularly compelling to me that they're fighting over the same stupid boy (i can call him stupid, he's my son). especially as you say, the idea that dany might turn on jon because she wants his love and he won't give it - bleh. annoying, tired, been done a million times. this is why i'm also not overly fond of the idea of him being the one to kill her (but i like the idea of him taking the fall for it regardless).

I understand that a lot of the spite towards J*nerys fans is earned because they can be just as spiteful but my first introductions to Jonsa were in the context of this love triangle and the attitude was so spiteful that it put a bad taste in my mouth for years. But even when I did hate it I felt like other J*nerys fans were being hypocritical when they made of Jonsas for their theories. And I got shat on and accused of being a Jonsa myself for saying so. Like it’s eyebrow raising that George revised his Stark family tree to include a marriage between a Jonnel and a Sansa. Regardless of what George originally wrote, Jon beheading Janos is compelling. I do see the vision even it’s not for me. Jon and Dany don’t know each other exist.

i bolded that one line because YES EXACTLY it is very eyebrow raising that he revised the family tree to include that. like WHY. WHAT? imo, if there was a like a Jonos Targaryen who married a Daenerys Targaryen in the targ family tree, EVERYONE would be insisting that's Jonerys proof so I think it's funny when people brush over it. Or like, the fact that it's Jon and Sansa that dream of having children. The fact that it's only Jon and Sansa who are referred to as the blood of Winterfell. There's something here that's being hinted at, and it's compelling! I think I definitely do get being initially turned off because of the ship war - part of my initial, idk, aggressiveness towards dany on the reread was the DEADLY combo of YEARS of watching The ASOIAF{redacted but if you know u know] People dogpile jonsas and sansa stans constantly for literally just writing meta, making theories, like every other goddamn person + growing to just completely hate show!dany and emilia's acting specifically. then as i was rereading i was like oh actually book dany is not only vastly more interesting as a character than show dany's writing or acting could ever be, i also just don't have to let all the targ nation stans completely ruin a character i actually really like.

like this theory specifically by stumpy (which is another post that got dogpiled massively for no goddamn good reason by the asoiaf{redacted} people) about aegon being the sun's son and jon being the mummer's dragon set my brain on fire and made me realize so much of what i hated about dany's character was actually just the wank surrounding her. i'd completely resigned myself to the idea that jonerys was gonna happen for so long and i was so depressed ver it because i thought it was a stupid, shitty ending and i was just going to hate a large part of the ending forever and then i read that and i was like "oh actually maybe there's another option??" like who gives a shit, we're never getting the next books anyway alksjdfl. also FOR THE RECORD i also HATE the idea of a love triangle between those three, and i think i kinda break from a lot of jonsas (tho not all) in that i also don't like the idea of jon killing dany (again, i want it to be arya and for jon to take the fall. if jon is killing anyone, i like the idea of it being drogon much more than dany). like, i don't want any hetero targ fucking here. i think there could be something here in that both dany and jon feel they have to be attracted to each other but in reality are just Not Interested (for a variety of reasons) but i don't actually want them to do the deed at all and I've been firm on that since I was like, 16 lajsflkfd.

I think the only thing that really gives Jnerys leverage is that they loved each other in the show and I’ve always had a hard time believing that George actually gave D&D like two plot points and turned them loose to do literally whatever they could come up with. If the show didn’t exist, you’d be hard pressed to convince me there was a viable chance Jnerys would happen and I really just hate the animosity between Jonsa and J*nerys shippers

WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS IS WHERE SNOWSPEAR COMES IN. I can write more on that, I know i've mentioned it before, but I think that show!Dany got a lot, perhaps even most of Aegon's storyline in the books and that includes a relationship with Jon. I'm not saying they'll straight up fuck on page (george is alas too heterosexual for that) but I do think the vast majority of their story arc in season 7 where Jon is going back and forth with Dany and growing close to her while being wary of her is actually a relationship he'll have with Aegon. I think that makes much more sense thematically and also it doesn't piss me off lmao.

I think in general, they took his plot points and just kinda peppered it throughout the character's actions with no regard for whether it makes sense for that character. Or are just being straight up misleading about what it is they got from him - like their insistence that "hold the door" is from him, for example, I think in actuality here George told them that Hodor will be killed while Bran is warging him and purposefully leaving him behind, and they came up with that dumb ass hold the door -> hodor thing on their own. same for arya killing the night king - EYE think arya tries something against dany, but they gave it jon because they thought it would be more romantic (and they already combined dany and aegon) and went "well arya killing the night king would be sick as fuck, that's basically the same right?" like, i think there's something of what george wrote in there, i just think it's both confusingly folded in and also spread around a lot.

i think i even explained that to my sibling once (who doesn't read the series but does like some of the characters) that I think because they combined so many characters, that they wanted this friction between tyrion and jon, between sansa and dany, but had cut so many story lines and disregarded so many characters, that they just changed up the romance a bit (which we KNOW they do because look what they did to Jeyne W. and the entire Dornish plot).

anyways, yeah the tldr is that ship wars are stupid as shit and it's really hard to not become a hater when a large part of the fandom is constantly discounting your opinion because you ship a thing they don't like, and then claiming YOU are the one egging on the ship war when you are just existing in your goddamn corner. like i don't even use the vs tag half the time specifically because of that shit ya know. i'm not arguing whether my opinion is "right" or not with someone who thinks they're superior and smarter than me just because they think THEIR incest ship is valid but MY incest ship is gross and self projection.

#like first of all if i'm projecting onto a character it's clearly bran. no i don't want to fuck jon snow he's a baby child.#'but he's sixt-' HE'S A BABY CHILD. THAT'S AN INFANT. A LITTLE BOY.#asks #fandom wank #asoiaf wank #anons #ummmmmmmm #anti daenerys stans #idk man idk what everyone filters from me aljdsfks

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seoness · 2 years

Text

More Than Our Servitude

(TV Show!) Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader | Fluff & Romance | One-shot | Requested | SFW TRIGGER WARNING: The Reader-insert has experienced physical abuse/corporal punishment and canon-typical class oppression.

Summary: You lived your life as one of the washerwomen of the Red Keep, only seeing the Hound in passing. Still, when the madness of the Battle of Blackwater erupted, he came for you. The Hound is weary from battle, but you try and soothe what little you can. Reader-Insert info: Kind, caring, gentle. Minor backstory just to ground you in the world.

Smoke, sweat, and horse. You were used to those smells. It clung to the cloaks of Kingsguards and the men-at-arms of the Red Keep, lingering on their linens. It was the other, thick and heavy, a stench you hoped never to learn, that made bile push up your throat. Burnt flesh. Dropping the fold of your cloak, a tuft of Stranger's black mane took its place in your hand.

Everything felt like a strange dream... You waited and waited for it to end, for you to wake and look up at the planks of the bunk bed above. A morn like the hundreds of morns before them.

How many days had it been since the entire world glowed? When the blackness of the night and the steady drums of Stannis Baratheon's fleet gave way to bursting green and thunder. Closing your eyes, you could still see it. The green shard soaring up into the sky, like the Seven Hells themselves had opened, ready to swallow the city whole. Why had you been so foolish? Why did you have to go out by the washer lines? Maybe if you had stayed inside and prayed with the others, you'd been spared their screams? The shrieks of burning men.

The dream hadn't gone, plate and mail chirred behind you. The Hound hadn't said much since that night. Drunk and bloodied, he had come for you.

"If possible, could our camp for the night be by water?" you asked, peering back the usual clenched face met you, his gaze empty.

Clegane had said little of that night, but even if he had, what answer could you offer to make the pain any less? The few times he spoke, he cursed them all. Only one thing you knew for certain.

"I'm sorry Lady Sansa wouldn't come," you said.

"Should have gone to you first. You'd not frightened the little bird," he replied.

Hearing him talk was enough to make you sigh out in relief.

"Wouldn't I? I am a stranger to her. With all that she's been through, I doubt that poor girl would be quick to trust anyone but if I had convinced her... I know it's selfish, but I wouldn't have wanted to know. Better to remain oblivious." Your answer made the Hound look down, his brow furrowing. "I admit that I do not know much about horses, but three on one back?"

"That what's been going on inside that head of yours?" he grunted.

"No," you replied. "I dream about a bath and a chance to wash our clothes."

Clegane huffed and fixed his gaze back on the path ahead. He had tried to rid himself of the stench, the rag had wiped away the blood and layers of mud, but the stench of burnt flesh stayed.

The river twined through the forest, cutting through the earth, eroding it away and exposing roots, making pine trees bow to the water. Clegane pressed his heels into the sides of his stallion, muttering about being crushed while you both slept.

"Please don't," you piped as the man swung off and grabbed the reigns.

Stranger already stomping as you slid into the saddle, gripping the edge like a vice.

"He needs rest. You're lighter, I walk quicker. Relax and he'll stop," Clegane said.

"Can't warhorses bite one's face off?"

"True. So what got you so tightened up, think he'll reach that pretty little face and tear it off while you're on his back?" he snorted and began to lead his horse.

Each attempt you made to suggest a campsite was promptly dismissed.

The ground is too damp. You'd be sleeping in a bog. There weren't enough shrubs. Anyone could see you. There were too many shrubs. Someone could sneak up and slit your throat.

Finally, when the sky had turned purple, and the sun had gone behind the trees, the Hound was content. The river wider, its waters slow, and no pine loomed above, ready to swat you both like bugs. Clegane's hands closed around your waist, and for the briefest of moments, he was so very near.

It had been easy back at the Red Keep. You would mostly see him twice a day, come morn and eve, when the Hound made his way from the White Sword Tower to be by King Joffrey's side. He was always busy, always moving, never staying long enough to see the flush across your face after meeting his gaze.

It was harder on the back of Stranger. If you leaned back, he'd be there, and with a slight movement of his arms, you'd finally feel the Hound's embrace. They never did, his hands kept rest by his legs, and even those were only close enough so you'd stay securely on Stranger's back. But sitting in front of him, it didn't matter how much your cheeks prickled if he couldn't see your face.

It was impossible when he helped you down. To feel like nothing in his hands, no more cumbersome than the basket of laundry. Darting to the side as soon your feet touched the ground, your only defense, you looked around.

"I'll fetch something for the fire."

"Going to check the surroundings," he muttered and strode off.

You hadn't been able to bring much, only the satchel that accompanied you on your daily duties around the castle. Rags, soap, and scented oils. Not precisely items one would want in the wilderness, but with them, you managed to prepare the shoreline for his bath.

You were feeding the campfire with another log when the Hound emerged from the dark. The strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His breathing quick.

"Were there any problems?" you asked.

"No."

Rising, you wiped away the dirt from your hands and nodded towards the shore. "You may go first, Clegane."

"I didn't take you with me so I'd have a servant," he spat.

Splaying your skirt, you curtsied deep, head bowed. "Your bath is ready, my lord," you said softly before meeting his dark eyes once more, smiling. "That is what I would have said if I was your servant. If you need help with your armor, I'll try and-"

"And that's not serving me?" Clegane waved to the forest around you. "Are you mistaking these trees for stone? This is not the Red Keep, woman. Speak however you want."

"But I am?"

The hand soared through the air. Flinching, you shut your eyes. So now it happened. The Hound was like the others. It just took him longer. Why even get your hopes up? You should have stayed in the Red Keep... with him, it would hurt all the more.

"Open your damn eyes." His voice was just as grating and deep, but it no longer held its edge. "I'm not hitting you."

You obliged his command but the anger that had been written across his face was gone. "I'm sorry."

"That more of my honorable brothers' work?" Clegane asked.

You had never seen it, only heard the whispers, the beating of Lady Sansa by the Kingsguards' hands, not one whisper had been by his.

"The list of those who don't strike servants is far easier to give," you chuckled, "even other servants hit those a rung lower."

Tugging on one of the straps, his left pauldron soon hit the ground, then the next. Cursing Clegane undid the laces of his brigandine. Metal clanged as he tossed the boots and before he had time to remove the undertunic you had turned your back to him.

You only heard his voice, "Anyone strikes you again and I'll kill them."

The man strode into the river and you took refuge in the task at hand. It was not hard, you'd done it a thousand times, scooping up his cloak and tunic. He had kept his breeches on.

"I'll only go a bit downstream to wash these," you called and snagged your satchel.

"Stay within sight of the camp."

It wasn't too far away. The camp gone behind some trees, but you'd see it again with a short walk. Shedding your layers until the slip of undyed linen was the only thing keeping you from standing bare, you bit your lip as you entered the waters. There was no slope, the river claiming you up to your waist and the sharp sting of cold robbing you of any warmth. Soaking the cloth as your teeth shattered, squealing as a wind blew in.

A rubbing of soap. Wringing it up. Smacking the wool against the stone. Again and again. Your own cloak the next.

Smack.

You didn't hear. The branch that broke, the footsteps—

"What are you doing?" the voice almost made the cloak slip from your fingers and float away along the river.

Spinning on your heel, you hugged the wool to your breast. No pine loomed above you but a Hound.

"Are you trying to make it easy for any broken man that finds you? You think what's left in these forests are good people? Rapers, murderers, and thieves," Clegane said.

"Y-You checked the surroundings."

Your gaze flickered down, leaving the angered stare and sending your heart hammering as you took it all in. The breeches clung to his legs and the swordbelt hastily fastened by his hip. Until then, him bare had been a figment of your imagination. The arms were thick with muscle and the chest wide. Despite youth being behind him and time leaving his face weathered, it had done little against his body. Clegane was of nobility, yet he had none of their softness. The lower of his arms tanned but faded to skin pale as milk by his shoulders.

"—within the sight of the camp," he snapped.

Huh? He had spoken, but for how long or much you couldn't tell. The anger hadn't gone from his face. Clegane wouldn't hit you. He swore he'd kill anyone who tried but explaining one's actions wasn't a favorable trait in any servant. One was to bow. One was to apologize, fault or not. But he wanted no servant either. Facing him, eyes that bore into one's soul, you steeled yourself and smiled. Gently. Pretending not to feel the heat on your cheeks.

"Without this rock, I wouldn't be able to wash our clothes. Just dunking the cloth up and down won't do much of anything. Beating it against the rock loosens the dirt up," you explained, and when no snarl came you wrung the cloak up again and hit it against the stone. "See?"

Clegane said nothing as he held out his hand, and there was only to accept defeat but when you stepped up on shore the man shoved his swordbelt in your hands.

"Sit and hold this," he commanded and looked to the cloak still pinned to your breast, the mouth twitched as he spoke. "That clean?"

Nod.

Taking his tunic and with some minor pointers, he began the work instead. You couldn't look away. Sandor Clegane, the fearsome Hound, the first Kingsguard that hadn't taken his knight's vows. A man feared by all... ordered around by a washerwoman.

"What?" Clegane asked, only then did you feel the grin on your lips.

His glare didn't make the smile go. "You are a lord, is this how it feels to be one?"

"Not a lord," Clegane corrected. "Got no keep. No land."

"I believe Lord Tyrion would disagree with such an explanation," you said.

"The Imp doesn't give a rat's ass about the truth. A lord with no land nor keep is just as useless as a knight with no shield or sword," Clegane replied.

It was like flipping a coin. On the one side was the man that could snarl with little to no provocation, and on the other was the one that stood stalwart with his back turned as you bathed. The man that aided you in erecting branches so you could dry your clothes by the fire.

Sitting down, you allowed yourself to give in and feel the ache in your legs from the ride. Clegane did what he always did, walking about, tending to his horse, checking the saddlebags but then and again, you felt his eyes linger. The white slip clung to your skin, leaving little of you for him to guess... You had heard the stories. The hunger of men after a battle. If Clegane hungered, he had never come to you to still it.

You hadn't eaten. Hells, even before the escape, you hadn't. It wasn't like the King would empty his larder to feed servants when the risk of a siege loomed over them. It was perfectly expected. Who's stomach wouldn't rumble? Looking up, you met his eyes, but it wasn't like you could excuse yourself somewhere. Acting like nothing had occurred, you glanced over the forest and river.

A piece of cured meat was pressed into your hand. "Here. Eat."

Clegane seated himself by the fire, watching like a hawk.

"I'm not eating our last food just because my stomach rumbled the loudest. You are the one with a sword, and what good is a washerwoman against rapers, murderers, and thieves?" you replied and held it back towards him.

It made sense. He'd listen, just as he had with the rock, but Clegane didn't move.

"People like me go hungry all the time, I'm used to it," you said but it only made his face twist. "I'm fine."

Biting a smaller piece off for yourself, you tried again. He had to be hungry. But the meat still hovered in the air.

Sighing, you leaned forward, closing the distance, and forced your voice deep, trying to imitate his voice, "Open. Chew. Swallow."

The dark eyes flickered down before the food disappeared from your hand. "Too stubborn for your own good," he muttered.

You savored the little piece you had, the taste of salt and venison filling your mouth. Now, all that was left was to wait for your cloaks to dry. You'd sleep. Get back on Stranger and the day would repeat like the one before it. A new normal. A better normal.

"I'd had gone to you." The rasp pulled you from thought, the stars had begun to show in the night sky, Clegane's gaze fixed on the fire. "A lady like that knows how to ride a horse."

"But you don't owe me anything, we've barely talked..."

Before Joffrey Baratheon was made King, you had only seen him in the halls of the Red Keep. A greeting, a wishing of good luck if he was to ride out on one of the many hunts or to compete in a tourney. Half the time, he hadn't even replied back. It couldn't compete with saving the life of the firstborn daughter to the Warden of the North. Clegane didn't answer you, only meeting your eyes. It was the longest you had kept his gaze.

The nose scrounged up, and Clegane looked back to the fire. "Got family somewhere? Could take you to them, be with your own."

"I've never been outside the city walls. My own was maids, washerwomen, and stablehands," you replied, and so many of them were gone. "As long as you promise me we never return to the Red Keep, you can take me wherever you please."

Clegane huffed air, and silence returned. The only thing you had managed was to make it even more awkward than before. Balling up, your cheek resting against your knees, you looked out over the water and listened to the crackle of the firewood. It was better to not speak too much with Clegane. Keep quiet. At least, until he got easier to read.

It was so warm... The wool fell over your shoulders as the Hound draped his cloak over you. "Yours got some time left 'til it's dry," he said.

"Thank you." Before the man had time to sit back down you spoke again. "Would you like to share... just until my cloak is dry?"

Clegane looked half ready to snarl, but he just nodded, seating himself beside you. Taking to your feet you draped the cloak over his shoulders instead, making him frown.

"Like on the back of Stranger," you said and knelt.

Clegane's jaw clenched as he moved his legs, making room for you. It was either this or sit beside him like a red beacon. Holding the edges of the cloak shut before you, like a tent, what little of Clegane's touch you felt was an accident. An arm brushed against an elbow. A heel going past the side of a foot. The man was just as stiff as he was in the saddle.

Slowly the heat began to build inside your makeshift tent. It wrapped around you. Not of smoke, horse, or sweat. Not of burnt flesh. Him. Just him.

Breathe. Breathe and keep calm. Maybe then your heart wouldn't feel ready to explode. It was just like riding on the back of Stranger, just like-

"I do owe you." The words were nothing more than a voice in the dark, grating and deep, sending a shiver down your spine and leaving your body tingling. "Think there are many that smile at me? Stand to look me in the eye? You did. You do."

"My smile is worth the protection of a kingsguard? The one who was sworn sword to the Crown Prince?" but each question strained your throat, your mouth dry like it had never known drink.

"None of that anymore."

"Yet you are the man that earned those titles," you answered.

"Think I earned those titles by being a good man?"

Words that should make you afraid instead made an ache grow in your chest. There was so much you didn't know, only rumors and all of them bloody. It wasn't true, he was wrong and you couldn't leave him with doubt. Suffering the embarrassment of having the man see what he did to you was far less than his pain. You shuffled, with less graze than you'd wished, until his face was before you.

The light of the campfire made Clegane look older than he was, casting parts in deep shadow. The burn that had claimed so much of his right side hidden behind his hair looked even more painful. Every crater deepened and every ridge heightened. At first, it had given you pause, to see a man that could suffer such a wound and yet walk. But it was the rest, what was in those dark eyes that told so much more. You could only imagine what he'd seen, the horror. No matter how much or how long you tried you would never understand.

"I do not mean to insult you but were you not a servant too? Your servitude was one of steel and mine of cloth, but you served the Lannisters. Did their bidding. If I do not wash the linens properly I would be beaten or flogged. Am I to believe your punishment would have been lighter had you refused one of their orders? We do not hold someone to an oath if said at the point of a sword. Not even the gods do so... So why should I hold you by actions, not of your own will, when a sword was ready to claim your head had you not," you said and the sides of your mouth tugged. "I may have only smiled, spoken to you in passing but... those that notice people like me usually do so because others don't... They can do as they please, and none would know. You didn't. You were kind."

A dry chuckle left his lips, "You think this kind? Never figured you to be dim."

"Noble?" you tried but it only made his lips press shut.

The ache in your chest grew. Just one touch. One tenderness. Your fingers brushed over his hand but it disappeared as quick as if caught in flame.

"Don't have to do that." His face twisting. "I'll find somewhere safe you can live, and you find yourself some man. You don't want an old dog."

"Your not that-" but when his brow cocked, you corrected yourself. "You're no Grandmaester Pycelle."

It was so easy to be greedy. To want more. Rising, the crisp air of the night greeted you while Clegane watched in silence. "Besides, dogs do not make such poor company."

It was like kissing one of the statues of the Red Keep. Your lips lightly brushed against his forehead and patted lightly atop his head with your hand before walking to the stand where your cloak awaited. Swaying, it felt as if you had drunk an entire wine cellar. Heart ready to burst as you laid yourself down. The Hound's stare burned your back as you wrapped the cloak tight.

The rattle of metal and boiled leather made you twist around. Clegane's tunic was already on him, fastening his brigandine.

"Going to check the surroundings," he muttered.

"Be safe, and careful so you don't trip in the dark."

But he was already disappearing behind the trees. "Stop fretting..." but the rest of his muttering was too low and far away for you to hear.

You tried to stay awake, wait for him, but it had been a long day of riding, and one just as long would follow... but if he tripped, if he fought something... You looked into the fire until your eyes stung like mad but even that couldn't keep your eyelids from growing heavy. Was it a dream? A roughness grazed your temple. Clegane? You wanted to open your eyes, but your body was too tired and the world too warm. All you managed was a smile.

Thanks for reading!

(Please be aware, if you enjoyed my writing and want to see more, that there are NSFW 18+ posts on my page).

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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snow falls hot | part 1.

Summary: (Y/N) Snow isn’t a Snow at all. She’s a Targaryen— Rhaegar’s child. Taken in by the Starks, she leads her life as another on of Ned’s bastards. Will she be able to live in Westeros comfortably? More importantly, does she have any ambition to see herself one day on the Iron Throne?

Warnings: in this part none but this is game of thrones so… specific parts will get specific warnings though

Pairing: robb stark x reader

Word Count: 5k

(Series Masterlist)

“Lady Stark, your son is—”

A very young Robb Stark ran into the bed chamber before the maid could finish her sentence.

“Mother—” Robb stopped as he watched you and Catelyn Stark scramble to hide what you were doing.

“(Y/N)?”

Catelyn Stark grabbed a young five year old Robb. “You must swear to not tell anyone what you saw, Robb. On (Y/N)’s life it is important you never say a word.”

That was the day Robb Stark learned (Y/N) Snow was not a Snow, not his father’s second bastard child along with his brother Jon. That the honorable Ned Stark didn’t sleep with the two whores at a brothel one night when they had one a major battle and ended up getting them both pregnant like he said he did— one of the women having darker skin than they were used to seeing in Westeros.

That was the day Robb learned the two bastards didn’t share the same name day, you were born several months— almost an entire year before Jon. You weren’t even a Northerner. You were a Targaryen. The last surviving Targaryen, only living daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and a woman that no one knew if she was still alive. Rhaegar knew his fate was sealed when the rebellion of Robert Baratheon started over Lyanna Stark. He could do nothing for Elia and his other children but he went back for you. You were hidden away in the Tower of Joy where Rhaegar was keeping Lyanna Stark.

At his dying sister’s command, Ned didn’t harm the child but took her with him. A raven was sent to Rhaegar’s last known relative, Maester Aemon at the Wall. The Wall was no place for a child. Castle Black couldn’t take care of a baby. So it was agreed between him, his wife, and Master Aemon that since a babe was not responsible for the acts of her father— Rhaegar never even earned a chance to rule the Seven Kingdoms, you would be raised as Ned’s second bastard.

No one could understand how Catelyn had love for one bastard but couldn’t bring herself to love Jon. Winterfell assumed it was because until Sansa, you were the only girl. The only problem the Starks ever had was the blonde hair, undeniably Targaryen. It was fine when you were a toddler, but as you reached true childhood questions would be asked. Maester Luwin scoured the books of Winterfell, any knowledge he had from the Citadel to find a solution. The strong dyes for their cloths, the only thing that could stain the Targaryen hair and keep it stained for good.

“What are you doing to her hair?” Robb asked. He watched as your blonde hair turned into the famous Stark black color.

Septa Mordane smiled at your finished needlepoint. You were dismissed leaving a happy Sansa and very annoyed Aria to continue their work. You walked through the courtyard of Winterfell until you found the Stark boys. Robb gave you a smile as you approached. The two of you were practically twins, two sides of the same coin. The only person Robb could never beat was Jon— you and Robb might have shared your secret but you and Jon had the bond of bastard children. Especially with how Catelyn treated him, Jon needed someone growing up that was always on his side whether he was right or not. You sat on top of a barrel, letting little Rickon sit on your lap, as you watched Bran practice archery. Jon and Robb laughed when Bran missed; you tried to hide your snickering behind Rickon.

“Go on, Bran. Father’s watching,” Jon encouraged. “And your mother.”

This time you didn’t laugh when Bran missed, you could see how he was becoming increasingly frustrated. Robb and Jon made no attempts to hide their amusement. You reached over Jon to hit Robb for laughing— an indignant look crossed his face as he realized you didn’t scold Jon for laughing.

“And which one of you was a marksman at ten?” Ned shouted down to his children from where he and Catelyn were watching up above. “Try once more Bran.”

“Loosen up your bow arm,” Robb offered up the advice.

You cheered when an arrow zipped past you and landed on the bullseye until you noticed Bran’s arrow was still notched in his bow. You looked behind him to see Arya. She smiled in surprise that she had actually made it. You laughed as Bran threw down his bow angrily and started to chase Arya. The mood of the courtyard was cheerful until a messenger ran in.

“Lord Stark! They’ve caught the deserter.”

You scooped up Rickon. The rest of the boys would go with Ned; but, an execution was no place for a six year old. You released Rickon to his mother and went to saddle your horse. Ned walked over to you with a raised brow.

“I’m going with you and the boys, and don’t say I can’t because I’m a woman or lie that I’m too young. I’m almost Robb’s age, almost an adult. Jon just turned my age and you let him go. Even Bran is going and he is ten, Papa.”

Ned smiled— a glint in his eyes. You only called him Papa when you wanted something, usually opting for Father or Lord Stark. You pulled your shoulders back to try and appear larger. The defiance of a Targaryen was plain as day to him. Ned grabbed your saddle from your arms and strapped it around the horse without another word. With excitement, you raced out of the stables to where the boys were— Bran on a pony instead of a large horse like the rest of you.

The deserter was brought out to a field far away from the castle grounds of Winterfell. You all hopped off of your horses. The deserter began spewing what you could only describe as nonsense as he talked of white walkers and dead things coming back to life. While you heard Jon tell Bran not to look away because Ned was watching, you quickly realized an execution was not a place for you despite wanting to prove your place in Winterfell.

The large, almost too large, sword in Ned’s hand started its downward path. You tucked your face into the boy closest to you, Theon. He gently rubbed your back at your sharp intake of breath and patted you twice when it was over. You made a point not to gasp as you saw the head separated from his body. It was over. There was nothing more for you all in the field and it was time to head back.

“What is that?”

The others squinted at what you were pointing to so far away from them. You always had the keenest eyes and could spot something from a mile away. The object in the road you had been pointing to was a dead stag upon closer inspection. Everyone got off their horses, following Ned’s lead because he wanted to see what had killed the creature. It didn’t take too long. Theon called everyone over to a large and very dead direwolf. There was part of the stag’s antler and it was apparent both creatures ended up not surviving their encounter with each other.

Barking drew everyone’s attention and Theon held up a pup. Without much thought, you held out your arms. Theon obliged and dropped the pup into your arms. The older men were debating what to do— wanting to end the pups now. Give them a mercy kill instead of them dying from the cold and starvation. You looked at Robb and Jon with large, sad eyes as you bounced the pup in your arms. Jon looked at the wolf pup in your arms and then at the others he could see.

“Lord Stark,” he spoke up. “There seem to be five wolves. You have five children, trueborn.”

Jon quickly added the last part after seeing Bran and Robb’s faces. They didn’t like when you and Jon separated yourselves from the rest of them. You thought it was pointless, especially with the way you looked. At least Jon closer resembled them— and actually was Ned’s son.

“A direwolf is not a pet,” one of the men said.

Ned and the other men thought about Jon’s words more and debated. You brought them all to your attention as you yelped when the direwolf bit your hand. You assured them that you were okay and they laughed a bit at Theon’s comment about the irony of a direwolf not taking to a Stark.

“It’s because I’m a Snow. I think this one wants you instead.”

You dropped the direwolf in Robb’s arms where it seemed to calm down greatly. Ned conceded that the wolf pups could come back with you all. The pups were scooped up, a smaller sixth one found underneath the others and given to Jon. He tried to hand you the pup but you shook your head.

“Are you sure? I don’t hav—”

“It’s fine Jon. The direwolf is yours.”

Ned smiled as he watched the two of you and patted your shoulder. His hand guiding you through the forest. You broke from his grasp and before the others could open their mouths, your skirts were in your hands as you ran a little bit. With a grin you turned back to face them. The men gasped in a sort of disbelief. There was another pup in your arms, jet black that it blended with the shadows of the forest floor.

“Mine.”

That was the only word you muttered not that there were any protests. The other Stark children were overjoyed when you returned with the direwolves. Each claimed one for their own, each wolf with a unique name.

“What will you name yours?” Sansa asked as Lady sat at her feet.

“I don’t know. How about you name her?”

If her smile could grow larger, it would. Sansa felt special whenever you asked for her advice. It made her feel good that her older sister needed her. Sansa thought deeply about a name that would fit both you and your direwolf. She decided on Godswood after the place that you were most often found in Winterfell.

“Godswood, let’s go.”

The pup, already quickly growing, followed behind you. The king was coming and everyone was getting ready. You were going to give Godswood a bath so she was presentable. This was your least favorite day as you stood next to Jon and Theon in the line behind the trueborn Starks. Every time you were near Robert Baratheon, you were worried that something would give you away. Nothing should have set him or anyone else off but it still made you nervous. Robb moved to stand as much in front of you as he could without it looking like he was hiding you on purpose. Catelyn nodded proudly at her eldest son.

It was better when the formalities had ended. A large feast was the perfect time to let loose without any qualms. A drunk Robert wouldn’t look twice your way. The Starks sat at the high table at the end of the hall with Robert and Cersei watching the party in front of them.

You weren’t at the same table as your siblings, being a bastard, but you were seated fairly close. Despite the separation, you weren’t lonely at all— switching between laughing with the family at your table and exchanging faces with your siblings. The music picked up and you and Theon were the first up. The whole of Winterfell cheered as the two of you wildly spun around the room and, before you knew it, everyone was up on their feet.

“That child is loved by all of the North,” King Robert said as he watched Robb tap Theon on the shoulder to switch places. “Have you found her a suitor?”

“She’s a Snow,” Ned started. “It isn’t exactly easy.”

Robert thought. “We should strengthen our houses nonetheless. Sansa and Joffrey, Arya and Tommen, Bran and Myrcella. (Y/N) should have a place too.”

“Her place is in Winterfell.”

“Robb and Rickon have Winterfell. Is she to be in her brothers’ keep forever? She’s a Stark to you in everything but name… there’s our answer.”

Ned, Catelyn, and Cersei’s eyes wandered to where Robert had stared. In place of Robb was Jaime Lannister, his hand momentarily leaving your waist as he spun you under his arm. The two women almost choked on their drink.

“Absolutely not. You want her to be with the Kingslayer?” Ned asked.

“Is she not young, Robert?” Cersei asked, Catelyn nodding frantically in response.

“You were younger than her when betrothed to me. Your brother hasn’t taken up a wife, he’s too married to his title to care about the title of another. A Snow is a Snow but that one is a Stark and it’ll do him good to be attached to one. Besides, now the Lannisters have a tie here as well under your own banner. Be grateful.”

There was no point arguing more. Robert was now annoyed with Cersei that anything Ned and Catelyn said would not make a difference. Instead the couple shared worried looks before returning back to the scene in front of them. You were smiling largely as Jaime attempted to keep up with the fast pace dancing of the North.

“I think you’re doing a wonderful job, Sir Jaime.”

“I think you flatter me Lady Snow.”

You thanked him for the dance and left to find the one Stark you hadn’t seen the whole night. The night was cold and the slight wind bit at your face as you searched for Jon. Your Uncle Benjen rode off on his horse as you rounded the corner. You could hear the voices of Jon and Tyrion as you got closer. For once, Jon didn’t look happy to see you.

“Lady Stark thinks it inappropriate for one bastard to attend but has no problem letting another.”

You didn’t say anything back, instead choosing to sit on the fence next to where Tyrion had been standing. Jon was angry and he needed to vent. Even against you, you were always on his side. Tyrion eyed you, noting your choice to let Jon be upset. You didn’t appear sad one bit and he found himself wanting to defend. The two of them continued to talk and you continued to sit quietly.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. None of it matters when I take the Black.”

You jumped up from your spot on the fence to approach him.

“You’re doing what? You can’t. You and I are children of Winterfell forever. I won’t let you leave me, I command that you don’t.”

Jon looked at you with sad eyes. He pulled you in for a hug, a quick kiss pressed to your hairline. He had made up his mind and nothing you could say would change it. You tried not to seem angry as you left Jon’s arms. Even in the morning, you were still upset as you and Godswood took a walk around the grounds.

“He’s an idiot, Godswood. A death wish. That’s all Jon has been after since we were seven, I swear. Summer?”

Bran’s direwolf ran up to you, barking madly. You and Godswood followed at Summer’s heels. Your screams echoed as you saw Bran lying there in the dirt, not moving. You scooped him up and ran into the castle shouting for Ned or Maester Luwin or anyone that was close enough to listen. It took them hours to pull you from Bran’s side even after Maester Luwin assured you that he would live. It wasn’t until you were reminded that you had to pack for your own journey with the other girls to King’s Landing that you left Bran’s room.

“Father?” You greeted Ned who had knocked on your door.

He entered with a small chest. Locking the door behind him, Ned set down the chest on the bed and unlocked it. He pulled back the layer of fabric and furs to reveal two large round stones. Carefully picking one up, Ned placed it in your hands.

“Lyanna said this was left for you and for… that you would know what to do when the time came.”

“What are they?”

“Fossils of dragon’s eggs. Your father left them for you.”

You stroked the stony egg and placed it back in the trunk before locking it. Giving Ned a hug, you whispered a thank you. It was hard for him to say anything about Rhaegar— you assumed it was because of what he did to Lyanna. In a last minute decision, when Ned had left the room, you took the egg fossils from the trunk and placed the fur they were wrapped in inside of your saddle bag.

Morning came and you spent it eating breakfast in Robb’s room— Catelyn would have had a fit if she knew you all had taken to eating in Robb’s room. Of course Sansa was eating in the hall, like a proper person. And Arya was nowhere to be found but neither was Jon so it was easily assumed they were together. So it was just you, Robb, Theon, and little Rickon eating the dry, plain, and hot breakfast of the North.

“I can’t believe you’re going with them,” Theon commented.

You shrugged.

“Father won’t tell me why. I suppose they want to make me a lady in waiting, Sansa will be married to Joffrey after all. It would do her well to have me with her.”

Robb made a gruff of disapproval. “I don’t like you or Sansa anywhere near that prince.”

Theon nodded in agreement. You all finished breakfast and left to where the traveling party had gathered outside. Reluctantly, Rickon allowed you to set him down on the ground. Theon hugged you tightly and let go with a nod of his head. Robb removed his large fur cloak and wrapped it around you.

“If you find King’s Landing too warm, send a raven. I’ll personally ride down and come get you myself, just say the word. I promise I’ll be there.”

Robb let go of you after you nodded in promise you would write to him. Years ago, after seeing the two of you as close as two people could possibly be, Ned considered telling the truth. Not that you were a Targaryen but that you weren’t his. Even Catelyn agreed, the two of them considered revealing you had no relation in order to promise you to Robb. He couldn’t remember what had caused them to delay and decide not to say anything but now he regretted it. Because you would be in Winterfell with a boy that knew your secret and could protect you instead of headed to King’s Landing to be with a man that was responsible for the death of more than one of your family members.

Instead of taking the carriage with Cersei, her children, Sansa, and Arya, you rode outside with the others. Robb lifted you onto your horse. Ned watched his eldest son squeeze your hand before letting go and stepping back. The ride felt too short as you already approached the fork in the road— one path to King’s Landing, the other to the Wall and Castle Black.

It was too soon to say goodbye to Uncle Benjen and Jon but you found that you had to. Quick goodbyes were given to Tyrion and Benjen while Ned talked to Jon. Even though it was best to stick to the schedule, none of the party dared to interrupt you and Jon’s moment.

“You aren’t allowed to die out there,” you said causing Jon to huff out a laugh.

“I will try not to.”

“I’m serious. The only thing allowed to kill you is time. I’ll kill you myself if I’ve found out you died. You come back to me Jon Snow, okay?”

Jon nodded and grabbed your arm— the best he could do for a hug when you both were on top of horses. You brought your horses closer. Fishing into your saddle bag, you took out the small bundle of fur holding one of the egg fossils and placed it in Jon’s saddle bag.

“What is it?”

“I wrote you a letter… you must promise to burn it after you read it.”

“What is—”

“Promise me, Jon.”

“I promise.”

Jon lifted the fur a little to see the egg in his bag and the letter right under it. He looked at it in confusion and then up at you.

“Thank you for the rock?”

“I just felt like you should have it. Father gave me two of them, there are only two of them in the world. I don’t know, I just wanted you to have the other. It feels like it belongs to you.”

“And you have the other?”

You nodded and patted your own bag. “It’s our gift only we have, no one else.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t give it to Robb then.”

“Us bastards have to stick together.”

That earned laughter from Jon. “This isn’t farewell, just goodbye. I promise you will see me again. Goodbye, Lady Snow.”

“Goodbye, Lord Snow.”

You watched Jon and Benjen’s horses stalk down the path headed towards Castle Black— his direwolf, Ghost, keeping pace next to him. You led your horse back to the group. With a smile to the others inside the carriage, you moved forward in front of everyone else.

“Do you know where you’re going girl?” Robert called out.

“Is the path to the South not just this straight line, Your Majesty?”

Robert’s hearty laugh at your response sent the others into laughter. Four of the knights pushed in front of you to lead the way. You stared out at the lands of the North until a horse and its rider, Jaime Lannister, started to walk next to you.

He reached out a hand and you almost pulled back when his fingers seemed to get closer— the Kingslayer was well known to you. But instead of pulling back, you let him brush his fingers against your face— more in shock at the action to begin with. Robert watched in satisfaction at what seemed to be the start of a connection, Ned watched with a frown on his face.

“You’ve been crying. Is that why you’ve pulled so far ahead?”

“I was hoping no one would notice.”

“They wanted me to bring you back closer to the carriage where it’s safer Lady Snow… if you aren’t done crying I guess I could stay up here with you. Robert can’t protest much to your safety.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you Sir Jaime or wonder if that was an insult.”

“What are the tears for? Most are excited to escape the North.”

“The only family I know is up here.”

“You seem dull up here in the cold. I heard your mother was from Dorne, isn’t the South more your speed?”

“The cold keeps me aware. I get too comfortable in the heat.”

“What is wrong with comfort?”

“Nothing. I just find it’s not something I seem to be afforded at the moment.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me anything more?”

You stopped looking at Jaime and returned to looking at the North that you were slowly leaving behind. It was the same routine for days, much to Ned’s dismay. You would ride right behind the four knights, next to Jaime and then return to Ned and the other Starks when it was time to rest. The camp had approached the most prominent stop on the way to King’s Landing, the Crossroads Inn.

Everyone broke off to do their own thing. You watched Arya run off with the butcher’s boy whose name you were sure you heard that morning but couldn’t remember now— both of them carrying large wooden swords. Out of the corner of your eye, Joffrey took Sansa’s hand and the two of them started off. You scoffed at the sight.

“You could try to hide your disgust.”

Jaime laughed as you jumped from where you were sitting on a large rock. The egg fossil dropped from your hand and rolled to his feet. Godswood lifted his head from the piece of meat he had been chewing on, settling once again when he saw it was only the knight. Jaime handed you the egg back. You continued to rub the wet fabric back and forth over it, occasionally dipping the fabric in cups of water and vinegar.

“What is that?” Jaime asked.

“An egg fossil. A dragon’s egg, Father won it when he killed Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“A stone of a dragon’s egg…”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? It’ll never be a dragon… Dragons in Westeros isn’t that a funny idea.”

Jaime laughed with you. He watched you dip the fabric in vinegar and go back to rubbing the egg.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Well, some of the dirt chipped off the other day and you can see a bout of color peeking out. I’m trying to clean it. Maybe I’ll put it on my dresser or save it for Sansa as her wedding present.”

“I thought you didn’t approve of Sansa and Joffrey.”

“I don’t particularly care for your nephew but he makes my sister happy. So, that makes me happy… Sir Jaime?”

“Lady Snow?”

“If I were to ask you to teach me to defend myself with a sword, would you agree or think it unbecoming of a woman?”

“I would first ask what reason a lady wants to learn?”

“Arya went off with the butcher’s boy to learn. She seems to enjoy it, I want to know if it really brings someone that much happiness.”

Jaime walked off and for a moment you thought he would just leave or even worse tell Ned. Not that you thought Ned would disapprove but he would worry. When it concerned you, Ned always worried. But Jaime came back with two swords in hand. You smiled and set down the egg by Godswood who watched it like his life depended on it. Jaime stood straight and extended his arm holding the sword, you mimicked.

“Happiness is from whatever you deem to give you such a feeling.”

“Is this what makes you happy? Being a knight?” You mimicked every one of his moves.

“It was until that dreaded nickname… what about you?”

“Me?”

“Is happiness also something you aren’t afforded at the moment?”

“I’ve never really thought about it before. Family makes me happy. Taking care of little Rickon, keeping Sansa level headed. Being the little Lady of Winterfell.”

“I’m surprised. Wouldn’t a bastard revel in the little expectations of them?”

“I like ruling, the responsibility. Besides, Robb would lose his head without me to keep it on.”

“And what about Lord Stark now?”

“He has his mother still… and Theon, not as good as me but good enough.”

Conversation died and turned into merely instructions as Jaime showed you the most basic way to fight with a sword.

“I’ve heard of your keen eyes. You know arrows would probably fare you better.”

“I’ll consider it.”

Jaime was about to say something else when Sana ran past him and into you.

“Careful, sister! You could’ve run into the blade… what’s wrong?”

Ned came over to where you were, ignoring the Lannister’s presence and focusing only on you and his daughter. With a nod from Ned, you guided Sansa back to the inn. Godswood following behind you, carrying the egg gently in his mouth. Arguing was all that filled your ears as you entered the inn. Arya was about to lunge at Joffrey, barely held back by Ned. You listened to the argument of what happened between Joffrey who had apparently been bit by Arya’s wolf. Joffrey turned to a flustered Sansa who in turn looked at you.

You rubbed her back in comfort, knowing she had to choose between her sister and her intended. After giving her answer, Sansa looked to you again. You nodded at her— her answer was the most neutral she could possibly make it. Arya, however, was not satisfied at all and once again had to be pulled from lunging at her sister.

“Where’s the wolf?” Cersei asked.

“Ran off.”

“A punishment must be in suit, there is another wolf here.”

Sansa gasped. “Lady didn’t do anything! It isn’t her fault.”

“The one behind your sister.”

It was your turn to gasp. Shaking your head, you tried to say something. It wasn’t fair. Joffrey got himself in the situation and Nymeria wasn’t even there anymore. Why did your wolf or Sansa’s have to die in its place? Your eyes flitted to Ned. Jaime stepped up.

“Her wolf has been with us all day.”

“You’ve been with Lady Snow all day?”

“Just keeping her company. Her wolf shouldn’t have to pay when it was nowhere near the crime in question.”

“A wolf must die to serve out the punishment of the crime in question,” Cersei said through gritted teeth. “Would you rather it be the one of a trueborn Stark or a Snow?”

“Enough!” Robert yelled. “This is madness. The young girl was there, the wolf at the scene gets punished. Snow, take your sisters and your wolf and go rest.”

You grabbed Arya and led a struggling Sansa out of the dining hall. Godswood stayed very close to your body as you bounded out of the hall. Sansa cried in your arms. She denied your offer to give her Godswood and you suddenly felt bad. You weren’t a Stark by any name. The direwolf was not yours to claim and you still chose to sacrifice her wolf over your own. Arya quietly sat next to the two of you, her own silent way of apologizing for what she viewed as her fault.

(Part 2)...

#game of thrones fic #asoiaf fic #robb stark x reader

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sailorshadzter · 10 months

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Hi could you do a fic where Sansa is visibly pregnant at the docks when Jon is about to leave for the wall. angsty but with a happy ending. Thank you! 😁💜

oooh anon thank you!

i had a little mini series that i always referred to as the "visible pregnancy" series so this was a nice little addition to that :)

send me prompts

She’s not seen him since that last day in Winterfell, already a few weeks before.

She thinks back to that last morning, their hands just brushing as he goes to leave; that morning, the truth had been there on the tip of her tongue, but when the moment came… It was gone. So now, she knows she has no choice but to tell him what she’s held onto all these long days since he had left for Dragonstone some months ago.

The time that’s passed has all been but a blur of preparing for war, long and lonely nights without him by her side. And even when he’d returned home, along with him he’d brought the dragon queen and her armies, none of which gave them the time they needed to be together. Truth was, her current state had only complicated things and she’d been hesitant to tell him when he’d already been up to his ears in a mess. He didn’t need more stress added to his plate. But now… She glances down at the curve of her belly, something that’s truly just grown overnight, and knows she owes him the truth.

And so, she steps out onto the dock alone, her siblings having gone on before her, knowing that this very well could be her last chance to tell him. She takes a few steps forward, her heart hammering hard, looking out to where he stands at the end of the dock, his back to her. But then, as if he senses her presence, Jon turns around and for the first time in weeks, their eyes meet.

Delight spreads across his features at the sight of her and he strides closer, slowing his pace as his eyes flicker from her face down to her fuller figure. “Sansa…” he speaks her name softly as he approaches, but an arm’s length from her. “You are…” He looks up from her small, rounded belly, back up to her face with widened eyes. He cannot bring himself to say the next words, but she tearfully smiles, nodding as she reaches for his hands, drawing them against her.

“It’s yours,” she murmurs softly, pressing his hand against her, where beneath his palm he can feel the gentlest flicker of the life she carries within her body. “That night… Before you left for Dragonstone.” The one and only time they’d given into what they felt, the one time they had done for themselves and no one else. “I wanted to tell you so many times… But I just…” She trails off and before she can say another word, Jon is leaning in, kissing her, uncaring of any eyes that might fall upon them there on that dock. They were past the point of no return, after all. Besides… What once forced them apart was now gone. “I couldn’t let you leave this time without you knowing.” She whispers when he draws back, their hands still tangled together against her belly.

Behind them, the captain of the ship he’s supposed to be on gives a whistle, indicating it was time to go. But, Jon cannot bear to pull away from her, not yet… Not yet… But he must. This was his fate now, to live away from her, to make amends for all he has done.“My queen,” he takes a step back and offers her the bow he’s always wished he could have given her. “Call me home, should you ever need me.” He says before he turns and slips away, climbing onto the boat that would not take him home, but would take him North all the same.

She stands and watches him go, until the boat is but a speck of black in the distance.

“I suppose this means he’ll need to return home, won’t he?”

She turns at the sound of the voice, startled, for she’d not heard Bran approaching, Arya pushing him. “He should be returning home anyways,” she says bitterly, one hand pressed against her belly, thinking of the life they could have had together- child or no child. Jon had done nothing truly criminal, yet was being treated as such. And she still can’t fathom that Bran has not done a thing to stop it.

“Good thing the Night’s Watch is under the North’s control,” Bran goes on, speaking as if she’d not interrupted. It takes but a moment for the realization of his words to settle upon her and a smile spreads across her lips. “You will be happy Sansa, the two of you and the family you will build together.” He’s already seen them all, the beautiful children they will create together in the home they took back. “Bring him home.”

[ x x x ]

On the day he arrives at the wall, there’s a letter waiting for him.

Surprised, he sinks onto the bed he’s been assigned and breaks the seal, unfolding the letter that’s scrawled with familiar handwriting. Come home, your queen commands it. A slow smile appears on his lips and he’s rising back up, knowing that was no command he could ever ignore.

[ x x x ]

When he rides into the courtyard of Winterfell, she stands there waiting for him, as if she’d known he was coming.

He slides off his horse, passing the reins to the nearest boy dressed in Stark livery, who steps aside so the man he’ll soon call King can pass by him. “Your grace,” he greets softly, coming to stand before her, sinking down to one knee so he may offer Longclaw up in a gesture of fealty. For once, the words he says do not feel like ash in his mouth, do not feel like a knife in his heart. “My queen…” He looks up into her smiling face and it’s all he can do to keep himself from reaching for her, from taking her into his arms there before all those who stand outside watching.

“Come inside, we have much to catch up on,” she says as he rises up and he nods, offering her his arm to take, which she does without hesitation. And then they fall into step beside one another, returning back into the castle they will forever call home.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #anon asks #writing prompts #send me prompts #my writing #i wrote this

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alannybunnue · 1 year

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OMG Sandor/ Gregor Clegane yandere thoughts or headcannons if you do that?

Oh my...

I don't do it normally

But i can make exceptions, and this is one of them.

¿?

Sandor is...complicated, if i would say so.

He acts like this hateful man who loves killing and all with everyone but you.

With you, he just freezes, not knowing what to do exactly, he doesn't want to be cold or hateful to you but he also can't be soft...

Congratulations, you have put this man on a rollercoaster

So for the time being, he will be your protector...without your knowledge of it, so expect to be surprised whenever someone that was insulting you a hour ago is found dead in the yard 🙃

In case, you do try to talk to him, with time, he will open up to you, not of his feelings though, it's mostly him being nicer to you. But you still won't know who is killing people who treat you badly 👀

If there's any chance of him taking you away, it would be back at the Battle of the Blackwater, instead of going to Sansa, he goes to you and don't think that you would have much of a choice.

Not that he would immediately take you, he would try to convince you...but he is not that good at convincing others and he lacks the patience.

So he...knocks you out (He feels very guilty over it tho-) and takes you away with him.

So...as a yandere, his primary characteristics would be Possessive and Protective, and that is very scary if you are defiant on this. He wouldn't hurt you right away (unless you push his buttons) but he would make sure that you are staying where he needs you to be, so he knows you are safe from others.

So...if you think he is bad...then my baby, you are not ready for his brother

Gregor is that one motherfucker that everyone should stay away from...that of course, until he sees you.

And if he wants something, he is going to get it. Like immediately.

He is not shy about what he wants, he won't freeze like his brother, he is going to take you and you have to accept it, unless you want to be in a...depressing state.

Possessive and Selfish and every fucking bad thing about a yandere, that is Gregor (Little shit-)

My best advice? Be on his good side, don't defy him, do as he wishes for the time being, and you will be saving yourself from a bunch of broken bones. Wait until he is vulnerable enough to slice a knife on his throat. 💖

It will be way worse if you are close to Sandor, because Gregor likes to torment his brother. Even more if both are yandere for you.

Holy shit, what have i done?-

¿?

So yeah...i gave you guys the idea

What will you do now?

#ask #a song of ice and fire #yandere concept #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #game of thrones #house clegane #gregor clegane #the mountain #sandor clegane #the hound

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ariamariastark1 · 1 year

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Parallels and Foils: how Cersei, Lysa and Catelyn are a warning.

It isn’t news that Cersei and Daenerys, Arya and Catelyn and Lysa and Sansa are deeply connected narratively and that you can learn a lot about them through each other. When you look into it, Cat, Cersei and Lysa are more than just parallels and foils, they also are warnings and a preview of what each girl will or was supposed to become! They warn us about the worst possible outcome for the girls and what they must recognise and avoid.

They are in three different parts of the journey through the books:

Arya, I think, has already won her battle against becoming Catelyn and is now fighting other battles; despite her personality, she had a chance of becoming just as sour and prejudiced as Cat in the beginning and even after Ned died, however, Arya’s ability to be friends with everyone from everywhere as well as her empathy to others, even those who hurt people, made it so that any chance of that happening was destroyed. Jon's love and validation also gave Arya a base of support that Catelyn probably didn't have. ---- Arya Stark has avoided her fate and now is moving on to other things.

Daenerys and Cersei are foils of each other, Cersei being essentially what people believe Daenerys is going to become (the show's Ending doesn't help). Many people, both readers and In-Universe characters, believe Daenerys to be a Mad Queen or that will she burn KingsLanding, however, Cersei is the one that will be known as the Mad Queen (she is literally going crazy) and she will burn KingsLanding. And while we can say with certain confidence that Daenerys will never be like Cersei, in the books she still needs to work and prove herself a bit more. ---- Daenerys is still avoiding this ending.

Sansa, unfortunately, we can't say with certainty that she won't be like Lysa Tully. Maybe in the beginning Sansa wasn't going to become like her aunt but as the story progressed and Sansa continued with the same beliefs and with a general lack of character growth, it is becoming harder to see an ending for Sansa that won't make her Lysa 2.0; Unless Sansa either drastically changes her views on every one that isn't her, stops being willfully ignorant, starts taking care of herself and makes allies or has a deeply life-changing journey in the next two books, I don't see how can Sansa avoid becoming a deeply sad, lonely woman (Sansa is isolated from her family) who was essentially tricked and manipulated her whole life (tricked by society into believing that acting certain way would guaranty her a good life/ manipulated by almost everyone) and that is trapped in a deeply unhappy marriage (Lysa married to an older sexist dude/Sansa possibly married to Henry, who has bastards and probably won't stop having affairs). Thankfully there is a chance that a life-changing journey might happen in the next two books since Little Finger might get caught trying to poison SweetRobin and the fact that Sansa is not his bastard daughter but a lady accused of conspiring to assassinate the king. That might force Sansa to live with the Small Folk and finally force Sansa to grow. -------- Sansa is losing

#asoif #arya stark #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #cersei lannister #asoiaf meta #feminism in asoiaf #narrative foils #narrative parallels #Daenerys and Cersei #Sansa and Lysa #lysa arryn #lysa tully #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #sansa lannister #catelyn and arya

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catofadifferentcolor · 7 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #64: ASOIAF, but make it House Hightower

A little while back @kyuremking mentioned how reading my plot bunnies made them want a female Jon Snow/male Hightower fic - and gave us a wonderful look at how they'd go about it. Being who I am, I ended up having to have a go at it myself.

Or: House Hightower was once one of the most powerful houses in Westeros. How might it become so again?

Aka: The Elia the Magnificent Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until Lyanna dies giving birth to a daughter who looks as if she might well be her clone. Inexplicably, Lyanna's one act before dying is to name the babe Elia.

As female bastards are inherently less danger to patriarchal systems, Ned decides to pass his niece off as the illegitimate daughter of his brother Brandon and Ashara Dayne. Not only does this allow the girl to keep her name, Ashara being a well-known friend of the late queen, but it should temper his wife's reaction.

It doesn't. Catelyn is nearly as wroth about Ned bringing home her ex-finance's bastard as she was about Jon in canon. The only difference is she feels that she can be open about her dislike of Elia in a way she never could quite manage with Jon. For the sake of peace in his household - and a chance of giving Elia a happy childhood, - Ned sends his niece to foster with the Mormonts at Bear Island shortly before the Ironborn Rebellion.

Elia thrives on Bear Island. Free of anyone's expectations other than her own, she grows into a stubborn, fierce, and proud Northern woman who can wield a sword if necessary and will pick up a needle to tend her own clothes, but has little interest in tourneys or fine needlepoint. Though no one realizes it, she bears a remarkable resemblance in both personality and appearance to the young Queen Who Never Was, Rhaenys Targaryen.

Around the year 290, Jorah brings Lynesse Hightower to Bear Island as his new bride. This goes about as well as canon - with the exception that he doesn't resort to selling men into slavery for coin, not wanting to risk it while Ned Stark's niece fosters on the island. Lynesse eventually packs up and leaves for Oldtown, only for her father to send her back to her husband. This process repeats several times before she manages to smuggle herself to Lys and a position in Tregar Ormollen's harem c. the year 297. But not before Leyton Hightower sends one of his grandsons to keep an eye on Lynesse - Lymond, second son of Baelor Hightower.

Lymond is not quite a southron knight out of Sansa's stories, but is about as close as it is possible for a real human being to be. Five years older than Elia, he's a little too stubborn - reacting fairly negatively to the idea of women bearing arms at first, though he does come around during the first Free Folk raid he's present for - and has far too many freckles for anyone to consider him handsome - though he shares the hair Queen Alicent was famous for. He's also a staunch follower of the Seven, seeing followers of the Old Gods as little more than heathens.

It's this later that puts him in Elia's path. It's not slap-slap-kiss so much as I know you're wrong, so I'm going to drag you around and show you how wrong you are and make disappointed faces at you every time you say something hurtful or just plain wrong. And it works. Lymond comes to understand Northerners and the Old Gods in a way few Southrons bother, and the reverse is true of Elia.

By the time Elia reaches an age where it wouldn't be wrong for a southron knight to fall in love with her, she and Lymond have become close friends.

Shortly before Jon Arryn's death, Lynesse runs away for the last time and Lymond is called home. Jorah goes with him to talk with Leyton and the Faith about having his marriage dissolved - and Elia joins him, wanting to see the Hightower she's heard so much about. Though a series of accidents, misfortunes, side trips, and delays, they're still there when Robert dies and the War of Five Kings begins.

House Hightower, being close kin to the Tyrells, is getting ready to throw their lot in with Renly when one of the septons they'd been meeting with about the dissolution of Jorah and Lynesse's marriage comes forward. Leyton and Lymond are a little leery because they've seen how this particular septon watches Elia - only for the septon to reveal how he was the former High Septon's closest assistant and knew about Rhaegar's second marriage, and how he's fairly certain Elia Snow is Princess Elia Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

It takes some convincing, but eventually House Hightower puts forward Elia's claim - and convinces their Redwyne and Tyrell cousins to join them. Renly's claim falls apart before it can even get started, especially after Robb tosses his lot in with Elia. The combined might of The North, The Riverlands, and The Reach allow King's Landing to be taken fairly easily and the remnants of Stannis' army to be mopped up not long after. Though pockets of rebellion remain, Elia is crowned queen of the Seven Kingdoms within the year.

The rest of the fic should be about putting down rebellions and solidifying Elia's claim to the throne. Lymond should make a bit of a name for himself during these, as should Elia on the few occasions where she's called upon to defend herself from an assassination or is separated from her guards.

It should be at some point during the absences this fighting requires that Elia and Lymond come to realize they care for each other as more than friends. This should move somewhat comically from Mutual Pining to surely the queen will need to marry higher than a second son, no matter how in love they are to our relations have been planning our marriage for years and we were too stupid to realize it.

They marry on Elia's eighteenth birthday, in a ceremony far grander than her wartime coronation two years earlier. They are, perhaps, the happiest royal couple Westeros has ever seen and start a bit of a fad for love matches amongst the nobility - provided everyone is of the appropriate rank. (Think Regency England.) Historians will later say that Elia had the wisdom of Jaehaerys I, the prudence of Aegon I, and the compassion of Alysanne, for which they call her Elia the Magnificent, while her husband had the rare ability to know exactly how best to support his royal wife without undermining her position.

Bonuses include: 1) the implication that Elia Martell was a lesbian, Lyanna Stark a disaster bi, and Prince Rhaegar an asexual who only had the relationships he did in an effort to produce the three-headed dragon. Had things happened differently, they would have scandalized Westeros with their relationship; 2) An in-depth exploration of the Old Gods and the Faith of the Seven, including their belief systems and practices. This should come with the realization that both faiths want essentially the same things from their followers but have been misused by each when it suits, and the the introduction of a reform element into both; and 3) House Hightower regaining the power it's rarely been seen to have since before the Dance. It's not enough to destabilize The Reach, but it is enough for the powers that be of the Citadel and the Faith to be leery of drawing their attention, and so both groups are a little more willing to fall in line than in canon. This leads to reform movements in both, removing corruption and - eventually - the admittance of women to the Citadel and the higher ranks of the Faith.

And that's all I have - though admittedly I petered out a little around the middle, because RL is exhausting. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #got #female jon snow #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #house targaryen #house hightower #jorah mormont #house mormont #jon snow x oc

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agentrouka-blog · 9 months

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Yeah no hate to the anon but it's not unrealistic at all. Your post explains it well. Also LF tells Sansa to be "Alayne inside and out" meaning Alayne Stone isn't going to be asking questions about someone she wouldn't know because she according to the fake backstory he gave her has never been north/been to Winterfell.

(posts referenced)

If she did allow herself to think of Jeyne Poole, we would also immediately have her questioning whether "Petyr" would tolerate such an inquiry. The guy has instigated the deaths of four people at this point that she directly knows about, from Joffrey to Dontos to Lysa to Marillion. Sansa tell herself she's confused about how nice Petyr is (as opposed to "Littlefinger") but deep down she knows this:

"Thank you." She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out, but confused as well. "I'm not, though. Your daughter. Not truly. I mean, I pretend to be Alayne, but you know . . ." Littlefinger put a finger to her lips. "I know what I know, and so do you. Some things are best left unsaid, sweetling." "Even when we are alone?" "Especially when we are alone. Elsewise a day will come when a servant walks into a room unannounced, or a guardsman at the door chances to hear something he should not. Do you want more blood on your pretty little hands, my darling?" Marillion's face seemed to float before her, the bandage pale across his eyes. Behind him she could see Ser Dontos, the crossbow bolts still in him. "No," Sansa said. "Please." (AFFC, Sansa I)

She does not have permission to speak out of turn. Or people will die. Jeyne, should she remember, is someone that Littlefinger had his hands in handling, potentially making any question a challenge to implicate himself, herself a potential threat to him. Threats to him disappear.

So Jeyne remains on the list of people she avoids thinking about in her grief.

#sansa stark #jeyne poole #littlefinger

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jackoshadows · 2 years

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I find it all these posts about how Show Sansa is trending and is popular and all that to be rather silly. Of course show Sansa is popular! They literally wrote her to be a popular character. Those of us who have read the books know this given the differences between the book and show versions.

That’s why the writing for the show version is so nonsensical most of the time. They didn’t care if the writing made sense for the character or for the plot or for the rules of this feudal, fantasy world. They literally sat around thinking, how do we make her popular and then wrote that for her.

The reason for why Jon and Arya are beloved, popular characters in the books - characters that GRRM loves writing for and often talks about writing for - is the reason for why Show Sansa is popular. They lifted entire book plots and narrative themes from book Jon and book Arya and gave it to show Sansa.

They gave Show!Sansa Needle jewellery because book Arya had Needle. They took the theme of ‘Lone wolf dies, but the pack survives’ from Arya and gave it to Sansa. Arya listening to armorers talking about armor in the books translates to Sansa instructing armorers how to make armor in the show.

They took the plot of Jon rallying the Freefolk to attack the Boltons and gave it to Sansa. They took away Jon’s political know how and Arya’s intelligence and political involvement in order to prop up show Sansa.

Daenerys commanding armies for 6 seasons suddenly needs a lesson from Sansa on how her soldiers need rest. Despite Daenerys and Jon Snow having huge plot points in the books regarding the procurement of food for their people, trade deals to get food and agriculture to grow food, and despite book Sansa not having the slightest inkling of the importance of food and holding extravagant feasts at a time of great scarcity, despite this, show Sansa is the only character talking about food - even chastising Dany and Jon about the lack of food.

For incel male dudebros, Show Sansa is a female character they can rally behind to attack Daenerys - the most powerful character in the series with 3 dragons is a woman, which drives them crazy! That’s why there was so much celebration from the ‘We always knew Dany is destined to be a tyrant’ at her ending. Daenerys was leading armies and starting revolutions and had all their favorite male characters kneeling to her, which they absolutely hated.

And it’s a fact that the show is more popular than the books. There’s more people who watched the show than read the books. Much much more. It’s evident from all the folks on the tags who admit to never having read the books and only watched the show. They only know Show Sansa and Show Jon and Show Arya and Show Daenerys and show Tyrion. And after season 5, Jon, Arya and Bran were side characters to the ‘How do we make Sansa popular’ writing on the show. They never stood a chance.

I still remembered the hate on the Jon Snow tags after the ‘Battle of the Bastard’ episode aired. How Jon was utterly useless and Sansa should have been Queen in the North because she saved his ass.

The show is not the books. The show characters are not the book characters. Show Sansa was written a certain way in order to make her sympathetic and popular. They whitewashed her and then wrote around her, using the other Starks to support her at the center of the plot. That’s why show only watchers are confused to read asoiaf posts because they feel it’s an unfair attack on Sansa.

Sansa’s played by a beautiful, white woman and hyped by media articles as being a Girl Boss. I still remember Michelle Clapton going on and on about how much she loved making costumes for Sansa and her dresses and hair styles and all that.

Show Sansa is popular. So what? The show will always be utter garbage for me and it will always be relevant in pop culture for how much the final season was dragged and mocked and there being a petition for a remake and D&D just disappearing and unable to show their faces in conventions and comic cons. That will be the legacy of the show, no matter how popular it still is or how popular certain characters are.

Meanwhile, I will be over here with my copy of ADwD, waiting for the next book...

#anti Show Sansa stark #anti GOT

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nemonclature · 3 months

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I was rewatching Jon's death. (because I like to hurt myself) and you know. I think in a certain light, Jon's return to the wall doesn't have to be an insult.

He's wanted the black for a long time. He talks about seeing the wall together with Bran. He tells Robb it's always been his colour. No one is surprised by his choice. Only Benjen, (who knows), urges him to wait (Benjen chose the black freely, and never seemed to hate it. Benjen is who Jon hopes he will grow up to be).

The tragedy of his upbringing is that he thinks the wall is the only place where he can escape the stain of being a bastard. And he's not totally wrong. it's one of few places where he could escape it. But what it has over those other places, (say Dorne) is that it's still home. It's still the North. So he can make a new, fresh life for himself without losing everything he loves. He's not like Arya, he never wanted to go away. He just wanted a family of his own. He wanted an honourable place.

It's not like he's just shuffling off to some horrible prison with the murderers and rapists. He's gone to lead said murderers and rapists. He was always a sure thing for Head Ranger if not Lord Commander. (Sure he's a bastard, but he's a bastard Stark. It's all about context.) He was following in the footsteps of his beloved Uncle and the honour of many Stark men and Northern men before him. There's pride in choosing the wall. It's a prison with honour. (When The Lord Commander of the Night's watch comes to Winterfell to feast, he sits at the head table. He does't get sent outside to stand in the snow.)

So he joined the Night's Watch. He swore the oath, he became a brother, he gained a family. He was an equal, then a leader, amongst brothers. He got the respect he hungered for. He earned it... and then he betrayed it and paid for that betrayal.

Like. Obvs I disagree! He didn't betray shit and the traitors are the ones that killed him, but JON doesn't think that. Jon 'I brood for Westeros' Snow - absolutely beats himself up with guilt and shame over how he betrayed his brothers and allowed the space for mutiny to grow. (That's not to say he'd do it any differently if he had the chance. He chose his people over his oaths, the living over the dead. He always will. That's who he is).

Jon Snow absolutely thought his death freed him of his oath. He didn't betray anyone by leaving the wall. That's legit. He died. He gave his life. So he's free and clear. And in a tragic, aborted way, he's given space to heal.

Benjen's main concern was that Jon hadn't lived, hadn't had the chance to have a family. Well, over the course of the show, he did live. He fell in love twice and they both brought him as much if not more pain than pleasure. He found a true footing with his real family: Arya + Jon reunite, but she was never going to stay, Sansa + Jon learn each other and learn to respect each other, but without Jonsa, She's got to marry for the North and start a new Stark brood in Winterfell. And he's never had a place in Winterfell.

And of course, he learns he's not a bastard. Taking him even further away from the North. What should be a great liberation - the stain removed from his name. Is instead kinda worse? A secret, a dangerous, betrayal inducing secret. And a legacy of madness. Like. Thanks I hate it? And it directly leads to the end of his ship with Dany, her madness and her murder. (At least, in his mind. Just like the stain of illegitimacy poisoned his childhood at Winterfell, the stain of his true name poisoned his life with Dany.)

And he's Ned Stark's son, right? He's painfully honourable. He holds himself to that code. So just like he broke his oath to his brothers by saving the wildlings and then paid for his broken oath with his death. Well, he broke his oath to Dany, saved the people of Westeros, and then paid for his broken oath by retaking the black. The choice being death or taking the black is an acceptable choice in Westerosi culture. I don't think he'd feel any shame or conflict over it. It balances the scales. His honour won't let him escape paying for killing Dany.

It doesn't matter that she went mad. It doesn't matter that she destroyed King's Landing. He broke his oath to her. He did the wrong, right thing and he has to pay for that. How miserable would he be, given a pardon and sent back to Winterfell. Or worse, given the throne. (That would be a tragic ending. He'd be locked not just into a position and a family he doesn't want, but into a life without honour.)

He has to take the black, but remember, it's not the 'threat of the Night King, army of the dead' black. Just the regular, stop wildling raiders, kill the occasional creepy crawly, black. He can do that. He can do it simply and with honour. No more painful broody conflicts. He can rebuild a brotherhood amongst the men and the wildlings. He's not going to the wall an inexperienced, bitter young man, not because he's a bastard, not because he has no place amongst the Starks, but because he lead, he followed, he lived. He made choices. And in the end, he committed murder and this is the right, the honourable thing to do.

Yes, sure. He could have been given other choices. I'm never gonna say it's a happy ending.

But it's still not as awful as it seems. It's not Harry going back in the cupboard, hilarious and eloquent though that post was. He's choosing to spend his life in service of people he loves (literally his personal defenition of king-ing). He's returning to his found fam of Crows and Wildlings. He's remaining in his beloved North, choosing the home of his father over the home of his blood.

It's not the end I'd want for him, but... it could be a quiet, peaceful end and maybe that's the most you can hope for in Westeros?

#look at all those happy lady wildlings #we'll fix you jon snow #he's smiling at Ghost in that image #but he smiled at the wildlings as he walked through them too #i just couldn't get a shot as good #jon snow #game of thrones

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lolitastories · 1 year

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BLACK AND BLOOD

Y/N L/N is the daughter of the Great Khal Drogo although she was raised by the king of the unknown lands. After finding out he died she travels and finds the one who caused his death. Along this adventure she meets the mother of dragons. Jon Snow. Night walkers. We will see if she really has the Dothraki blood flowing through her veins.

Chapter 10

In the middle of a practice session we were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Jon. Are you in there” His hands gripped my hips to keep me from moving. I grinned a little knowing he wanted to keep quiet. When his hands started getting loose I started moving again, this time faster.

“Shit” I pushed him back and gripped his hands so he couldn’t hold me back. I continue to bounce, making it difficult to not let out a moan.

“We have been looking for you all morning!” This time Davos decicide to start knocking on the door again, multiple times. I looked down as he had his eyes closed, biting his lips, close to cumming. “ We are all in the great hall, Jaime Lannister is here and he came alone” None of his words caught my ear. It was only the wimpers Jons lips made as I continued to ride him.

“Alright” I say still on top of him as we both reached our highs. I lean down, taking in his lips. But somehow I couldn’t stop myself. The pressure of riding him even after we both came was soothing.

“Princess you need to stop” my head went to the side of his kissing any skin I could find. My hands move to his hair gripping it while he grips my hip moving it at a slow rhythm.

“Mhmm” I continued kissing him. The knott in my stomach started again. “We do” I whisper in his ear but his hands don’t move. His hips continue to sound of our skin. I heard him grunt and in the next second he was cumming again. I wasn’t too far away from him eitheir.

“I should have waited with the rest” I laughed at the sound of Davos walking away. I remove myself from him hissing at the sensitive feeling. My legs were tingling and I couldn’t find the strength to get dressed.

“Here” I turn to Jon who has put on his pants already. He had my clothes in his hands. He helped me get dressed and any chance he got he kissed any exposed skin until I was fully dressed. “Alright. Let's go see what Lannister wants” He takes my hand but I pull him back shaking my head. I could feel a blush kicking in.

“I will meet you there” A grin appeared on his face. He came closer, placing a kiss on my forehead before walking out the door. After he left it took a couple tries to learn how to walk properly again. With every step I could feel my legs tingle and every other part was sensitive to the touch.

“Princess. The queen gave us orders” Greyworm finds me as I step out the castle gate. I look around seeing traps being set up around the walls. The Unsullied, Dothraki, and the Northerners working all around. Greyworm and I went around making sure everything was going smoothly. The trenches on the front of the gate have been dugged so we needed to continue placing in the wooden big pikes inside. Dragonstone shaped like thorns on a rose were placed on the pikes. As we worked the cold was no longer felt.

“Do we have all the pikes in?” Greyworm nods. “Send some people inside to continue helping.” He nods again. I made my way inside stopping once I saw the view. Never have I seen something like this. Men, women, and children lining up to get some food. Surrounding them were some more pikes in different locations. Soldiers perparing for war. Swords going left to right. Worry and frieght showing in the peoples faces. I reached over to Daenerys who was talking to the maester. He dismissed himself as I walked into the room.

“You weren’t at the great hall this morning” I shake my head sitting down across from her.

“Yes. Got lost” Which was half the truth. They should put signs on the closest exit in this place.

“I spoke to Sansa. Seems like we are on the same page, except for one particular part” My eyebrows lift in confusion. “Winterfell” Daenerys simplys states. “I know she wants the north to be independent, she wants to be queen and not have to bid the rules of the ruler of the seven kingdoms” she looked up to me.

“I don’t think she wants to be queen. She is taking the lead as a queen and will wear the crown but only for the north.”

“Sounds like she doesn’t trust me with the north, I came here to help her and her home yet she still doesn’t trust me enough to believe I am capable on ruling the seven kingdom in peace”

“I think she knows you’re very capable of ruling the seven kingdoms. Yet you have to understand this is here home. She learned from her father and from experience that some things are best to keep at a distance. If you want my opinion, she is a strong person and loyal, if you come to any agreement she will bid her soul to the last word.” Her eyes pierced into mine. I can tell she didn’t like my responses. She was probably waiting for me to tell her she was right. The is the true heir of the seven kingdoms and as such, that includes the north.

“Are the traps set up outside the gate?” I nod. “Good. Have the soldiers well rested and

fed, well, as much as possible” She walks up and I follow her out. I bowed my head leaving her up on the balcony looking down at the common area outside. I help outside as much as possible until Davos comes to me and announces a meeting in the great room. I walk in and see Daenerys, her advisors, Jon and the tall redhead wildling around the table.

“The dead are coming, and they are coming before the next sun comes up” Tormund says around the room. I stand beside Sansa taking in what was around the table.

“They are strong. Our enemy doesn’t tire, stop, or feel” I look up across the room seeing Jon concentrate in finding a strategy. “We can’t beat them in a straight fight”

“So what can we do?” The guy I am guessing is Jaime Lannister speaks up.

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command. If he falls, getting to him may be our best chance.”

“If that's true, he'll never expose himself.”

“Yes, he will.” Everyone in the room turns to Bran. “He'll come for me. He's tried before, many times, with many Three-Eyed Ravens. He wants an endless night. He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.”

“That's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals. Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.” Sam adds.

“His mark is on me. That is how he will find me.” Bran lifts the cuff og his arm and reveals a red mark. “He always knows where I am.We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I'll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?”

“Sansa is right,” I say. “You are leaving yourself wide open for him to take”

“ We're not leaving you alone out there.” Arya adds on. I can see the worry in each Stark kid.

“He won't be. I'll stay with him.” He tells the Starsks. He then turns to Bran. “With the Ironborn. I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.” Bran nods.

“We'll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can.” I say to Bran.

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.” Tyrion says.

“The dragons should give us an edge in the field.” Davos was right. Hopefully the dragons can be of huge advantage. Can certainly even the field with how many undead soldiers they have.

If they're in the field, they're not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.” Jons says. “Let's get some rest.” Around the room they all start walking out.

“Princess” I turn over and see Arya standing there. I don’t know why I was nervous but her presence had me looking around. I see Jon walking out with Daenerys and I bit my tongue. A girl is free to feel jealous right?

“It's just y/n” We start walking together towards the outside of the gate. “If you are into title maybe I should start calling you Lady Stark”

“Am no lady. Certainly don’t dress like one”

“You don’t say” We share a glance, laughing.

“So you are going to be in the front lines?” I nod. “Can I be in the front lines?” I stop in my tracks looking over at her. She was pretty serious about the statement.

“I don’t think you need my permission but since you are asking me,not in the front lines” I shake my head and continue to walk. “Start spreading the dragon glass to everyone” I tell Malakho. We stand beside the carriages seeing the weapons being dispersed.

“I know how to use a sword. I fight better than most of the soldiers around here.” As the lines are running smoothly I start to walk over the Greyworm. The Unsillied pulled on rope causing a large boulder to be thrown into the air by a large trebuchet. I turn over to see other Unsullied cleaning their weapons.

“Princess. Lady Stark” Greyworm bows at us.

“Greyworm” I stand closer to him. “Lady Stark will stand with you in the back line with the Unsullied. You are not to look after her as she is capable of doing that herself.” Greyworm nods. “She will be following straight orders from me, as the Unsullied will follow orders from her”

“Yes, Princess”

“Get them in formation.” Greyworm excuses himself. I turn over to Arya who looks at me in disbelief. “I know you can protect yourself, which is the reason why the Unsullied won’t. They will stand beside you and you as one of them” I walk closer staring into her eyes. “They are not soldiers, they are people. You are to be one of them now and as such, you will fight alongside them.” I straighten myself up. “If the Lady still wishes too”

“I need to take my stance then” She walks off to rush behind Greyworm. I need to find Jon. I rush up the stairs and look at places I know but I didn’t find him. I walk over the ends of the wall. I was thinking there was no way I was going searching into the maze this castle is. I am going to search the outside so I don’t come across Ghost. I made a sharp turn and the first thing I heard was a low Growl. Damn it. I look up and see Jon and Sam looking over the wall. Maybe Ghost knows me now? I didn’t want to disturb their conversation but the Arya thing was important.

“Have you told her yet?”

“No.” I hear Jon responds. I stop, now not really caring about Ghost’s stare.

“Mm-hmm. Being careful? Biding your time. Waiting for the perfect-” Their conversation stopped with a high pitch yelp I let out. Ghost pushed me to the ground and is now circling me.

“Ghost!” I hear Jons voice but it's too late. Ghost has laid down next to me with his head on my stomach. My arms fall to my side in relief.

“I think he likes you” I open my eyes seeing Jon and Sam looking down at me.

“Or he likes to play with his food” I hear them chuckle before Jon has the bright idea to push Ghost off and help me up.

“I need to speak to you about Arya” I clean myself up from the snow and look over to Jon. “She asked me if she could be in the front lines. I would have suggest otherwise but she has this stare, a stubborn stare that wouldn’t go away”

“All the Starks have it,” Sam adds. Jon gives him a glare, making him back away with a laugh. Sam excuses himself and leaves Jon and I alone.

“I can’t tell her what to do. If this is what she wants then I can’t stop her” another rush of relief passes through me

“Good. I placed her with Greyworm in the second stance. She will fight alongside them, if things get rough she will be one of the first ones to fall back into the gates.” At this time the sun has gone down. Now we are only waiting for the night to end. “What did Sam mean?” Jon raises his eyebrow. “He asked if you told her yet? Told who what?” I feel Jon grab my hand.

“I am the son of Rhaegar Targeryen and Lyanna Stark. Sam read it when he was studying to become a maester and Bran verified it” He needed to tell Daenerys.

“Do you think it's a good idea to tell her this? She has suffered for this crown. She will find you as a threat” Jon pulls me closer wrapping me into his arms.

“I have to tell her the truth. Just like it is true I am her brother's son, it's just as true that I don’t want a crown. I am not a threat to her claim to the throne.” I nod my head against him. I close my eyes, inhaling his presence. I chuckle hearing loud and clear Ghost’s growls. “When this is all over you and Ghost need to do one on one bonding”

“Oh yeah. We can go hunting. I hid and he hunted. Or maybe knitting, that fur coat can keep someone warm” That last part didn’t make him happy.

“No fur coats and no human hunting” Jon looks at both of us. Ghost scoffs at me and leaves.

“He doesn’t need all that fur!” I scream but I was grabbed by Jon

“Stop it” he warned with a smile. He had his hands holding my face which he used to pull me closer to him. I don’t know how but he made everything in my head vanish at that point. I pull back looking at him. Even in the shadow of the fire, Jon looked beautiful. “You’re so pretty” I laugh.

“I was just thinking how pretty you are” I removed my hands from around his waist to his face. “I love your hair. Those dark eyes. The way you stare” his furrowed eyebrows almost made me bust out laughing again. “The way you stare at others when you are mad. Your red nose and cheeks in the cold. I love your lips” I give him a quick kiss. My finger moved under his left eye and over the bridge of his nose to his right eyes. “The freckles that run along here” with his eyes closed he grabs hold of my hand and places it on his cheek. His head falls against the palm of my hand and a gentle smile appears. His other hand is already wrapped around my waist keeping close to him.

“Is there anything else you love?”

“Yes” I answer almost too fast. He opened his eyes in a quick second. “I love” I pull his face closer. “I love y-” I drag out the word seeing his eyes follow the movement of my lips. “-our thick eyebrows” I laughed as I felt his shoulders fall. His face made me laugh even harder.

“You know what I love?” He quickly recovered. Grabbing ahold of me. His eyes looked down at me while his arms kept in one place. The laugh so far forgotten. “I love you” oh no. Probably not the best thing to think about after someone confesses they love you but, oh no. What am I scared of? Nothing.

“I love you”

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