#commander bolton
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Dunkirk (2017)
“We shall never surrender.”
#2017#film#movie#aviation#WWII#Dunkirk#Christopher Nolan#Harry Styles#Alex#Fionn Whitehead#Tommy#Kenneth Branagh#Commander Bolton#Cillian Murphy#Shivering Soldier#Tom Hardy#Farrier#Jack Lowden#Collins#British Expeditionary Force#BEF#Royal Air Force#Dunqerque#France#Supermarine Spitfire#Messerschmitt#Bf 109
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I recently watched Dunkirk and this is my incorrect characters interpretation :3
Tommy Shelby you gorgeous man, FOR F**K SAKE TAKE A BREAK!!
Alfie, i know you're obsessed with Tommy but, DAMN !!!
OMG Poirot?! Where're your gorgeous mustache go?!?!
Druig, bro you are cute, but i see you're already done with this SHIT!!
Harry, i think we will miss you're incredible hair for a little while...
Aegon, i'm glad you're team red now! Keep stay away from alcohol!
Just a tiny Jacaerys Targaryen waiting his uncle. STAY SAFE KID!!
Mariah are you still looking for Midas box or Felix? Keep serching boy
#dunkirk#shivering soldier#farrier#dunkirk 2017#george mills#commander bolton#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#alfie solomons#hercule poirot#druig#harry styles#aegon targaryen#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#mariah mundi#peaky blinders#eternals#marvel#hotd#house of the dragon#The Curse of the Midas Box#cillian murphy#tom hardy#kenneth branagh#barry keoghan#tom glynn carney#harry collett#aneurin barnard
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a storm of swords dash simulator
🍋ladyjonquil Follow
i don't want to reveal too much but i had a really great day today hawking and riding and received some really exciting news (and maybe a potential marriage offer!) wow wow wow!!! haven't felt like this in so long 🥰
🤡florianthefool Follow
i'm so happy for you my jonquil
🐦littlefinger Follow
thanks for sharing my lady
🏹kissedbyfire Follow
PISSED OFF AT MY BF RN 🤬🤬🤬 NEVER TRUST A SOUTHERNER AND ESPECIALLY NEVER TRUST A CROW!!!!!!!
👸🏼daenerys-targaryen-tracker Follow
🐎raeqqo Follow
by the law of the dothraki she must return to vaes dothrak to take her place alongside the crones of the dosh khaleen. it is known.
🐉3heads Follow
shut up and go sack a defenseless city or something
🍁weirwoodzz Follow
hey do you guys remember when theon greyjoy took winterfell last year and killed the stark boys? has anyone heard anything else about that? feel like it kind of just disappeared from the news cycle, what happened to greyjoy?
🪓cerwynnation Follow
lord bolton's bastard killed him
🍁weirwoodzz Follow
oh really? wow. kind of extreme but deserved i guess
💗ramsays-sharpest-blade Follow
Ramsay isn't a bastard, King Joffrey legitimized him two months ago and Lord Roose is going to make him castellan of the Dreadfort soon. He loves his son and trusts his abilities. Plus, Ramsay is being awarded for his efforts in saving Winterfell and putting a stop to the ironborn raids in the North by being betrothed to Arya Stark—would a bastard be granted that honor? I don't think so.
Also, Theon isn't dead, Ramsay is (rightfully) flaying him for his crimes in the dungeons beneath the Dreadfort. Gods, I'd love to see Ramsay thrust the knife under his skin!!!!! 😜
#ramsay bolton #house bolton #our blades are sharp #theon greyjoy
🐐the-goat Follow
i'm boutta come into thome real money real thoon 😈 💎💎💎💎💯
🏰freygirl73 Follow
ughhhh my sister is getting married tmrw and my brothers keep going on about getting revenge on king robb while he's here for the feast... like i just wanted some food :/// iswtg that's the only good thing about my siblings weddings and now they're saying there won't even be any and i'm gonna have to go into hiding before the bedding ceremony or something. why can't my family just be NORMAL
🐟greenfork Follow
TW: Red Wedding, death, violence
A masterpost on what happened at the Twins and what it means for the Northern independence cause, the War of the Five Kings, and the realm in general.
Also a bunch of links on how you can help people affected in the Riverlands.
Keep Reading
🍵bowlobrown Follow
HELL YEAH BROTHER 🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀
🔥heatofdorne Follow
i wanna ***** ********* on ellaria sand's **** and *** ****** then call in oberyn and ***** **** them both until **** *****
🤎pate7534 Follow
🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀
🌊onthesunsetsea Follow
why are there so many crabs on my dash rn
🐺direwolfing Follow
TYWIN LANNISTER IS DEAD 🦀🦀🦀🦀
💙cassssanna Follow
actually i think it's still for king joffrey
🦁lann1sporter Follow
lol i thought it was for robb stark
🥂arborgold Follow
maybe it's for the mountain?
⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow
DOLOROUS EDD LORD COMMANDER 300 AC
⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow
DOLOROUS EDD WILL LEAD US TO VICTORY AGAINST THE OTHERS
🕊️ just-a-humble-sparrow Follow
mother have mercy i was walking by the great sept of baelor (i wanted to pay my respects to our blessed king joffrey) but i was blocked by a knight of the kingsguard—i believe it was one of the kettleblacks, unfortunately i always forget which one has been elevated to the kingsguard—because the queen was keeping vigil over her son, so i prayed outside instead. yet only a few minutes passed when i swear i saw the kingslayer arrive (he seemed to be missing a hand!) and enter. then, and this is the most disturbing part, i swear to the father that i heard noises of fornication coming from inside! i know for a fact that the only other person inside was the queen mother. could the rumors be true? i feel dirty even writing this. i wonder if i should tell my septon.
❤️🔥stannis-sweep Follow
stannis has literally been telling y'all and you didn't listen 🙄
🏳️ bannerless Follow
is it just me or is lady stoneheart kinda 👀
#ran out of the separators just imagine them#a storm of swords#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls#a song of ice and fire
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Blood of my blood
Pairing: Jon Snow x f!reader
Summary: The night before the Battle of Bastards, promises are exchanged between Jon and you. Inspired by an Outlander quote from Jamie Fraser. If you recognize it, you earn a cookie.
A/N: A small fluffy Jon Snow drabble, because I can't sleep. Very tooth-rotting romantic. You are warned.
"Where were you? I looked for you, over there."
You would have recognised that voice anywhere. Raspy, soft, deep. And low.
The cold was biting your cheeks, causing them to turn more pink than usual. As the last men were exiting Jon's tent, where the last war council was held, you realised that you had been standing there for way too long, staring into the nothingness, ghosts dancing across your eyes.
You slowly turned around to face Jon. His black curls were held backwards, making him look more and more like his father; not only in looks, but also in attitude. He looked tired, and worried. But a cold determination was glowing in his gaze.
His arms slowly came to surround you, pulling you towards him and his comforting figure. And suddenly, it seemed that the ghosts you were facing silently faded away.
"You're worried," Jon noticed.
A small sigh escaped your lips, and your hands came to rest on his shoulders, playing with edges of his armour.
"I only just got you back," you whispered, avoiding his eyes. "And... I mean, if anything were to happen--"
"(Y/N)", Jon cut you off.
A callous hand lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"You don't need to worry yourself sick about me. I've been through way, way worse."
The hint of a smile danced across his features.
"I will always come back. You should know that by now. Plus, there is only one thing you need to worry about."
One of his hands softly caressed your baby bump, almost invisible to the naked eye. You had told Jon a few days ago; and now, more than ever, it was like his actions to take back Winterfell from Ramsay had some kind of undergoing urgency.
He held you closer to him, and your head came to rest on his chest. You remained there for a few seconds, content in his embrace, breathing slowly.
"Promise me," you finally whispered. "Promise me that you will come back to me."
There was a moment of silence. But then, Jon pulled you away from him. His face looked serious and soft at the same time as he looked at you; like you were the moon of his life. The one and only thing that made sense.
"I can do better than that, love."
His harsh northern accent contrasted with the softness of his voice.
You frowned, and watched in disbelief as Jon suddenly got on one knee.
"Jon," you began, but he cut you off again.
"No, (Y/N). Let me do this, once and for all."
He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. Suddenly, Jon, your childhood love, the one you had lost and found again, looked desperate.
"I don't have anything to offer you, (Y/N). I have no lands, no titles. But I know this. When I'm with you, I am no longer this commander everyone expects me to be. I am just a boy in love, all over again."
Jon stood up again, and grabbed both of your hands.
"You are the blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I gave you my body and you gave me yours, so that we could become one. So, please. If I win this, be mine. Marry me."
Your heart grew bigger in your chest, as if it was about to burst. Burst for this sweet and devoted man in front of you.
Your vision blurried, and you nearly threw yourself in his arms.
"Oh, Jon..."
You closed your eyes and held him tight.
"You are worth all of these things, and more even. I love you. Yes, I will marry you."
Ramsay Bolton would not live to see another night on this earth.
Somewhere in the dead of night, Jon made an oath to himself.
#got imagines#jon snow imagines#jon snow x reader#jon snow drabble#game of thrones#jon snow one shot#jon snow x f!reader
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Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,
x
By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.
She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.
"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."
"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.
Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.
The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.
"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."
Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."
Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."
The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.
The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.
Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.
Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.
"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.
The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.
"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"
"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."
"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."
"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."
Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."
"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"
"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"
"Without, if it pleases my lady!"
Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"
Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."
"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."
"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"
"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."
A few days later, she had her men.
#sansa stark#stannis baratheon#in case you're wondering: yes of course Sansa rescues him from the TITCHY LITTLE SNOWSTORM he gets stuck in#because this great and fearsome battle-tested soldier and commander apparently had no idea that snow happened in the North?#and yes Brienne has a lot of thoughts and feelings about this which will be gotten into#but in the meantime: slapfights between two people one of whom never had sisters the other of whom had TOO MANY BROTHERS#including Arya who was the most brother of all possible sisters#I'm just saying: Stannis is getting bullied and he deserves it#game of thrones motherfuckers#got: bitches get stuff done#ficcage of interest
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Rewatching 8x05 for writing reasons, which is just a brilliant episode, despite any reasons some might have to hate it, valid or invalid. Miguel Sapochnik is directing and you see his talent and epicness in every shot (that man deserves a freaking Emmy already, I said what I said) but also there are so many things being shown here that if you muted the episode after Daenerys makes her decision, during the battle scene, you would be able to tell exactly what each character is thinking and what's really going on in the story besides the surface action.
Which brings me to that one scene that a lot of people said the woman being attacked as a stand-in for Sansa in the episode for Jon. They are correct and here's how.
Jon is walking through the melee, only coming to life to defend himself when Lannister soldiers are trying to attack him. The Northerners aren't listening to him, they're attacking innocent civilians, Grey Worm is on a killing spree, Davos is trying to help people get away from the bloodshed, Dany is burning the city, Tyrion is off somewhere horrified, Cersei is watching in terror from the Red Keep... But during this scene, the sound is muted to a point where the sounds of battle happening all around Jon sound very far away. We're now seeing what Jon sees, we're in his shock fugue with him. We see on his left civilians, namely women, being brutalized by soldiers -> he keeps walking. We on his right a woman being knocked down to the ground while a child is watching in horror, blood spatter and bodies all around her (and obviously traumatized & also in danger herself since no one is left to protect her) -> he keeps walking. He then sees a Lanniser soldier telling people to run, something his soldiers should be doing (and something he himself should be doing like Davos) but he's not. While the sounds are still muted, Jon notices another Lannister soldier about to rush him and he goes into autopilot & fights the soldier off. He then looks around in horror.
This is not what he signed up for and he almost looks lost, like he doesn't know what to do. Then the sound comes back fully and he hears a scream. In all of the melee, chaos, and death around him, he hears this one woman above the rest and turns to see her being dragged into an alley to presumably be assaulted by one of his own men.
Sure enough, she's about to be and she is trying to crawl away when the man catches her again. Jon ends up saving her, threatening to run his sword through the man. When the latter tries to fight him off to go back to assault this woman, Jon kills him and tells the woman to hide.
So how is this woman standing in for Sansa besides the obvious?
Two ways.
1) Ramsay was the former Warden of the North, the former bastard of Roose Bolton who was a Northerner who "served" Robb Stark, the first King in the North, before betraying him to the Lannisters. The soldier Jon faces off with is a Northerner and is supposed to be under Jon's command as Warden of the North and the former second King in the North.
2) Sansa is who stirs Jon into action when he feels lost.
Every.
Time.
And the parallels between the gif above with Dany and the dagger to the Northern soldier that had Jon's sword run through him, and Jon's staring almost sadly at the man, realizing he had to kill one of his own are far from being coincidental.
Not only was this a precursor to what would occur in 8x06 (and why Jon would make the decision he did) but it also is symbolic of the dynamic between Jon and Sansa as a whole. She's the one who stirs him into action, no matter how terrified or traumatized or angry he might be in that moment (like the shock fugue). No matter how lost he might feel. She gives him direction and dare I say a purpose when he has none (after his death; after the WW are defeated & Dany has gone into tyrant mode).
No wonder we weren't allowed to see Sansa's (or Arya's) reaction to the news of his being a Targaryen.
No wonder Jon told Melisandre not to bring him back if he lost the Battle of the Bastards (after Sansa told him if he lost, she wouldn't be going back to Ramsay alive).
No wonder Jon was not happy with Sansa on the dock in 8x06.
She's always stirred him into action when he doesn't want to be or know how to do it himself (after his death).
He passed a woman he could have saved.
He passed a child he could have helped.
He saw someone on the other side helping and doing the right thing.
The only time he steps in to help someone else is the woman about to be assaulted.
(x) "You are the shield that guards the realms of men. You've always tried to do the right thing. No matter the cost. You've tried to protect people. Who's the greatest threat to the people now?" (no reaction)
"Do you think I'm the last man she'll execute? Who is more dangerous than the rightful heir to the Iron Throne?" (no reaction)
"And your sisters? Do you see them bending the knee?" (a little bit of a reaction)
"Why do you think Sansa told me the truth about you? Because she doesn't want Dany to be queen." (more of a reaction)
"No, but you do. And you have to choose now." (he hesitatingly goes to confront Dany and then 🗡️)
It's not just about her being his "sister" or because she's Lady Stark or family or because they were the last two Starks once upon a time. She literally stirs him into action and gives him purpose. Her pushing to go back to Winterfell led to him caring about the WW invasion again. Her being the one he chooses to protect ended a tyrant and changed history, leading for her to become the first Queen in the North and regain Northern Independence, where she can be forever safe.
It was always Sansa for him, starting in 6x04.
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[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.”
[Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK
“He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD
[Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD
something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)
ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.
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And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father. (Arya, AGOT)
a notable aspect to arya's arc is her having to confront that the northerners, both stark men and their bannermen, are flawed and, frequently, of dubious loyalty. this issue is introduced very early on, in her second chapter, and it leaves arya reeling. she had an idealized perspective of these men, in particular, those who serve her father and eddard himself. arya is close with the stark household and admires her father. so arya is deeply disappointed when none of them prevent the injustices on the trident.
She might have been able to trick a Frey or one of the Brave Companions, but the Dreadfort men had served Roose Bolton their whole life, and they knew him better than she did. If I tell him I am Arya Stark and command him to stand aside . . . No, she dare not. He was a northman, but not a Winterfell man. He belonged to Roose Bolton. (Arya, ACOK)
in harrenhal she learns the (horrific) extent to which northern men will inflict harm themselves when the boltons take over the castle. they kill, rape and terrorize those within and arya is forced to watch it all. roose is one of robb's bannermen, but he is not worthy of trust nor are those who serve him and arya realizes this as she escapes the castle.
The look she gave him was full of hurt. "I thought you were my father's man."
"Lord Eddard's dead, milady. I belong to the lightning lord now, and to my brothers." [...] He gave her a searching look. "Can you understand what I am telling you?"
"Yes." That he was not Robb's man, she understood well enough. And that she was his captive. (Arya, ASOS)
and even men who formerly served at winterfell can find new leadership. harwin is someone arya knew since she was a little baby, but he is no longer a man of winterfell. arya is, understandably, resentful of being taken captive, but her dynamic with the brotherhood is layered. they do treat her well and want to do right by her despite their plan to ransom her. arya also accepts that they need resources to fund their mission. harwin shows that he still care for the starks by pleading with beric to revive catelyn.
She looked at their filthy hair and scraggly beards and reddened eyes, at their dry, cracked, bleeding lips. Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb's men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to cry. They all seemed to be looking at her, the living and the dead alike. The old man had squeezed three fingers out between the bars. "Water," he said, "water." (Arya, ASOS)
again, arya is forced to witness the crimes the northerners (and their allies) committed in the riverlands. the karstark men are being tortured to death for their crimes when arya rides thru the stoney sept. she does not look away, but instead she shows them mercy. arya gives each man one last drink of water before they are executed. this is something i feel embodies her responsibility as a stark: to show mercy but to see that justice is met
these are significant experiences for arya. its an extension of ned's advice to "know the men who follow you". arya needs to know the limitations, failings, loyalties and crimes of those who claim to serve house stark. whoever is going to lead the north cannot be ignorant of those nuances. this is the stuff of northern leadership.
#asoiaf nonsense#broken record post lol#but honestly?#if arya was a male character these experiences would NOT be taken for granted#she's overlooked for a position thats given to an offpage toddler and a character who's yet to interact with any northmen#make it make sense
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The Winter Sun (6)
6. New Gods
MASTERLIST
Summary: Are you sure this is what you want?
Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader
Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoif customs, arranged marriage , AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), talks about sex, might miss some warnings
Wordcount: 3.3k
Notes: I'm sorry for the delay! and I'm so happy you are liking this story! this is new territory for me
“We can have new dresses made for you”, Sara muttered happily as she gave you some of the dresses she didn’t wear anymore, luckily, you had similar physiques.
“I wouldn’t want you to spend unnecessarily for me”, you said, embarrassed, “besides, I have plenty of winter clothing, specially for riding my dragon, it will get here… eventually”
“In two months!”, she fought
“Right…”, you sad, a little embarrassed
“Let’s say… we made them, do you know how to sow?”, you nodded, “great, we will make our own dresses, I bet you know what the ladies in King’s landing are wearing this season”, she winked at you and you giggled.
It was nice having Sara, she was like the sister you never had. This morning she had come to you and you spend most of the morning dressing, fixing your dresses and now, you were starting doing your hair. She had offered to do yours and you offered to do hers
“I don’t know how to do your hair in a targaryen way”, she whispered, as she brushed your silvery strands, “those braids you were wearing when you got here, they were beautiful…”
“How do you fix your hair in the north?”, you asked, with a shine in your eyes. Sara smiled at you
“Like this…”, she made two small braids, and tie them together at the back of your hair, to put order to you hair, but still she left it free, it was simple, yet… meaningful
“Thank you Sara”, you in turn, arranged her hair with thick braids, as a Targaryen would wear, the same day you arrived. You did not know how to braid your own hair but you did know how to braid another’s.
“You look like a northerner”, Sara said happily, looking at you through the mirror, “well, almost, except for the hair”, she giggle and you did as well, you were wearing a gray dress, the color of House Stark, your jewelry, though, necklace, and rings, were all with the Targaryen heraldry, and your silver hair… It was very signature.
All the cold colors made you look almost ethereal, different from what you used to wear though, different… not precisely bad.
You hoped Cregan would like it.
Sara took your hand and led you through the Winterfell’s passages and hallways, down one floor and to the first one, and you walked to the main hall, which served as a meeting room, former throne room, and dining hall.
You heard Cregan speaking inside the room, he seemed angry, and commanding.
“If she does, the ceremony won’t be big, all the lords and ladies, the most important ones, are here. Let's do it in three days' time, with a small banquet after, we are in autumn, we can’t splurge this far into winter… besides… we don’t even know if she is sure to continue with this engagement”, and then you entered, and all those present, the maester, the master at arms, all those who worked in Winterfell, Lords and Ladies of other houses, all turned to look at you. Dressed in Stark gray, your hair arranged like a proper lady of the North.
Cregan stark looked at you wide eyed
“I see her pretty determined”, muttered the Lady Bolton, and Cregan seemed to come out of his estupor
“Your Grace… you look… fine”, he finished, and even though if it was a strange compliment, you felt nervous all the same, playing with the rings on your fingers
“Thank you my lord”
“We were discussing the ceremony”, he said, “it should be held in the next few days, although, if you want to invite people from kings landing they will take time to arrive…”
“I don’t think they will want to make the journey”, you answered sadly, “we should do as you please”, you said with a shy smile
“Maybe it’s not what you’d expect, but the celebration won’t be as great as a princess’ should be”, he said in a warning tone.
“You are right, my lord, we are too close to winter, only a few guests and one dinner should be enough to celebrate our union”, you said and he seemed genuinely surprised. But then he only nodded
“very well”
“I would like to send ravens to notify members of my family, but that is enough, one to king’s landing, one to Dragonstone and the other to Driftmark”, you said confidently
“I’ll see to it, my lady”. Said the old maester with a shy smile, you nodded and thanked him.
If he didn't want to marry you, he would have said something, right?
He was not the same man you remembered from five years ago, it was true, you didn’t expect him to be, but… he was cold… he was rough, he… looked at you like this weakling, like this rachitic pup that would not last the week
But if he didn’t want to marry you, he would have said so, right?
With that thought, they let you use the library to write your messages.
They were three of them, all three the same.
“I, princess (Y/N) of houses Targaryen and Stokeworth, will wed Lord Cregan of House Stark at the end of the week, as it pleases King Viserys, the ceremony will take place in The God’s wood, under the traditions of the Old Gods in Winterfell”, it was brief and communicative
You sealed them with your personal seal, and gave them to the maester, a nice old man with kind eyes. Maester Celwyn, was his name
All three ravens flied south, two of them flew slightly East. They took three days to arrive at their destination, at almost the same time.
The one in Dragonstone was received with a cup of wine and by the hand of Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.
He frowned when reading the news of your own hand and letter, he would recognize it everywhere. He never showed it, but he always kept a close eye on you, no matter where he was, or what he was doing, he always had eyes on you. Maids, servants, Kingsguards. He personally, hurt by looking at you, you had his brother’s eyes, but… you were the only thing he had left of him.
So you escaped the Keep and threw yourself at the arms of Cregan Stark, it could have been worse. They could have betrothed you to that one-eyed cunt, those were his thoughts, you had successfully escaped him, but, so far? He should have betrothed you to Jace, or even Lucerys… but he had his own daughters to take care of…
Either way, he tried to recreate in his mind what his brother would have thought about this, would he approve of the union? He knew his brother held great respect for the North and its people, especially the Starks, he believed them to be the most honorable family in the realms so… perhaps…
Or the sheep had walked willingly towards the jaws of the wolf?
Were you more sheep than you were dragon?
He had yet to see that.
He drank the last of his wine in his cup and then went to find her wife, Rhaenyra, he found her with her sons in their High Valyrian lessons, she looked at them approvingly as Luke, Jace and now Joffrey learned.
“We have received a letter from the North”, he sang. Rhaenyra looked at him interested
“Really?”
“From your little cousin”
“(Y/N)?”, she asked
“She is betrothed to Stark, set to be married before the week’s end”
“To Cregan Stark?”, she asked. this caught her sons’ attention
“Our aunt is set to marry Stark?”, asked Jace, a smile on his face
“Apparently, it was the King’s idea”, he muttered
“My father can barely speak, this is the Queen’s work”, she said bitterly
“perhaps”
“She wants the North under her wing”, she said
“My niece is no Green”, he said with warning in his voice
“She is not for us either”, said Rhaenyra, “when the time comes, will she convince Cregan to support us?”, she asked.
“This is not about what is going to happen then”, cut Daemon
“Are we going?”, asked Jace, “to the ceremony?”
“We could never make it, not with the youngest”, said Daemon
“Send us, Luke and I”
“I don’t think it’s proper”, said Rhaenyra
“Don’t think it’s proper?”, asked Daemon
“Let’s just send a gift”, she suggested with a tight lip smile. And that was the end of it.
In Driftmark however, the letter went straight into Rhaenys’ hands.
She read it with kind eyes and a shy smile. The union was perfect, the Starks will protect you properly, and care for you. You had your dragon if you ever wanted to get out of the cold North, and they will make great allies.
She was certain your father would have approved of the union.
Lord Cregan Stark was an honorable man, poor man a widower, he needed someone kind hearted like you, with your shyness and your blushes and your smiles, you were going to do him good.
“Let’s send them a barrel of our finest wine”, suggested Corlys, “she is going to need as much dragonfire as she could drink, that poor girl is going to freeze up there!”, he laughed
“The wolf will keep her warm”, she said with a knowing smirk
“Or perhaps he will devour her whole”, he said back, and Rhaenys laughed as he shared knowing looks with her husband in front of the fire.
“We will send her gifts”, he said confidently.
“I have something better in mind”, she said gently, giving him a look.
Rhaenys had a very close relationship with her cousin, they were kindred spirits, and had so many things in common. Rhaenys was older than Aegon and he looked up at her when they were young he followed her around like a lost puppy, and then when they were older they became friends.
The distance was the only thing separating Rhaenys from being close to you. She had tried, unknown to you, to make you her guard, but Queen Alicent, and before her, Viserys, had gently refused her, claiming that your father would have preferred you to stay in the Keep. She knew they were wrong.
So you fled as far as you could, away from your family, up there, all alone.
And now… the third raven.
Never arrived at King's Landing, nobody knows what happened to him.
Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was the Gods, you would have thought that it was your father himself from the heavens who intercepted the raven and made him lose his way.
If it had arrived… Perhaps you would have never married Cregan.
But it didn’t.
Only the Raven of Stark, accepting the proposal and dictating you will marry soon, that only arrived.
It was also miraculous that the letter was not intercepted by Aemond, and it arrived safely at the hands of Otto Hightower.
He smiled, pleased.
The North was his, and he didn’t even need to move a finger.
He had sent Aemond to Oldtown to see his brother, to distract him, he could not have his grandson messing this up, he could not have that. That girl was not for him, she had no allies, no money, no real connections. Nothing
He was good only to sell away, like cattle.
Your house sigil was a sheep was it not?
The Queen twisted her lips in disgust at the response of Cregan, he did not speak of you returning to King’s Landing, which meant the wolf had sunk their teeth on you and they would not let go.
If she was the one to have a dragon she would have flown it North and dragged you back, make the wolf come south to marry you, but leaving you alone there, it was improper. You went there, a young lady, alone. Perhaps the wolf had already bedded you.
It should have been Aemond
The Queen bit her nails, worried.
Her father had promised he was the one to break the news to Aemond, but it was her who lied to him, who promised him to her. And she couldn’t deliver.
Aemond wanted her so much, it scared her. She had heard of that deep infatuating Targaryen men could feel, but she never thought one of her sons could be the cruel heir to that dark inheritance.
She shook her head
She was going to find her son a nice girl to marry, an heiress from a great house, pure, and a devout follower to the Gods. She nodded, sipping on her cup of wine, that was the right path. The gods guided her North for a reason.
Days passed slowly in Winterfell, and you had barely seen Cregan.
Sara was the one to introduce you to the population of the castle, people who lived and served there.
People seemed weary of you, looking at you like the stranger you truly were to them. You had always heard that Northerners were weary of strangers, mistrustful. And it was proven to be true.
You were supposed to be the future Lady of Winterfell, their lady, how could you make them trust you?
You guessed that being kind and patient, you wanted to prove to Cregan he had made the right choice.
Also, you were distracted with something else… your things had not arrived yet, you thought they hadn't even left King’s Landing… so… Sara and you were determined to make your wedding dress and as the tradition dictates, your maiden cape.
You weren’t sure that the cape was a part of the Northerners traditions, but you hoped so.
And Sara had said that yes, you were to make one, your maiden cape, and Cregan was supposed to give you one back. A bridal cape.
You'd decided to make yours with Targaryen colors, black, red and gold. As a farewell to your house, in hopes of avoiding Aemond you had sunk yourself in embroidering lessons, so you had become quite good at it. Right now you were sewing red dragons into the black fabric. Perhaps you’d add a green one, the color of the Stokeworths
Sara and you were interrupted by a commotion outside, you didn’t quite understand what it was, until a guard reached your door, and announced you had a visitor, and you couldn’t understand who that might be.
Until you reached the main hall, and you only had to look at her back, and her hair to know who that was
“Aunt Rhaenys?”, you called eyes filled with happy tears. She turned around and smiled warmly at you
“Hello my sweet girl”, she greeted and you jumped into her embrace. She held you tightly against her, her hand caressing your back.
“You came! you didn’t have to…”
“As soon as I saw the letter”, she cradled your face in her hands as she looked at you, “someone should give you away, right?”, she said gently, and you nodded enthusiastically
“I will be honored if that person is you”, you said honestly, you loved your aunt so much… well… technically she was first cousin to your father, but it was your dear aunt.
“Let’s walk darling”, she suggested, and with an excited nod, you took her to the God’s wood, where you could be alone. She, as you did, looked around the trees and found it beautiful
“Have you been to Winterfell before?”, you asked, and she nodded
“A couple of times, many years ago”, she whispered, you nodded. you both sat by the heart tree, in one of his thick branches
“My sweet niece, are you sure this is what you want?”, she asked, and you, without even questioning, nodded enthusiastically
“I like the North, I like it here, this is what uncle Viserys had wanted”, you muttered, “the council had the idea to betrothe me to Lord Stark, and, I know him since I was ten”, you muttered, and she smiled warmly
“I’m glad, it is a good match, he will take care of you”, she said with a shy smile, arranging a wild lock of hair behind your ear
“I’m going to be happy”, you assured her, even though Cregan was not in it yet, you knew he was going to melt eventually.And she nodded, believing it
“You know what to expect, right?”, she asked, changing the subject, “of your wedding night?”, she asked then
“I’m supposed to give myself up to Cregan”, you muttered shyly, “he is supposed to give me his seed and I’m supposed to give him heirs”, she sighed
“Not the shit the Septas teach you”, she chided, and you blushed scandalously and shook your head. “The real thing…”
“I heard some maids talking about it…back in King’s Landing”
“Sex”, she said
“Sex…”, you whispered, “one of them said she had done it with a stable boy and his…”
“Penis”
“Was big and it hurt so much, he made her bleed”, you told her
“In the first time it will be blood”, she said gently, “and it will hurt, but… if he is gentle it won’t hurt that much, if he is gentle and giving it will give you great pleasure”, she explained, you nodded, not quite convinced. She leaned in and pushed you gently, making you smile, “sex is a great way to a man’s heart”, she whispered in your ear, “it will make him and most importantly, it will make you happy”, she said like it was the greatest secret of all
“sounds really nice”, you admitted, with cheeks red of embarrassment
“remember what I’m telling you”, she muttered with a complicit smile, “sex is the safest and quickest way to a man’s heart”
“Do you think he’ll… like me?”, you asked wide eyed, and worried.
“Oh honey”, she whispered, “he had no obligation to say yes, he did for a reason, and trust me, he wouldn’t have if you didn’t look like this”, she said, winking, and you smiled widely.
You both shared a comfortable minute in silence, your wedding was set to be in two days time, lords and ladies already arriving from far corners of the North, you had met so many people you couldn’t quite remember all of their names.
But Cregan Stark himself appeared in the God’s Wood, certainly looking for the last visit who came in a dragon, certainly scaring, again, all of his people. Who weren’t used to the flying creatures as the population of King’s Landing.
“Princess Rhaenys”, he greeted, and your dear aunt nodded
“Lord Cregan Stark”
“We were not expecting you”, he said seriously
“I received the letter from my naive, it was not an invitation but certainly, I had to make the journey to be with her the day of her wedding, wouldn’t you think?”, she asked, and he, with a new found respect on his eyes, nodded, his eyes wouldn’t leave hers
“I agree, the family of my bride should be there for her”, he said and then his eyes found you and a hint of a smile on his lips, “I’m glad she has at least one of the members of her family, shall we expect Lord Corlys?”
“No, just me”, she said
“We will have a room prepared”, he said firmly. It was like the faceoff of two alpha, an alpha wolf, and an alpha dragon. And it looked like they respected each other
“I know it isn’t customary for a woman to be a part of the Old Gods marriage ceremony, but I, as the closest kin, her aunt, I will give her away”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way”, he said firmly, “the old gods do not discriminate, kin is kin, blood is blood”
“Good”, she said.
You were glad to have your aunt there.
taglist!
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#misguidedwinter#hbo house of the dragon#house of the dragon#house targaryen#house stark#cregan x reader#cregan#cregan stark#targaryen!oc#targaryen!reader
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Queen of Ice and Prince of Fire [3]
Author: @akittenwrites
Summary: Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell has declared herself Queen in the North. That means war, against King Viserys, and also against Prince Daemon. But the Rogue Prince doesn't want to fight her.
Type: multichapter series
Chapter: three
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader
Word count: 3811
Warnings: swearing, smut.
Part one.
Part two.
Daemon rested his back on the wooden chair, his eyes roaming over Y/N's body. Now that they were inside, sitting face to face, he allowed himself to enjoy her. He recognized the silk of her dress. It matched her eyes, just as he had thought it would when he acquired it. But it wasn't her fine dress that had his attention right now.
Her breasts were pushed up by the tight bustier, and he decided that was where he would settle his eyes while she thought of what to say. They had been silent for a few minutes now, only illuminated by the flames of the substantial fireplace next to them. Surprisingly, even he, a man not used to the cold, thought there was no need for such a large fire. The castle was incredibly warm, which he had noticed as soon as they had entered it.
After spending what felt like not enough time embracing each other in the Godswood, Y/N had pulled away, saying the words that needed to be said but neither wished to hear.
"We have important matters to discuss. Follow me."
She had walked a step back then, unfastening his dark cloak and letting it fall to the ground, revealing his black doublet, decorated with small silver chains. He wasn't wearing armor, not even chainmail underneath. He hadn't left his sword behind, though. Dark Sister was always with him.
"You look like you're here to assassinate me in that cloak," she explained, playing with a strand of his hair. Then she took his hand in hers to lead him out of the Godswood, the bright eyes of the direwolves no longer visible in the darkness of the woods.
"Maybe I am," he answered, making her chuckle.
"I would love to see you try," she responded, turning her head to smile at him. She seemed incredibly sure he posed no danger to her considering the message she had sent his brother a few days ago, the fact that he was armed and she wasn't, and also the fact that it was him she was dealing with. It was idiotic and naive, and it didn't matter if he was actually a danger to her or not. Not even he knew the answer to that question.
They had barely walked for a few minutes before Y/N let his hand go and one of the tall grey buildings of the castle became visible. They approached the enormous guarded double doors —those guards hadn't been there when Daemon had sneaked in— when Y/N stopped in her tracks and addressed one of the guards.
"Ser Alanor," she called, the man immediately turning to look at her. She waited a few seconds until Daemon was by her side. "Prince Daemon is our guest. Make sure the men are aware of it."
The man bowed his head.
"As my Queen commands."
Once that was settled —and Daemon leaned into her ear to whisper how the commander of her guard had looked at her too lasciviously, earning himself an eye-roll— they entered the building and walked through what appeared to be the Great Hall, with large tables and dozens of seats. Maids were setting up candles while the smell of cooked meat was in the air. Dinner, approximately 200 people, he counted. Around twenty seats at the high table, the largest made of carved stone. That was Y/N's spot, no doubt. And there was only one reason she was having such large dinners: guests. Bannermen. Boltons, Mormonts, Umbers, Glovers?
While Daemon observed everything carefully, the doors, the windows, the servants, and the watchmen, Y/N paid no mind with her head held high, ignoring the curious looks the servants were sending their way. They had surely been warned about his arrival, yet a Targaryen hadn't been in Winterfell for many years. Here the men and women had dark hair, with the occasional auburn or dark blonde. He had no way of not standing out with his long silver hair and his violet eyes. To these people, he probably looked out of this world, more god than man. Which is exactly what he thought he was.
Just as they were walking by, Y/N caught a young woman's arm.
"Ilana," she said, making her stop and turn around. She started to curtsy and greet them but Y/N interrupted her, raising her palm in the air to shut her up. "Prince Daemon and I will dine privately in my solar tonight, I will call when we are ready. Make sure there is no wine shortage in the Great Hall, and the bards only play joyful songs. Find Lord Karstark and the rest of the members of my small council and inform them Prince Daemon has come in peace and is our guest, with whom I will negotiate tonight."
Y/N made a small pause while Ilana nodded.
"Also, make sure the maids prepare our guest's chambers in the Great Keep. Use plenty of fur for the bed, he's not used to this kind of weather," she said in the end, before continuing on her way.
Considering she called him her guest, Y/N wasn't being very polite, forcing him to act like a lost puppy following her around. If only she would slow her pace...
This reminded him too much of how he used to follow her around in the Red Keep too, trying to keep up with her as she went from her chambers to the library and from the library to the courtyard and then back to the library again, with the exception he wasn't familiar with Winterfell and its people.
He wasn't sure if she was just being her usual self or if this was another subtle display of power, as the direwolves had been.
Soon, his thoughts quieted down as they were walking through winding dark corridors, with barely a few torches lighting the way. As his eyes adjusted he realized he didn't recognize this part of the castle. She slowed down her pace and he was finally walking by her side. He saw she had her hands wrung together, as she often did back in King's Landing when she wanted to take his hand but couldn't because they were in public.
He didn't know what was stopping her now. War? Formality? Honor? She may have been calling herself Queen, yet she struggled to act like one. She wasn't even twenty-five summers old yet.
"What do you northerners have against candles?" he whispered, figuring nobody was around to hear anyway. "Did you spend all your gold on weaponry? Maybe on armor? Should we donate candles to Winterfell?"
"We have more than enough gold, thank you for caring," she snapped, giving him a dirty look. "I apologize my castle is too dark for your liking, Prince Daemon. The Red Keep was too bright for mine."
He smiled to himself, remembering she used to blow out most of the candles her handmaidens lit in her chambers in the Red Keep. She preferred the cold and the darkness. Like a wolf.
They finally arrived at a wooden double door with two men standing guard outside. One of them bowed his head and opened the door for her, waiting for them to make their way inside before closing it, giving them privacy.
And that was where they were now. Sitting on the oversized wooden chairs in front of the fireplace, to his right a desk with lots of scrolls and some books, forgotten, and behind her a door that probably connected this solar to her private chambers.
The silence was long but not uncomfortable. There was a lot to think about before talking.
Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice cutting through the silence.
"Why are you here, Daemon?"
The flames barely illuminated their faces, the corners of the room submerged in darkness. Y/N's eyes were fixated on him.
"Because I wished to fuck you like the old times, so I figured I should visit," he responded nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side. "Wait, there was something else." He paused, pretending to think before his eyes scrutinized her, searing. The playfulness was gone from his voice now. "Maybe it is because you are calling yourself Queen of this barren piece of land and rebelling against my brother, your King. Unless there is some other crime you committed I should be aware of."
She raised an eyebrow.
"The Lords of the North named me their Queen. Don't act as if I take pleasure in any of this. Are you here to kill me, then?"
"No, but I will be," he answered honestly. "My brother can be very forgiving. That's what makes him a bad king, but it's also why you are still alive and will live the rest of your life in peace if you forget about this. Call off your bannermen. Burn your crown, wherever it is. Pretend this never happened and swear your loyalty to King Viserys again."
"I don't think you understand what's at stake, Daemon," she bit out.
"No, you don't understand what's at stake!" His hands gripped his chair so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Why war, Y/N? You will die!"
The intensity of his gaze burned her, but she stood her ground. She was a Stark, and Starks did not cower.
"I will die anyway if I'm dragged into another one of your royal conflicts." She gripped her chair as well, leaning forward with the same rage burning in her chest.
"What are you talking about?" he questioned, exasperated. "The realm has been in peace for decades!"
She stood up suddenly, agitated, and walked towards the fireplace, the heat radiating from it making her blush.
They both needed a pause to cool off their tempers.
"What about Viserys' succession? I hear the lords are going restless as he fathers no boys. And your reputation doesn't help you being his heir," she hissed.
"Is this what this is about?" he sneered. "You fear being dragged to war when my brother dies because the realm won't accept me as their King?"
"That's part of it," she admitted, turning to look at him, her grey eyes cold as they fixed on his. A moment passed before he stood up as well, standing behind her as she stared into the fire.
"There will only be war if you force it, Y/N, and you will die along with your people, your wolves, your family..."
Even as he threatened her, he took her hair in his hands with great care. Longer than he remembered it, but just as wild. She never bothered braiding it.
"You underestimate me," she said, lowering her voice. There was no need to yell anymore. As they stood by the fire, the conversation felt intimate. Even if the matter of discussion was unpleasant.
"We have dragons," he answered, curling a strand of her hair around his finger and letting it slip away. "The blood of Old Valyria runs through our veins. How do you think we became your kings in the first place?"
His hands wandered to her waist, where they settled, as he leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, looking into the fire as well.
"We are dragonlords. Fire will consume a regular man, but not us. Your ancestor bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. Your father swore an oath to my brother. Starks aren't known for being oathbreakers."
"Strangers in a strange land is what you are," she mused. "My House can be traced back eight thousand years, to the First Men. We have always been here. This is our land."
She could feel Daemon's grip around her waist loosening, and she placed his hands on top of his, silently asking him not to leave her.
"But you're right, we're not oathbreakers, even if Torrhen Stark made a mistake, we've upheld our vows all these years," she continued. "The problem is... rules change when winter comes. In winter, we must protect each other. And that mandate is above anything else. Even our loyalty to the Iron Throne. It is not power I wish for, it is to be excluded from southern conflicts. And that is not possible if I'm Lady of Winterfell."
She turned around, cupping his face in her hands.
"My dragon," she whispered, tears in her eyes, maybe caused by the intense heat of the fireplace, maybe because she did not wish for this to happen. "I cannot turn my back on my people. Winter is coming. And war is coming in the South, I know it. We cannot be part of it."
"You don't know that," he whispered back, clutching her wrists and pushing her away, refusing her touch. "You would force me to kill you because your lords wish for their independence. They are using you, filling your mind with baseless fear."
"Winter is coming and it is not a lie," she stated, knowing he was aware of it. "Only a fool would not fear winter. Or a son of summer, who has only known the sun and its warmth, and winters so short they are barely cold autumns. This is real winter we are facing."
She broke free from his grip and moved closer to him, their chests almost touching as she looked up at him.
"If I must die, I apologize if it has to be by your hand," she said. "I will not stand down, Daemon. We do not have to fight your wars."
"You say you are trying to avoid war yet you're dooming all your people to die by dragonfire because you refuse to back away from one."
"Haven't you heard? Some Northerners have to die when winter comes, or all of us do."
"I have read about the frozen castles, the men riding direwolves north of The Wall, the food that runs out. It seems rather fantastical."
"So do dragons, yet here you are."
"Yet here I am," he agreed. "I am not a patient man, Y/N. If this is your answer, I will take it to my brother, and I will come back with more dragons to kill you and the rest of the traitors that follow your lead."
"If this is yours, I will wait for you with our army. You might be a dragon, but you forget I am a wolf. My blood runs as thick as yours, Daemon," she defied. "We do not belong as part of the Seven Kingdoms. We never did. We do not share their customs, blood, or gods."
He stared at her, the same way he often did to men when he wanted them to submit, but she did not waver. Wolf's blood.
"Do the direwolves obey you?" he asked, changing the subject.
"They do not," she answered simply. "They cannot be tamed. But they are powerful beasts and they will fight by our side."
"Can the wolves fly? Can they spit fire? Because even with a thousand wolves you cannot hope to fight our dragons."
She smiled sadly, walking towards one of the corners of the room, where a jug of wine and two cups waited on a table.
"Of course we can." She spoke as she served both cups and brought one to Daemon. He accepted it, drinking without taking his eyes off her. "We've studied the Dornish. Dragons can die. And they will."
"Do not get cocky, Y/N," he said, brows furrowed. "It is not wise."
"Riding dragons up north in winter is not wise, yet is it what you promise me. Do not bring them here. They do not belong."
"Dragons can resist low temperatures," he contested.
"Can you?" she asked, an eyebrow raised, as she sipped her wine.
"Are you daring me to bring war to your doors? Do you even hear yourself?"
"I am asking you to reconsider. You can come here with ten dragons and thirty thousand men for all I care," she stated. "You would be out of your element. You would die. We would kill some of you, you would kill some of us, and then winter would kill us all."
"Treason is not forgivable, Y/N. There will be no negotiations. You either submit or you die. Are you sure of this?"
His question was genuine, it was clear in his eyes.
"Just give my message to Viserys," she answered.
Daemon waited a few seconds and then nodded.
"If you were anyone else, I would have your head now."
She ran a hand through his silver hair.
"I know." Her smile as she looked at him was tinted with sorrow. He looked at her too, understanding, as his heart grieved as well.
"I will leave for King's Landing as soon as the sun rises," he said. "And when I return, nothing will be the same again. Do you understand that?"
"It is the hour of ghosts," she whispered. "Dine with me one last time. Share my bed. Do not hurry. It is our last night together. Let it belong to us."
He finished his cup of wine and threw it into the fire.
"Forget about dinner." He took her cup as well and did the same with it. "Until dawn arrives, we belong to each other. Together. As we were always meant to be."
He grasped her chin, his thumb pressing on her bottom lip.
"I do not wish to waste a single minute of it," he whispered.
Their lips clashed together in an instant, hungry, desperate. She arched her back, pressing her body against his, as his hands blindly and shakily tried to undo the laces that tied her dress. She bit on his bottom lip, making his breath hitch, asking him for more as she clung to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He kissed her forcefully, sliding his tongue against hers, letting themselves get lost in each other. His hands still tried to unlace the back of her dress, as he had done so many times before but now the anxiousness to get rid of it didn't let him. She wasn't doing any better as she tugged on his doublet, frustrated when it wouldn't budge, and broke away from the kiss to pull on the small silver chains that held it together, snapping them off one by one. Still agitated, Daemon reached behind him and pulled a dagger. She was so focused on undressing him she didn't notice until he pressed the blade against her skin, between her breasts, and slid it down, swiftly cutting the fabric of her dress.
"Daemon!" she complained, feeling the warmth of the fireplace on her bare breasts. But he just gave her a mischievous look and knelt in front of her, finishing cutting her out of her dress. It fell and pooled around her, leaving her completely naked.
His eyes didn't leave her as he got rid of his also ruined doublet, placing his sword on the floor.
"It would have taken too long," he breathed out, baring his torso.
He lifted a brow, inviting her to join.
In a haze, she knelt down next to him and pressed her lips against his, licking them until he opened his mouth and let her kiss him, moist, dirty, delirious. When he finished undressing his hands found her back and without breaking the kiss he made her lean until her back was on the floor, the rug soft under her body. They parted for just a moment to look at each other, trying to force themselves to burn this into their memory, to never forget.
With her pupils so dilated her eyes were dark, she dug her nails into his lower back, trying to get him to fuck her. To love her.
"Daemon," she moaned, her lips parting as she gasped for breath, hooking a leg around his hips. "Please."
He didn't need anything else, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid into her slowly, making her feel drunk when he was finally buried deep inside her, right where he belonged. She closed her eyes for just a moment but Daemon's sudden grip on her thigh made her open them again.
"Look at me," he whispered. She did as he said and his hand loosened his grip to stroke her thigh, as he slowly slid out of her and in again, setting a slow pace, burying himself deep inside her. Their eyes were connected with lust, longing, and something else neither would ever admit.
Y/N's hands splayed across his chest and she ran them all over his body, feeling his warm skin, his muscles, his scars. Remembering every part of him as if she had never left. He brushed his lips against hers, making her arch her neck up to kiss him, but he denied her, burying his head in her shoulder instead. She could feel his heavy breathing against her skin as she crossed her legs behind his hips, guiding his movements, guiding him back inside her.
She ran her hands through his hair, undoing his braid, letting it free. She felt one of his hands touching her breasts, slowly, his finger circling around one of her nipples, leaving trails of fire on her skin. Time slowed down as he moved to suck on her nipple, making it even harder than it was, making the heat inside her unbearable. She cried out as she grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look at her.
"Kiss me," she begged, the feeling of him sinking into her over and over again almost sending her over the edge.
He did as she asked, engulfing her in a long, passionate kiss. And when they parted, a string of saliva still connecting them, they gazed into each other's eyes, telling each other what their words couldn't say.
"Y/N..." he breathed out, and she knew what he meant.
"Do it," she whispered, running her hands through his hair. "You know, Daemon. I know as well."
"I need you to say it," he insisted, looking at her deeply. "For both of us."
"I am yours..." she said, cupping the side of his face. "As you are mine."
He changed his pace then, slamming his hips into hers and hitting that sweet spot every single time, driving both of them over the edge. As he started losing his rhythm, he leaned down and kissed her desperately. She kissed him back, dissolving into pleasure as she clenched around him and felt him slowly stop moving, spilling deep inside her.
They kissed until they ran out of breath and Daemon rolled to his side, holding her body to follow his.
They lay in front of the fireplace, lost in each other's eyes, their bodies still intertwined.
They would be strangers in a few hours, but for now, they were still allowed to love.
Next part.
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In the books:
White Harbor
“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity…and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.” - Davos, ADwD
Winterfell:
"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya." ... What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." ... "Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears. - The Turncloak, ADwD
The Boltons about the Northmen marching with Stannis:
“Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya’s home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton…but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. - - Reek, ADwD
The northmen marching with Stannis:
"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." - The King's Prize, ADwD
Stannis to Lord Commander Jon Snow:
… more northmen coming in as word spreads of our victory. Fisherfolk, freeriders, hillmen, crofters from the deep of the wolfswood and villagers who fled their homes along the stony shore to escape the ironmen, survivors from the battle outside the gates of Winterfell, men once sworn to the Hornwoods, the Cerwyns, and the Tallharts. We are five thousand strong as I write, our numbers swelling every day. And word has come to us that Roose Bolton moves toward Winterfell with all his power, there to wed his bastard to your half sister. He must not be allowed to restore the castle to its former strength. We march against him. Arnolf Karstark and Mors Umber will join us. I will save your sister if I can, and find a better match for her than Ramsay Snow. You and your brothers must hold the Wall until I can return. - Jon, ADwD
Lord Commander Jon Snow on the Wall:
"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. - Jon, ADwD
You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …
"I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said.
The roar was all he could have hoped for, the tumult so loud that the two old shields tumbled from the walls. Soren Shieldbreaker was on his feet, the Wanderer as well. Toregg the Tall, Brogg, Harle the Huntsman and Harle the Handsome both, Ygon Oldfather, Blind Doss, even the Great Walrus. I have my swords, thought Jon Snow, and we are coming for you, Bastard. - Jon, ADwD
Stannis sending Arya to Jon Snow for a debt owed
"Oh, and take the Stark girl with you. Deliver her to Lord Commander Snow on your way to Eastwatch." Stannis tapped the parchment that lay before him. "A true king pays his debts."
Pay it, aye, thought Theon. Pay it with false coin. Jon Snow would see through the imposter at once. Lord Stark's sullen bastard had known Jeyne Poole, and he had always been fond of his little half-sister Arya. - Theon, TWoW
Even the traitors Karstark pretending like the others:
Lord Arnolf shoved himself up, a vulture rising from its prey. One spotted hand clutched at his son’s shoulder for support. “We’ll take (Winterfell) for the Ned and for his daughter.” - The Sacrifice, ADwD
Us reading A Dance for Dragons: The North is marching for Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Ned Stark. Arya Stark is a pivotal character, a Key to the North around whom the North plot revolves. Various Northern factions are uniting behind her, the Lord Commander broke several oaths of neutrality and died trying to save her, two kings tried to save her.
Sansa stans/Jonsa shippers:
They hate it so much that the North plot revolves around Arya that the only thing they can do again and again is gaslight the fandom with this false equivalence that talking about Arya's importance to the North is making light of Jeyne's rape and abuse.
Also, Ramsay marries Arya Stark to give legitimacy to his stake over the North as Lord of Winterfell. Which is why Manderly wants Rickon because his claim supersedes Arya's. These morons pretending that discussing this plot is an insult to Arya while they hand over all of Arya's book themes, characterization and relationships to their fave is hilarious.
Like every other day there is a post of how Sansa is the MOST IMPORTANT because EVERYONE WANTS TO MARRY HER and she is the ONLY KEY TO THE NORTH - because the Lannisters, Tyrells and LF are all plotting to marry her off etc. The whole Jonsa shite is about Sansa deigning to make the poor bastard Jon legitimate by marrying him etc. Their world revolves around Sansa's marriage. But apparently discussing how Arya's marriage to Ramsay to hold the North is driving the Northern plot is insulting to Arya's character 🤣
When even the author has given all these interviews pointing out that replacing Jeyne with Sansa on the TV show changed the entire story because 'Fake Arya' is essential to what is happening in the North, these stans can only regurgitate this tired old nonsense and attack book readers for discussing what is actually in the books instead of making up headcanons on how their unqualified fave is the only candidate to be QITN
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roose bolton as a father figure to theon
the theon's disturbing relationship to paternalism beam is still shining bright. obviously the ned and balon and balon and ned Thing is happening but if we are going to embrace the horror of ADWD, let's lean all the way in.
the role of the father is molded as such to manufacture obedience from his children—generally speaking but also daughters in a specific way, sons in a specific way. filial duty is considered a virtue in westerosi society (even when your father fails to be virtuous himself) and it's the mode by which the father holds power over his children when they come of age. the father reproduces himself by claiming a son under his name & castle, the father reproduces his values by shaping behavior, the father punishes unsanctioned behavior not (merely) by criticizing the contents of the actions of the son, but by virtue of it being disobedient i.e. obedience to my instructions has within it an inherent Rightness / my instructions are Right because they are mine (circular i know!). this is probably doubled for those who follow the Faith of the Seven where the image of the father is a reflection of the Father aka disobedience flirts with blasphemy. sorry for the monologue—this is gonna be important later.
one of the reasons ned & balon come across as such supreme assholes in theon's ACOK storyline is because even outside the emotional reality of theon being a hostage from 10 years of age, he also pretty much does obey what they have to say. there is a time where he plays by their rules and they still don't approve of him or claim him fully. it's a social contract where ned and balon don't really fulfill their ends of the bargain, so it feels unfair. it feels willfully blind because ned and balon SURELY see the benefits they've accrued at theon's expense—ned lives in peacetime having experienced war, and balon keeps his life/lordship which if he were to have been executed for treason, would have all seemingly gone to a boy lord theon—yet they don't recognize the "theon's expense" part.
see how that works? "you are virtuous and right for following my commands" but theon follows their commands and doesn't get his Virtuous and Right headpats. and that rankles him deeply.
okay, now onto roose as theon's father figure in ADWD:
theon is part and parcel of roose's son ramsay. Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek. in fact the original reek was a servant who roose gave to ramsay's mother as the first act of acknowledgement. it's through reek that ramsay became roose's bastard. we see that when roose demands ramsay give theon up (briefly), ramsay must oblige... hence, reek is still a form of reward/acknowledgement from roose to ramsay. theon is entangled in them and for roose to kill theon could very well be construed as killing off (ramsay as) his son
roose thanks theon for giving him the north via taking winterfell & (inadvertently) ruining robb's situation. roose is thanking theon for the ability to reproduce himself as lord of winterfell and warden of the north—a duty that a son owes his father
i wrote a post about theon's gender troubles that delves into his parallels with barbrey ryswell dustin—how roose treats them both with certain cares to insure their good behavior, and how they both see through the farce. however the difference in roose bolton's world of easy replacement (he replaces multiple wives, domeric with ramsay, reek with reek II) is that barbrey is warned of her fate via the example of bethany ryswell bolton, her sister and roose's dead wife, while theon is warned of his by the example of domeric bolton, roose's dead son.
barbrey steps into the role of domeric's caretaker and main maternal figure because her sister is dead. then ramsay kills domeric. roose allows it. barbrey puts it as: “The widow of Barrowton… and yes, if I so choose, I could be an inconvenience. Of course, Roose sees that too, so he takes care to keep me sweet.” sweet is not the best word for our barb but she plays along with roose's game despite there being no real endgame beyond a petty revenge against the starks. the writing is on the wall though. not to put too fine a point on it but: ramsay will kill any children walda frey has from roose, and barbrey will know precisely who did it
in theon's case, roose's manipulations go like this: “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward… he will give me back to Ramsay then
roose actually tells theon the story of domeric. he describes domeric's relative capability and desire for brothers. he confesses that ramsay killed domeric and that he did nothing about it, that he fully anticipates ramsay to kill any children he has with walda. later, when theon is thinking about how roose will give theon back to ramsay, the conclusion is clear: ramsay is going to torture and abuse you, and i will do nothing—just like i will do nothing for any other sons i might have
theon co-victimhood with jeyne. does that make theon roose's sort-of daughter-in-law?
that last point was a haha joke... unless? after all, theon did canonically desire for ned to adopt him via marriage to sansa. so roose adopting him via "marriage" to ramsay, theon's use to roose being dependent on his subservience to ramsay, or more specifically, his role as legitimizing ramsay/reproducing roose in a similar way to marrying arya stark and having bolton children with her will... that is to say, haha
starks and boltons are foils, ned and roose are foils, ramsay's dogs and starkling direwolves are foils: if ned was a quasi-father figure AND simultaneously warden to theon then why would roose not be as well considering the stark/bolton relationship?
remember when i said that theon is intensely bothered by the fact that he "obeys" ned/balon but gets nothing for it? if you agree with that then consider this passage: Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man’s death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.
there's likely much more i could say here but those are a few points that i think are interesting as part of the larger discussion on theon as well as the social critique in ADWD theon POVs. i mean it really pulls the curtain back—stripped of all romanticism and in the dead of winter where nothing grows, what is a wife truly? a whore, jeyne says. what is a hostage? mine own face on their lie, not [even] a man, theon says.
what is a father? well in theon's decidedly horrifying case, it's the man who has use for you or else what's the point of you being alive
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Heart of the Great Wolf
17 - Plans of Pain and Horror
Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)
Length: 14.1k
Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, canon divergence, reference/discussions of rape, suicidal ideation, grief and trauma response, inferences to miscarriages
Notes: Heavy exploration of heavy trauma and mental duress issues this time. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.
It was an odd feeling, standing there against the railing with a slight nervousness in his body. A feeling he had been learning to let go of, but there were two reasons for them to resurface now. If the circumstances were any different he may have prepared himself for what he once thought was coming to him, but Jon didn’t approach Theon with that kind of intention on his face. Instead of was one of deep introspection, where his true thoughts or feelings were tightly locked away except for the frustrated anger that slipped through the cracks.
Though it was also a nervousness that he knew exactly the last time he felt like that. In the dark dungeon cells of the Dreadfort he had seen the horrific jagged red on your stomach that made him shake. You sat there alive with that, when Theon knew he’d killed men with wounds just like that, and now he knew similar scars sat littered across the chest of the man next to him. The man who may have just stayed dead had you never showed up.
Dynamics twisted, Theon had nothing clever to say or anything teasing to throw. He knew Jon could sense how nervous he was, but now there was something in the man that had felt more commanding then in the days of Winterfell. His voice was low and rasping as he leaned on the railings next to him both looking out to the scene. “What you did for her is the only reason you’re alive right now.”
Nodding to himself, Theons swallowed harshly. “I know that. Even coming here I knew you might kill me soon as I came through those gates.” Sighing to himself he could see the look in your eyes for so long that scared him. “But I knew if I didn’t get her here..she’d rather die then let Ramsay get her back.”
Gloved hands tightened around their grip of the railing and he felt shame once more as the anger fought it’s way to hide in Jon’s voice. “I was going to find her myself, the day they...” Too scared to look at him, he could still feel the pain in his pause. “I didn’t force anyone to come with me, if I was going to have to go after her alone I wouldn’t hesitate. Couldn’t sit here and act as if it wasn’t eating away at me, letting her think no one cared. But I wasn’t the one who protected her. You were.”
Theon could sense there was something intense neither of you were saying. Something that left a protective rage about your safety that Theon had only ever seen in one other man. “They want her to marry Ramsay. More then half the North haven’t come to their side, so they thought if they showed up with their Queen married, already given Ramsay an heir, it would force the rest to surrender.”
Jon beside him was clearly holding a lot back, risking a glance to him that held real pain as he continued on. “If no one helped her get away from him, she would’ve killed herself. Not after what Roose Bolton did, not after what Ramsay..”
“After he what?” Turning with a hand still on the railing to face Theon, he felt intimidated to match his position. Quite the lives they have become for Theon to be the one looking at Jon Snow and wanting to slink away instead of size him up. Eyes dark and the scar around one eye only served to make him seem even wilder as Jon muttered with rough restraint. “I’ve seen the marks around her thighs, I know he touched her but I need you to tell me exactly what he did. Because we both know she’s not okay.”
Maybe it wasn’t his place, but Theon also knew it was torture for him as well. He was the one dragged into that room night after night made to watch. He had to watch as you either fought back or tried to block it all out which only ever made it worse. Force your head up to make eye contact with Theon as Ramsay taunted you both before leaving you to handle the torment and pain. He’d seen the marks some easily hidden, others not because Ramsay wanted someone to watch. It haunted him too, but it also for just a second of seconds, had a question occur to him that blurted out.
“When did you see her like that?”
Jon didn’t respond, his eyes shifted to something a bit heavier behind the grey but it was you with the talent to read so well, not Theon. And certainly not with Jon of all people. “I can’t help her if I don’t know what he did to her.”
Some people were passing by, some with nervous eyes others curious and all directed towards the man draped in black beside him. He wondered if he knew how much he was reminding Theon of those last days he spent with Robb. Once dumb teenagers now turned into leaders, and both of which had a dark temper towards others about you.
“Not here.”
As Jon moved to close the main door to his quarters, his eyebrows quirked up a tinge as he caught Olly’s eyes. Watching with a distant fear and horror as he walked across the gravel with what looked like some kind of drink in hand. Were the place his heart was not right under where that knife had dug into, he would’ve found something to note in how he now seemed to now serve the woman he helped murder Jon for trying to protect.
When he entered, you had barley noticed you didn’t even attempt to touch the food brought to you when Olly sat down a small container onto the desk as you leaned against it. Your head screamed at you to just sleep but you hadn’t found any courage to wander further into this place which held any semblance of her.
It was possible you nodded off at some point in the night, but not enough to made any difference as you went over and over again the plans of your father. The less it made sense for him to have lost the further you understood what he was doing. You had previously been rummaging through everything trying to find the letter. You knew it was right on the desk but it was now gone and you couldn’t take just one more spiralling of panic right now.
But now you felt even more overwhelmed as your palm pressed firm into your forehead. “He thought you would come back to him, he came here still mourning your death. Your father would want-”
“My father thought I was a traitor.” Your hands flew down the desk behind you, the slight slam almost making the boy behind it jump back. “He called Robb a thief, saying he stole half his kingdom if he took Kings Landing he would have come after us next.” The pain in your voice cracked slightly, tone falling as you knew it wasn’t Davos’s fault you were so unreasonable over this. “I stopped being his heir the moment I chose to join Robb instead of sailing for Dragonstone.”
Stepping towards you, your eyes fluttered shut as arms crossed over your chest. Davos speaking quieter then you had yelled, “For a time he was angry, but he knew he made a mistake by turning your offer down. I tried telling him more then once to reconsider making peace with your husband and everytime he denied it right up until you both died.”
Scoffing, you turned your attention to the darkness of the walls around you. “Never once did he step foot in the North. Never liked it, never cared for it but he sent me here for half my life so I wouldn’t end up spoiled and unprepared like Renly. Then he married me to the North only to have them as an easy ally at his back and then still called me a traitor for staying with them.”
The cold in the air now reminded you of that night, how despite the freezing weather around it was the spirits of the North that warmed you. How unsure Robb looked and yet how he never wavered to be the King they needed, the only one they wanted.
“What was I fighting for, if I turn around now and accept the very crown we lost the war fighting against? That I was willing to be their Queen only until something better came into my lap?” Biting your lip before dropping to something softer, more distant and somber. “Besides, I was never their leader Ser Davos. I was Queen only because they chose Robb as their King. I wouldn’t have been anything without him. He was their leader, I wasn’t meant to do this on my own.”
He felt for you, having seen the qualities of the man in person that day. It was clear why the Northmen respected Robb Stark so much, and easy to see those same qualities that Stannis had seen in his brother. He had said it to no one but Davos, but were you still alive Stannis said, he wondered if Jon would’ve accepted his offer of Winterfell, if he too, had offered you as well.
A hand rested on your upper arm as you looked up, an understanding kindness in his eyes that was so uncommon amongst most of the men you’d come across in these years. “These people need a leader, they need someone to follow someone to believe in.”
The way so many had gone to him, the way so many looked to him with love in his new life. “They already have a leader. They don’t need a new one, they just needed to have the one they already believed in back. And he is.”
You hated the ease in which Davos felt like a father sometimes, an honesty with a comfort that was frustratingly effective as it cut to the chase. “Then what does that make you?”
Voice quiet, but both in the room heard it well as it was weak yet conclusive. “Suppose it just makes me someone who is in his way.” Once you may have had something to offer him, but no longer. You had nothing to give Jon or his cause that wouldn’t bring him down. A disappointment you were.
Circling around the desk before he could speak, you sat down with a louder shift in tone. “It might be a better use of your time, Ser Davos to make yourself available to the Lord Commander for the time being. He is the one in charge and with the men who will follow him, he and Stannis were trying to fight for the same cause and they both died for it. He would be better served by you then I would.”
You didn’t mean for it to come off the dismissive way you did, but there was nothing you could see that didn’t leave you behind. It made sense, you married Robb and left Jon behind to the Wall and now it was destiny he do the same to you. And you’d deserve it as far as you were concerned.
He didn’t buy it though, and curse him for knowing you that well. “Your grace if I may,” Your inside twisted at the title, it didn’t used too but since arriving you felt as if it were a mockery. Sitting down in front of you he leaned forward, “You think you’re the only one to worry about disappointing the people you love? That the things we suffer through make us weak in their eyes?”
Hard pressed to find the right words to say, you swallowed heavily hoping it would take the nerves down with it. “Tell me, Ser Davos what could you possibly have done to disappoint the people most important to you in your life?”
There was no hesitation in his answer, the words much more of a surprise. “You had the restraint and the influence to send that woman away yesterday. That isn’t nothing, she’s been attached to the King’s side for a long time and no one has managed to force her to leave until you.” Your eyes narrowed in slight question as he elaborated. “When I tried, it was with a knife and it got me tossed into a cell.”
Your expression must have shifted drastically, because Ser Davos chuckled to himself. “That’s the same expression your father had. She had pushed me one step too far, and right there in the middle of the room I tried to put a knife in her.” It steadied on the tip of your tongue to ask, but you knew the man well enough that something quite wrong must have been that cause. Or very painful.
Leaning forward yourself, you lightened the weight in your shoulders a bit as you spoke a bit more freely. “She only left because I did the exact same thing to her. I was angry, I was confused, hell0 I still am but she just kept trying to convince me to join her. That her visions were all true and not lies made up to hurt people she can’t so easily manipulate.”
Meeting his eyes you found yourself being the open one for the first time, “Told me that her god was trying to say I was with the wrong person. That I was on the wrong side and everything since then had been trying to push me here.” Your eyes drifted to the side, a quiet crack in your tone breaking through. “Saying being with Robb, having our child wasn’t my destiny. I was just so angry, so I shoved her against the wall and told her I’d put a knife through her stomach where Roose Bolton did mine.”
It was an odd thing, but there was a semblance of proud on the mans face. “I don’t mean to overstep, your grace but in my own opinion her talk of destiny is nonsense. You had a husband you loved and a child on the way and she cannot take that from you. Even now that they’re gone, she can’t take away that love between you, that will always exist.” Your eyes flickered down to a spot of nothing on the desk, your throat too choked to make any sound.
You hoped that was true, you really did. But you failed everything Robb had fought for, and betrayed his memory twice over. Davos did not let the thoughts stew though, “You suited each other. Your father wouldn’t have been to happy to hear me say this, but you looked like a proper King and Queen by the others side. Losing both of them will always hurt, but no one can take away what you had. Not even her.”
Not moving, you nodded a single time as he could see the hold in your face trying not to let too much of that pain out in front of anyone. Looking up to Olly he nodded to the side, “Come, let’s go make ourselves useful somewhere else. Give the Queen a moment alone.”
Olly nodded, getting to the door before turning back looking to you and then the food he sat out hours ago. Catching a protest from Ser Davos he quickly grabbed it to bring with him. “I can bring you something warm later.” He was trying very hard to make up what he did in your eyes and you had no idea why.
You didn’t know what Queen anyone saw you as anymore, nor if they should. As the door closed you sat in that silence for a moment before standing abruptly. Ever so slowly, you walked to the main part of the room. Theon had tried to make it relatively inoffensive but you still could sense her right there. Saw where she’d spend her time, where all her books would lay out.
The red woman may have burned her but you were the one to put a knife through her, ending a horrid pain or not it was on you and only you that she was gone. Sending her away was more to spare you from letting that anger inside you take a step too far, stop seeing their faces in hers and maybe they won’t haunt you.
But they did, all of them did. Every waking moment felt as if it was one onslaught of terror after the other in a world that no longer had a place for you in it. Fingers gently tracing over one of the books tucked away you recognized the cover. Smiling to yourself as you flipped it open gently seeing how well worn the pages were, easily seeing Shireen opening it up and going through everything as if she hadn’t read it a thousand times over.
By the time you sat, your back against the wall and knee bent with your feet flat on the floor you rested your forearms over them. Letting your head fall back onto the surface as you looked around. Your father had come here to fight an enemy you barley understood, and yet still found it within him to try and fight for a North that he knew had denied him. Some still would, or did.
You knew of some houses who sided with the Boltons, others more predicable then others. Rumours of the Umbers, some of the Manderlys making you wonder what the justification of their new fealty’s were.
Still not knowing who was left, who escaped or survived or what kind of allegiances lay about the North in truth. Hadn’t even a clue what state the Riverlands would be left in, once under Robb’s rule as well now felt so far away it was impossible to see. It flashed in your mind before you could stop it, the fire around the chanting, the horror of what became of both of them.
He didn’t deserve to be a tossed away pile of bones scattered across the Twins. He deserved be in the North, deserved to be buried with his family he fought for in his own home. He and Grey Wind both didn’t deserve to have it end in such a horror. Bringing any of him home likely wasn’t possible, if the Freys kept track of any beyond that night. Your heart almost plunged down into your stomach as a vile feeling rose in your throat.
An agony in your heart that overtook the nightmares which followed that night beyond. How many of those men would stay aligned with such traitors if they knew what they did with their King. The Young Wolf they had called him and they forced him to die as such. You didn’t know when the tears started, or when they fell too heavy to contain but your head dropped into your arms. Pulling your knees closer to your chest.
You could see them all, feel the blood under your hands and the constant loss surrounding you that all screamed it was your fault. Maybe this new life was for no purpose, maybe this was still the punishment. Eventually the exhaustion took over from the tears, but you had no idea when you fell asleep. Only the dream like sensation of a pair of arms wrapping around you before something soft fell underneath along with a gentle rasp that you couldn’t see in your slumber.
Maybe if you were lucky, you’d never wake up.
Coming around to the waking world, you were laid out under the sheets of a place you hadn’t fallen asleep in. Laid out on your side your eyes slowly opened to the sound of a grumble, as right before you red eyes watched you closely. Ghost sat to the side of the bed, his head laid out on the sheets watching you before letting out a whine when you found his attention. Slowly pushing up on your palms, the sheets fell around your waist leaning forward to run a hand along his fur.
The direwolf leaning right into it with another low grumble before shaking his head out and turning towards the door. Pausing to look back at you, you raised an eyebrow as your voice crept back from a grumbling slumber. “I suppose I can’t argue with that face, now can I?” Head tilting to your words you finally stood up, muscles for once not so angry as you did so. Over a week now had found many rough places to sleep, and even less willingness to stop to do so.
You had felt far warmer then normal and only as you stepped forward towards Ghost did you realize there was a furred cloak wrapped around you, a cloak that had your heart skipping. The last time you had ever seen it was years ago riding away from you when it’s owners father was still alive. The white fur brushed with darker spots alongside it had always stuck out from the other Starks whose were mostly dark with spots of browns and specks of black around it.
Many years ago, still teenagers, you had told him that winters and snow suited him no matter what about it he hated in name. Draped in all black for so many years, it made sense that his companion was the pure white opposite that kept it all balanced. The North felt like it was all around Jon for so long that ever pretending he was anything but a Stark was unfair. You had told Robb that night in Riverrun you never understood why he was treated the way he was.
In truth you logically did know, bastards of Westeros were treated amongst different levels depending on who it was they were born to. It had been a long time since you thought back to that day, but you could still see the boy with striking eyes and dark hair that matched you so well it stunned you into a shock you never quite got over in those days. But Gendry was a lowborn, from what you had been able to tell, possibly knew his way around being sold as a slave as well.
Having any Baratheon in his parentage meant nothing, born destined to live in the slums of flea bottom and that’s all the world would ever care from him because Robert would never have cared. But Jon was as much of a Stark as any you’d ever met and yet the only way you found one another again was in the most dire of lost times at the edge of the world brinking on a darkening end.
He was more of a Stark then you were a Baratheon anymore, no matter what Ser Davos tried to convince you of, you didn’t belong amongst the golds of Stags. But draped in Jon’s fur, you didn’t think you belonged with the wolves either. Just the dirt and rotting ground.
The Lord Commander’s quarters were naturally the most well made of the lot. More rooms were sectioned off with proper privacy rather then most of it in one place. The chill in the air reaching the point you knew it would never truly go away, wrapping the ends of the cloak a little firmer around your front as your eyes narrowed looking around.
For a brief moment, he hadn’t seen you yet. Sat away at his desk with his face twisted into something more exhausted then you’d seen before. It was hard to tell by the light coming from outside, but it appeared to be later in the afternoon, and likely Jon had been there for far too many hours scanning over too many words and numbers to not hurt your eyes eventually.
You hated the jump in your heart, the spike that felt so familiar like everytime you would see him for the first time when returning to Winterfell. Then it was more innocent, a comfortableness with a growing of more heated touch that never quite got off the ground then but just a quiet intimacy with your best friend. Now though, the faces in your mind, the life you lost in one horrible night that told you it was wrong to have anything close to that ever again.
You promised to never leave the other anymore, and you broke that by being pulled back to the world of living and not doing your duty to your vows and following him right back to the darkness. Pain and a scarring ravaging of your mind and body that took away the things he had given you and yet once you escaped that too?
Would they all hate you for what you did? For how it felt now? To look at Jon, his black curls thick, wild, and longer then they’d ever been, and the rest of him sharper and more distinguished from time, face framed by facial hair that you knew what it felt like scratching between your legs. Was it so horrible of you to so easily look at him now, and rediscover things that you once found so easy to love but in a whole new version of the same man. Was it unfair to Robb for you seeing his brother for the first time in years, and that was what happened?
It was a burning inside you that night, like you would be consumed by flames should you not give yourself to him as many times as he needed to take you. Never felt like it was more natural to be with someone, but now it all felt like you were just finding traitor in yourself to more people. A traitor to your father with Robb, and now a traitor to Robb with Jon and all of it was only your fault alone.
Clearly, you’d been standing there for a little longer then you guessed. Jon having set aside whatever took his focus previously as he softly called your name for what sounded like a second attempt. Mind snapping back to him, too falling easily into the wide tenderness of his grey eyes that made you stir uncomfortably. Your voice rough, and tone even more awkward. “You brought me here?”
Jon didn’t respond with the same stilted feeling, just looking to you with the same ease he always had even despite the raging tension in his shoulders. “The only way you could sleep was passing out on the ground or at your desk,”
Your brows narrowed for a moment, “How would you know that?”
His face never changed once and neither did his soft toned confidence. “Because I know you, and I know the last thing you’d want to is to fall asleep in either of their beds.” You hated that he was right, you hated that you had been to terrified to sleep in either your father or Shireen’s beds. Knowing the nightmares would follow thusly.
Stepping a few feet in more, distracting yourself by looking around his quarters to shove the sting in your eyes back down. “So you what, brought me to yours?” Whatever distracting accusation in your voice you attempted failed, either in you or to be fooled by Jon. He knew you so well and you hated every second of it. You couldn’t hide from him and you had the distinct feeling he no longer would let you try.
“If it meant I could keep an eye on you, yes.” You could hear a shift, likely him leaning back in his chair looking you over with a more narrowed, scrupulous gaze. You felt him follow you, as you looked over whatever lay about in the room to not meet his eyes back. Your name slipping roughly from his lips, making your jaw clench and eyes sting more.
Interrupting him before he could push the issue, but trying to push the playfulness in your voice didn’t quite hit it’s mark. “Thought men of the Night’s Watch weren’t allowed women in their beds.” Not looking, you missed the smirk slide easily onto his face.
Still low, his playfulness was much more natural in tone. “No, normally the men prefer sneaking off to Mole’s Town to stay in theirs.” But hair so red flashed in your mind and you knew it wasn’t there which his company was found, and you hated yourself deeply for feeling uneasy over it.
You had no right. You married his brother, kept another man’s bed warm while you were being looked to as a Queen and he was here shut off from the family who wished they did him better. You had no right to feel this way about Jon finding that same thing with another woman it was his life. The hands clutching the cloak gripped tight enough you could feel the strain in your knuckles, at least hidden by the black of the fabric over it.
Trying to smile while casting your eyes over titles on a bookshelf, “Suppose if they punished everyone for that, there would be nothing but corpses to man the Wall.”
“You mean more then it already is now?” You didn’t know if he intended it as a joke or not, but it finally made you whip around with a sharp unamused glare. It was all too clear exactly how those scars on his chest felt and nothing funny about it came to you. But the small conflict in his eyes had you pull back a bit. Wasn’t really funny to him either.
Glad he was giving you the space, you walked a bit closer before sitting in the seat opposite across the desk. Your hands still tightly gripping the cloak around you as he looked you over with something you didn’t want to recognize. Something you wish didn’t warm the chill in your veins. “I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” Your eyes flickered back up to his, something that was keeping himself at a distance to you but yet it appeared as if the effort was difficult for him. Once in another life, you both found it easy to keep apart so honestly. Hide in plain sight and save these kinds of emotion for private. But now? Now doing so in private felt almost worse, like giving into what you didn’t deserve anymore.
The quiet between you was heavy, but you had no clue how to break it. No idea what to say to make any of this easier, make any of it make sense. Neither of you should be here, and yet?
“Ser Davos told me my father offered you Winterfell.” His brows narrowed a tad as you glanced up to him and then back to the window on the walls. A twisting in your own expression at the idea, “Said he would legitimize you, give you Winterfell if you helped reclaim it. But you said no.”
The conflict in Jon’s own eyes were missed as he finally looked away from you. He was confident when he said no to the King, but all it took was one discussion with Ser Davos afterwards that stripped him off the lies he told himself. You did not know what exactly was said between them, and you did not presume to ask the details. It wasn’t your offer and not your right to know and yet here you were running your mouth about it because your mind couldn’t stop itself.
Running a hand over his mouth, there were finally nerves visible in his own person then just you for once. “I swore a sacred vow to the Night’s Watch.” You clenched your jaw as you turned away only to feel confused by the breath of a genuine chuckle from him. “There’s that look again.”
Turning with a furrowed brow, you more defensively turned your voice up. “What look?”
Jon only chuckled harder. “That right there” His forearm leaned with him to rest on his desk to point to your expression. “The same look you gave me that night, when I tried telling you why I was joining in the first place. You gave me that same look then, like you knew I wasn’t being honest with myself.”
You had no idea where it came from, but something so calm and flat slipped from your mouth with a very small amused shrug of a shoulder. “You and I are quite good at that, aren’t we?” You wanted to laugh with him, but it wasn’t quite as easy. “Lying to ourselves about what we really feel.”
His grey eyes shined at you with a familiar fondness so unique to only him. “Part of me didn’t think I deserved it. I spent so many years pining after everything my siblings got, but finally when it’s right in front of me all I could worry was that it shouldn’t be mine.” Voice and eyes far away in both as he let himself open up. “I found a place here, I found a reason to keep going to keep fighting but did any of that mean I should have the one thing I could only get because the rest of my family is gone? So I said no. That my place is here and getting myself involved with politics of the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t my place anymore.”
Pulling something from a drawer in his desk, you stilled. Recognized the tint right away before he even could open it back up. Sitting it face up between you, both knew the other had read and reread it too many times to count. Only this time, as a shaking panic found it’s way into your eyes a darkening anger swirled in his. The proof that what happened to him, was your fault.
You’d run from this very room if you didn’t think Jon would instantly leap up to shove the door closed before you could walk out of it. There also, was no hiding the watering that finally broke free of the dry sting and the red that followed the pressure. “I...what do you want me to say? If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have come here and maybe they never would have-”
It was uncommon that anger was directed towards you, but the darkness in his eyes and twisting expression of frustration as he looked at you felt horrid. “That’s what you think this is?” He leaned back before forcing himself to stand. Taking a few steps to the window running a hand over his face once more before turning back to look at you. Less of a furious anger and more like a hurt form.
Your name slipping harshly from his lips, making you turn to look at him wishing you weren’t so weak it was obvious you wanted to cry. “The Bolton’s murdered my brother, took my home from it’s own people. And when I finally find out after a year that they’ve kept you alive as their prisoner did I finally get it. I spent all this time trying to convince these men that the Free Folk deserve a place in the North as much as we do, but it wasn’t until him,” His chin nodding to the letter, “Did I realize that I don’t deserve to be the one leading these people if I don’t even try to protect the people I love.”
Your nerves ragged and your muscles under the cloak shook as you shook your head as your words gritted together. “And coming after me got you killed.”
Clearly a sore spot was pricked at, as he stepped forward, his voice raise along with his temper. “They killed me for doing the right thing.” Your head jilted back a small bit, biting your lip at the tone but never moved to make him stop. “The Night’s Watch isn’t the shield that guard the realms of men if we’re only protecting each other. What’s the point of trying to protect the world from what’s coming if I let everything I love die before it even gets here.”
Walking closer to you, your eyes were turned away from him completely. His voice lowering as he braced his palms across the side of the desk angled towards you. “I died trying to protect you and there wasn’t one second I ever regretted it. I didn’t regret it when I bleeding out on the ground, and I don’t regret it now that you’re the only reason I’m even alive.”
One gloved hand rose up to cup your cheek, turning you to look up at him and starling you by how close he really was. Your lungs chose to not even try to work as you looked at him as he whispered, his breathe warm as it gently reached your skin. “So stop avoiding me. I made my choice. Fight for what’s right, for my people, and for the woman I love.”
Even under the leather, you were sure he felt you shiver as you tried turning your gaze away from him, this time the tears just falling. The one hand still on you, running his thumb over to wipe away what it could reach but he never moved forward beyond it. Just kept you there, until your nerves settled down.
For once, you felt a sliver of calm that gave back any strength in your voice. “So, now what? You’re alive, as am I, so what do we do?”
Not that he said it, but the darker animal inside of Jon certainly had a very different answer to that question then the reasonable answer you were thinking. But after what he learned, part of him was petrified that he had scared you. And as much as he wanted you, as much as whatever this feeling inside his new beating heart screamed at him, he would never take that gamble when you were so fresh from such a disgusting torture.
His voice was low, and sure of himself as he came back around to the right conclusion. “First, I’m getting you to eat something for once and then? We do our duty. We start planning how we get the North back. Together.”
Nodding, you felt the loud noise in your head settle. Part of you sick of how only Jon seemed to quell it, but that was just a fact you were going to have to live with. Jon on his part, gave himself credit for having the will power to not kiss you. Running his hand over the side of your head, hair running through the leather between his fingers just looking at you for a moment when he let it slip out. By accident, his voice a quiet, husky awe like it was only meant to be in his head. “You look so beautiful in my clothes.”
Jon’s chuckle was deep as you flushed, turning away from his touch trying to hide the swirling embarrassment. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that felt so normal to be there with him, but you scoffed anyways. “Alright, you already made your point there’s no need to flatter me into it.”
Laughing more freely he let one more tiny part of him slip, and thankful that you didn’t shy away from him for it. Leaning closely he mumbled, “If I’m not supposed to flatter you, then you shouldn’t look so beautiful in my furs, sleeping in my bed.” You flushed one more time as Jon leaned in like it was such a normal thing to do, slipping his hand gently behind your head to pull you to him. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, your heart leaping in your chest at the tenderness. “Stay here with Ghost, I’ll bring you something.”
If you weren’t so flustered, you’d tell him you could do it yourself but by the time you registered he even said anything he was gone. Leaning forward to drop your head in your hands only to be nudged by Ghost. Drawing you back up, you sighed running a hand along his head. “At least I know now it’s just a Stark thing to enjoy making me nervous.”
Ghost just moved a bit closer, begging for more of your nails to stretch around his ears as he shuffled closer to comfort you. If only with the direwolf, that might have been the first time you said something so calmly about Robb and not felt like you wanted to throw up over the pain. It hurt, but it was a hurt that stemmed from memories that weren’t so agonizing to recall.
Eyes drifting upwards, you hesitantly reached out to grasp the letter. Despising how easily you could hear his voice as you glossed over the words. It seemed more unhinged then what he was when you left, but still the details didn’t add up. It had taken about seven days to reach Castle Black and this letter would’ve arrived on the sixth night. Seven days of battle, but only that very night Theon and yourself made an escape did Roose Bolton bring your father up to Ramsay.
The details of his ravings about you added up in your mind, there was only one place, one person you could reliably run too and blaming Jon as if you were stolen in the night was easier then accepting two beaten prisoners out foxed your men and hounds. But why lie about your father? Why would he have reason to lie and say Stannis was dead if he wasn’t?
You froze as it hit you. So much, so very much had happened between then and that day, many people who were there in person or signed to it were gone or prisoners still to the Freys. But there were absolutely still those who would know about it.
Ghost whined at you in concern as you bent in your seat, head falling into your hands at the factor you had so massively forgotten in this haze of your mind. How could you even bring that up now, how would you ever say it? Especially after what your father already tried to offer, he would just think you were trying to manipulate him.
It was made in genuinity, you and Robb both never doubted that choice and there was never even a second choice that you two considered good enough to put first. Not even Catelyn could find a protest beyond her own misgivings, and yet as it all came onto you like freezing water you realized that you had no idea what to say. Was this even a North anymore that would value your words? Would they see you alive and consider your stance as fair and righteous as they considered their once King’s?
One thing after another it seemed, not even a fortnight had passed since you escaped the Boltons and already the weight piled up one after the other with things that you had no idea what to do about. It was a bit odd however, having this weight and yet the giant direwolf here seemed to not just sense it but found discomfort in your own.
Even sized as this, Ghost was still a bit smaller then Grey Wind. Silent as anything when he wanted to be, preferring to slink into the background to watch with keen attention. Whereas Grey Wind stood tall and proud, confident in his intimidating nature that used it as a protective guard to those he cared about and in private, preferred to relax to fall asleep in gentle peace. But the quiet watchful direwolf in front of you was so much more lively alone.
As if Ghost was still a pup demanding your attention, huffing at you when your hands stilled as they scratched along his fur. Standing so close he could knock you over when outside you had noticed he preferred to stay back and watch it all play out with no distractions. Yet both still seemed to regard you with their own protective nature when most others knew direwolves to only answer to one.
But then there were those days, moments that felt like the wolves were more human then animal and something aggressive in them leaping to the forefront at your defence. Jon had said when he died, it was like part of him lived within Ghost, that he could see and control his animal in such a strange way that left him wild and aggressive until you showed up at the gates.
For a moment, you remembered the flames. Those few seconds before there was nothing, and how there was just enough flickers of life in Robb’s deep blue eyes that you knew he had to watch you first and were you not sitting you may have fell over at the thought.
Grey Wind shot full of arrows before his head was cut off just like- jumping up to your feet as if needing urgently to shake off the bile in your throat at the memory. You told yourself countless times not to think about it, but it was the last sight of him you’d ever get and suddenly the world felt dizzy.
Stepping forward, you had to brace your palms against the desk, head hanging low as the world spun both around you and inside your mind feeling like you were at a dozy sea. Only it was the sea which dragged you out, just as a hand reached your arm you spun around in a gasp as you both flinched away from the other. Theon a few feet back, hands now raised in the air as he looked over you with wide eyes at your breathless tone. “What are you doing in here?”
Lowering them back down, he tilted his head slightly to look you over with concern. “Checking on you. The two dead people disappear all day, started to make everyone a bit nervous out there.”
Steadying your breathing you leaned back against the desk, crossing your arms. “There is a difference between being dead and rumoured to be dead.” He didn’t take the hint to leave it be, and you could only wonder just what the talk really was outside your hearing.
Moving to match your position, he eyed Ghost now sitting quietly with watchful eyes unlike the affection of mere seconds ago. His arms crossed as well, tone bordering on light but in a more distant banter then perhaps years ago. “And I know there is a difference between surviving a knife in the stomach, and surviving being butchered like he did to you.” Your head turned to the side, eyes slipping closed to turn it out but he leaned closer. “You can’t keep avoiding it. Everyone is talking about it, you and Jon both, like they can’t decide if they’re terrified of you two or ready to worship you.”
Neither of those things sounded appealing, your resolve shredded too cowardly to be feared and there was nothing about your new life that deserved any kind of reverence. You were just you, alive somehow and far more broken then any Northerner would recall following you as. “I can avoid it as long as I refuse to speak on it. I’m alive that doesn’t mean anyone thinks I’m special.”
His eyes softened as he watched you, your gaze less harsh as you looked meaninglessly around the room. It took a while for it to be spit out, but once he did it was out there and he knew he had to address it further. “Jon does.” Your tone warning him by name but he climbed over it. “You think I’m stupid? That I can’t see the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon in the sky just for him?”
Nudging his arm, the tiny gesture letting you two slip to a more normal feeling. “Have you been reading poetry in your spare time at the Wall, or did I only miss the fancy words in between ignoring how vulgar you used to be.” Both of you didn’t really laugh, but a far away smile crossing both of your faces at the memory.
Truly two different people in those sights compared to the ones in the present.
He shrugged as you both looked more to the ground in the quiet. “Guess I’m just noticing things more then I used too. Ruined my life always trying to be the centre of attention, decided maybe it might do be some good to take influence from you two and shutting up once in a while. Gave me time to start noticing the things around me.”
You wanted to dismiss it outright, but turning to glance at Theon you didn’t see the once cocky charmer he once was, but a man just as torn apart by the very people who did you. The one who risked everything to bring you here, to someone who had every reason to hate him for what he had done. It wasn’t so easy just brushing him off anymore, not when even now he stood by you instead of finding a better life anywhere away from here. You bit your tongue as something choked up built, but you never spoke of it.
Not outloud to a soul, and with those striking blue eyes still so painfully in your heart you had even less words to describe what those grey ones did to you now. “One of us should be able too. It feels like I have no idea what anyone is thinking anymore, like I could always read a person and their intentions but now there’s a fog overtop of my eyes and everyone is just a mystery.”
Nodding mostly to himself he hummed, “I can lift it for a few people. If you care to hear.” You shrugged a shoulder, and he continued on taking it as a yes. “For once, I can tell you that boy Olly? He’s about as afraid of you as he does admire you. Told you to your face he shoved a knife into Jon’s heart, watched you cut a man’s head off and hang two others for that crime but you kept him by your side. At this point, I think he’ll do anything to make up for what he did.”
You swallowed heavily. “He’s just a boy. I can’t blame a boy for being manipulated into something he couldn’t possibly understand. Seems keeping around people like that is a new pattern of mine.” Eyes meeting the other, you both knew there was direct influence on that one. You had found a true friend in Theon after once only seeing execution as a choice for his life and perhaps it make you more willing to forgive that of another.
“I also know I ruined my own life by going back to the Iron Islands, that the only time I felt like I was part of something good was fighting by Robb’s side. And that I’m willing to get dragged along with you until you figure out what your next moves are as well.” The only thing you could be sure with, was the honesty and dedication in his eyes that was as foreign to him now as it was for you to see it again. “Besides, I didn’t just swear my sword to the King in the North. Pretty sure there was a Queen in there as well.”
Both of you knew, you didn’t feel like that person anymore. Not even close, but now you knew in a strange panic that you were going to have to do your duty. The last real act as King and Queen you had made with Robb needed to be upheld, if only could it be done by one who was less inclined to so easily fall apart. Theon didn’t need to hear it, but you said it anyways. “I’m sorry for ever sending them to you. Truly, I am.”
Eyes meeting once more, it was a bond that likely none else would understand. Forced into a torture upon the other that no one else could image were they not there to endure it. “So am I.” Progress was made for him, a kind moment of comfort where your hands found the other.
Memories of a hellish nightmare that left your souls both in horrid tatters, and yet enough pieces were scraped together to run from it before it consumed you both without mercy.
If the gods had none else planned for you, at least you could rely that Theon would go with you towards that chaos. What worse could you two find that hadn’t been done to either of you over by those blood curling pale blue eyes.
Too far removed from the present still, the small moment as the door from outside opened followed suit with something that only further proved Theon’s point which escaped your notice. But as the door and cold swung open, and as Jon walked in to the sight? Theon couldn’t help but notice that as Jon’s eyes flickered sharply between how close you two were standing and your attached hands, that he had never seen such a quick flash of possessiveness even on Robb.
But as soon as it was there, it faded when you let go of him to stand up straight, a bit of a wall throwing itself back up. One on one was easier, but more then that seemed to put you right back to an edge that you were terrified of looking weak standing over.
Theon also couldn’t help it as the thought came to him, but that he had almost walked in on you and Robb during the earlier days at war. And that even in Robb’s quick temper at Theon to get out considering your state of undress, it wasn’t anywhere near the dark which came over Jon’s grey eyes as he for hardly a second, noticed you holding hands.
If this was some strange connection between you because of what happened, he didn’t know. Theon just hoped you weren’t adding to this onslaught of self punishment by pushing it away out of a surviving guilt. Robb may have died hating Theon, but he knew he wouldn’t have died never wanting you to find any happiness again.
And gods help him, Theon was starting to suspect Jon desperately wanted you to find it with him.
“What would he get from lying about that?” That was the question you still weren’t sure of. Ser Davos seemed to agree that the time of events didn’t line up if Ramsay had been telling the truth about Stannis. But with no word from him, or where his armies were none of you had anything to go off of but a feeling.
Busy looking through the papers left behind from your father, it left Davos and Theon to work with Jon on how everything fit together. Having attempted to pledge Northern houses to his cause, you and Theon could say with certainty who wasn’t loyal to House Bolton but many had denied Stannis or not given him any response what so ever.
If the remaining Ironborn were driven out of the lands, it would leave only the ones who betrayed and murdered their King as the ones left in charge. Must like the rest of the kingdoms it seemed, no longer were the wars fought across the lands but within them just for the right to live. But the North was vast and large with little organization in place to start at.
“Trying to scare me into surrendering. If he thinks I’m a threat, telling me he and his armies are dead might mean less chance I go after them.” Your eyes were starting to hurt, but there was a vast amount of back and forth to put everything together. Half of Jons desk on the opposite side of him was covered in papers as you leaned over in your chair sorting things quietly as their voices moved around you.
Theon spoke up from the side a sudden thought occurring to him, scouring back into his memories to find it past the fears of the moment. “He tired to do more then scare you. They were trying to find Bran and Rickon, and he sent one of his men here to look for them.” Pausing he looked at the slowly filling anger in Jon’s confused eyes. “He said that even if they weren’t, you might be a threat to them, especially if you found out about...”
You knew eyes drifted over to you, but just narrowing your own at the paper hoping to blur passed the thoughts from distracting you even more. Jon asking, “When was this?”
A pause between them no doubt as he tried to recall, you knew too well keeping track of days or weeks in those times was an impossible task. “Wouldn’t have been long after..” Theon clearing his throat trying to push past the looming narrative there, “after what happened at the Twins... He’s not here though, so I don’t know what..”
Your eyes widened, hands gripping the paper a bit tightly trying to not see it. Not see the way in that last time outside the way the sun shined on the Trident and how the next time you saw any sun you were being dragged through the North almost in a delirious fever. You purposely didn’t look up, you didn’t want to distract them either.
Jon connecting it on his own, “We had a man come here, saying he was from the Riverlands but he died when we went to take care of the mutineers at Craster’s Keep. If he was there for me, someone should have told him not to waste his time. Thorne took care of that one.”
If this all happened while still at the Dreadfort no wonder you didn’t hear a thing about it, locked away in their dungeons ready to die was your state. Not much had changed beyond where you were allowed to walk around since then.
Ser Davos was sat next to you, “Makes sense actually. You know the North better then most, your father was Warden of the North for over twenty years, your brother was their King. Roose Bolton’s a smart man, he knows if you come out of the Night’s Watch you’re a threat. Especially after losing what they thought was going to be their key to their claim.”
This time they all knew you were trying to avoid their gazes. Let them speak you thought to yourself, let them figure this out. So far you were deep into discussions and numbers with the Iron Bank of Bravvos and promises to pay out the debt of the Seven Kingdoms should your father succeed in taking the Iron Throne with their backing. How he planned to do that was just another dark hole of headaches and papers and you suddenly could remember why you got so little sleep in the Westlands.
You think your name was passed around once or twice, but you had all been there quite a while and you wanted to get through most of this before leaving for the night. “Alright, so you two escape taking what they thought was their key to gaining the North’s support with, knowing the only person you could go to is me. Then lie about Stannis being dead to scare me out of retaliating.”
Theon responded this time, “Why wouldn’t you hear anything from him then?”
Both likely turned to Davos this time, who took a good moment to consider the most reasonable action he would take. “If he thinks the King would be going right for the Iron Throne, then the most reasonable way is to take Winterfell on the way to King’s Landing, goes right through there. If he’s trying to misdirect them, it’d be easy. The North is big and the Bolton’s don’t have enough men to search for him.”
“Gain support, or try to, from the other Houses and attack Winterfell when they least expect it.”
You didn’t know how to say it, but it wouldn’t work. Your father wasn’t going to gain their help and the reason why was the two people sitting at the desk. But dumping that on Jon, especially now was unfair. It felt too much like trying to convince him to do something beacuse you said so, even though it was the furthest from the truth. You knew the choke hold the Boltons were keeping the North in hurt him, it couldn’t not. The North was Jon’s home and it pained him to see it so shattered from the bloodshed of his own family.
Deep within your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the time passing enough that only you remained at the desk rereading the same thing over and over. Thinking for a moment you were alone, you put the remaining of it down with the rest of the piles before leaning down in your seat resting your head back in your palms trying to will away the growing headache behind it.
War had crept up behind you all in King’s Landing over four years ago and not once had it left you. The continuation of fighting for your people on one side, and the other just beyond this very wall with things you barley understood. You hardly dreamt of the cold and the ice since that night but now they felt like they were gone. Hints of something you had no way of grasping in the war down south and yet up here you didn’t understand them any better having disappeared.
Inhaling deeply, you gathered yourself enough to stand. Deciding there was no point in lingering in his quarters beyond what he kept you there for initially. But behind you was where his voice rasped out from, your name soft on his lips. Turning to him, whatever calm you felt with him earlier struggled to return once all alone.
Everything about him tried to entice you whereas all the rest insisted you had no right to any of it, not what had already been there and none more. Turned partially to look back at him you clearly were ready to walk out the door at any second. “Was there something else you needed?”
Jon hated how formal with him you were trying to be, hated that he didn’t know if it was him or you that was causing this rift, and most of all that it hurt everytime you built that barrier. A barrier that for the entire time you’d known each other never used to exist. But if it was him, then he knew it was his responsibility alone to mend it. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Your brows narrowed as you turned to him more, confusion all over your face but quiet for him to explain himself. “For what I did. Coming back was...overwhelming, and seeing you again just...” A frown forming deeper as he stepped forward, shaking his head to collect the words catching your eyes once again. “I of all people should know better then to have assumed that was something you wanted, and it probably didn’t help I wasn’t exactly gentle about it either.”
Your heart started to race, trying to grasp what he thought was going through your mind but the implications were making you uncomfortable. “Why would you think I-”
His voice a little louder this time, but you simply refused to even look him in the eye and he hated trying to guess why and only finding an answer in his actions. “Because I know what it’s like.” You found them this time though, and yet Jon instantly could feel what he did back then. That the thing you’d hate was that he was lying to himself thinking it was alright and he couldn’t stand there and not atone for doing the same thing. “You can tell yourself it’s fine, you can lie all alone and say you liked it so what does it matter but don’t lie to me.”
You tried protesting but it seemed he couldn’t stand you trying to shut down the conversation before it even could pick up. “I’m not lying-”
His voice on edge and frustrated as he called your name almost in a tone of a stern lecture, “You can’t even look at me, barley wanted to be around me since that night and after everything Ramsay did to you,” Your eyes flickered back up to his, “and after what she -”
You fully spun to look at him as soon as he cut himself off. Something flashing in his own eyes that you had felt in yourself. “Jon,”
Shaking his head he stepped forward gently pushing back whatever he found almost slipping from his tongue. “Theon told me what Ramsay did to you. I needed to know, I saw the marks on you and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Thinking that you didn’t want to be around me because I forced you into it-”
Finding your own voice this time with it’s own breathless anger in tone. “Jon you didn’t force me into anything. I liked it.”
“Just because you liked it doesn’t mean you wanted it.”
Your eyes finding something in pain behind his grey ones, the deep breaking in his low tone that was holding back for his own sake now. Your mind only remembering flashes of pretty red and yet before you was something that didn’t match what you thought you had seen that day.
In that thick silence you looked at him, a face that at times so far could be sharp and rough now was a softness none here likely had ever seen. But still, even now, he showed it to you. The girl in you wanted to go to him, but the darkness inside your head told you to leave him alone. Your words being all that was left of the fighting between them. “I promise you, I wanted it. All of it. And maybe if I wasn’t so sure I was just ruining your life being here, I’d let you do it again.”
Just as you turned, just as the cold of the outside slipped in from the turning of the door handle, Jon’s own hand reached over your shoulder. Closing it gently as you felt his warmth radiate over your back, but he was far enough that you couldn’t feel anything else. His voice clearly at least a foot away from you. Whatever he actually wanted to say, he changed his mind at the last second. “You should stay here. It’s not good for you, being all alone in that room, and at least here I can make sure you actually get some sleep at night.”
The tender concern, your mind almost dividing as you could too hear Robb telling you to calm your temper, that it wasn’t good for you. The deep care in both of these men that came so naturally as they were around you, and yet this from the one man you thought it would be gone from for good.
Your voice was a whisper, too afraid to speak any louder or even match his quiet fear of being so loud everyone outside could hear. “So it is only the Lord Commander whose allowed to break his vows about women in his bed.”
Neither of you smiled or smirked, but the lightness in his tone felt more comforting then the pain in his eyes that threatened to break you. “My vows also said my watch does not end until my death, which has already happened.”
This time you did smile a bit, a tiny half one that unseen by you, genuinely let a real one come over Jon’s face. “I don’t think that’s how they are supposed to work, Snow.”
Stepping forward you could see the egdes of his curls dance across he side of your vision, his voice a tad lower but the smile then you could finally hear in this voice. “I also wasn’t supposed to bring the free folk South of the wall, or leave the castle to try and protect the woman I love, but I did both of those things and the only life it cost was my own.” Neither words you had ever found the bravery to say before, not in the growing affection of teenage hood and then the nervousness of adulthood kept them away more. “The only vows that matter anymore are the ones that swore me to protect the realms of men, and that includes protecting you. Even if it means me keeping you safe from yourself.”
Neither said anything else, but you nodded. Jon’s hand removing itself from the door before letting you walk out into the cold. Jon knew lying to himself was pointless and no one here would buy them anymore. The North was his home, it was part of him, and it was his duty to fight for it.
The Night’s Watch couldn’t protect the people from what was coming if they stopped caring about their well being before the darkness came. This couldn’t be about vows and rules anymore, that’s what got everyone he ever loved killed. He broke those vows and Thorne had his men murder him for it, but now he was the dead one and Jon was still here.
Thorne died and stayed dead for the rules the old gods were telling Jon he was right for breaking.
You weren’t sure you had ever been in a room this uncomfortable before. On the best of the years with him, you on many instances had no clue what things to say to your father, and you spent more years with him then your mother. Yet now, you both sat in her quarters nothing but a fire crackling on the opposite wall of her to distract. She didn’t look well, but you supposed in her eyes neither did you.
The small cuts on your face were finally beginning to fade away, but you both knew of the one sitting under your shirt that was utterly fatal. The books by her bedside spoke of titles you never heard before and you need not think of the sort of darkness preached. One that led to such horrors when you couldn’t think of anything less comforting then the fires to your agonized heart.
“You don’t think it’s going to work.”
Looking up from where your fingertips were tapping at the table between you, her eyes were narrowed but something like hope. Selyse and Stannis Baratheon were the most unloving couple you ever had imagined and yet they were your parents. Robert Baratheon was married for over twenty years to Cersei and they despised one another. But Cersei had once admitted there was something akin to a faint love in her heart during their early years towards him. You knew your parents never even had that.
Loyalty to each other is not the same as love.
You could remember telling Robb you were afraid you were dragging him into a life with a miserable woman to love as your parents were. The small hope in her eyes as you told her that you suspected he was using the rumour of death to hide his movements through the north was nothing.
Nothing compared to the way you and Robb would look when in the ends of blood and battle you’d find each others eyes and remember why the fight was worth for the other. Nothing compared to the screaming, dizzying cries in your heart as you saw Jon’s beautiful grey eyes staring back at yours that night in the ice cell.
They were not Robert and Cersei, but their affection stopped at loyalty. She stood by Stannis no matter what he chose, and he never let others disrespect her as they did himself. The thing that bonded them together truly, was their daughters. First was you, young and curious prospering in the strangeness of the island you lived on and a Kingly uncle who would visit, that in those days still held much genuine love of life inside his eyes. Then your father sent you to Winterfell for the first time after the second instance your mother lost a son in the womb.
It felt like punishment on the ship. Your second baby brother was too gone and they sent you away to a strange, cold place where you knew none but the household guard which accompanied you. You aren’t quite sure if your relationship with your mother ever really improved past that point.
“I fought beside those men, mother. In battle, I fought on the front lines with them and watched how even in their own losses, they truly believed in us....in him. They won’t have a king that isn’t one of their own.” The way they all worshipped Robb, and how he never understood it but he accepted their loyalty with such a weight and responsibility.
Her face fell a small bit, leaning more over the table to sip at her drink. Every silence felt like it lasted for hours, to the point even Olly by the door could likely feel it. You barley touched yours, ever since those long nights in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, horribly ill and throwing up so much of what went down that eventually you had only stinging bile to coat your throat, food and drink felt like a feat to down.
There was a sharpness for a moment in her eyes that you interrupted before it got any further to her mouth, “If father really is the only one true king, then they would have pledged their loyalty already wouldn’t they have?”
Your mother sighing, glancing to the fire before turning back to you. “I didn’t ask you here for an argument.”
You nodded, leaning back in the chair as you glanced to Olly. Ever since that day he has seemed to stick by your side, whenever Theon didn’t. Two men who had done terrible thing’s now seem to atone by serving you, and you had no idea what they saw in you to care so much. Certainly not your social skills judging by how difficult you and Selyse found it to even look at the other.
“I know. But I fought a war by Robb’s side for three years, a war we knew would eventually be against my own father. Even if he is passed, I will not sit here and act as if only now do I swear loyalty. If I were going to do that, I would’ve come home to Dragonstone they day I escaped King’s Landing.” Your eyes blazing into hers now actively avoiding you. “But you and father married me to the North, and they accepted me as their own, they accepted me as Robb’s Queen and I died for that cause.”
Her head whipped back to you finally. A sorrow in her eyes slowly painting over. “Could I...would you show me?” You nodded pulling the edges of your shirt up, eyes glancing back to Olly who looked at the jagged scar with the same shock in his eyes that were towards seeing Jon alive, but much more contained.
Your mother couldn’t look away. It was getting harder and harder to deny it, and it was what everyone thought regardless if you pretended it was anything but your end. Letting the fabric of your shirt drop back down, you swallowed heavily. Broken and losing what will was left as his blue eyes looked from how soaked in red his hand was to your face gasping for air that would not come through the blood that flowed up into your mouth. “I suppose the women in this family simply aren’t destined to have boys are they.”
No doubt she could see the pain on you as well as her voice was low. “That is not the same. I lost them from my own body, my health, my failings. Yours was taken from you by another. There is no reason to think you would’ve-”
Where it came from you weren’t sure but it slipped out. Maybe because if anyone understood what that loss felt like, it truly was your mother. “I dreamt about him once. A small baby boy, he had my eyes but..” Your eyes for once found the flames but saw nothing but your own memories behind them. “He had this dark curly hair, face just like a Stark..I didn’t even know I was with child at the time.”
Both of you sat in silence, a pain that was too hard to put back in it’s darkness had unleashed and no doubt both in the room saw the reflection of the crackling fire in tears down your cheeks. You didn’t bother to hide them either. Neither of you finding it in you to speak a word on the matter, the pain too fresh for you and comfort not a commonality between such a family.
Speaking your name quietly, you didn��t bother turning to look at her. Your hand risen up, nails lightly digging into your mouth trying not to see the blood once more. “You’re sure he was dead, it wasn’t any kind of a mistake?” A strange seek for doubt in your mothers tone but one that you were hearing from many on the matter.
Olly to the side dropped his head as you smiled half a smirk with no feeling beyond the simple motion as if a huff of disbelief of the question. As if down there once more, you could feel the way they pressed against your bare hands. Not healed, not quite open, but just open wounds that existed on his body much like your own and how horrible and pale he looked when you first were brought to him.
Voice a slight whisper, “There is no mistake, mother. He was dead, as dead as any man can be.”
Sensing her eyes on you, begging in your mind for her not to say it but she did regardless. “The Lord brought you back to bring him back.” You tried warning her to stop, but she pressed on. “Whatever your destiny is, it’s tied with him and you need to accept that perhaps you are meant for something greater then-”
“Then what.” Looking at her, the remains of once tears trying to dry up. “Greater then what, mother? I had a life, a husband and a son to be, coming home to the North with Robb was my destiny. I was never supposed to have one with..” Your voice so quiet but the room was as well, and she certainly heard you. “We never thought..”
Her eyes watched you carefully but you shook the thought off. For the first time in all your life, you had no idea what to feel or think about Jon Snow and you hated it. You hated that he still knew you without any doubt, but you felt like you were just intruding on a strangers life pretending you could ever still mean something to him.
Selyse had never met Robb Stark, she had no way of knowing what your life with him was like but she had seen you at Jon Snow’s side. And she could say without doubt that she has never seen a man look that way at a woman before, as if their entire world has been consumed with this other person. And yourself? She looked at you now and knew as difficult as it was, how hard you tried to not look at him said just as much as his inability to look away.
Standing up abruptly, you tried hiding any tears with the back of your hand. “You should rest, it’s getting rather late.” As you approached the door, you turned back to look at your mother before turning to the boy. “Olly, I ask if you could see to Selyse for the next coming days. We are about to get rather busy, and I think she would appreciate the company.”
He didn’t disagree, and you could only wonder what about you made him stick to your orders in atonement so deeply. Your mother’s voice speaking up, only catching as you turned only partway to look at her. “Goodnight.”
Nodding back, yours was as stiff. “Goodnight, mother.”
Walking out into the cold, you only got a few feet before finding yourself leaning against the railing you stood on, hands braced as you looked out to the night. Something you didn’t understand was beyond those walls, something that once had you dream of cold and ice, but little understanding beyond those visions.
But there was something in the eyes of those here, something that truly haunted them. As you made your way back, for only a moment did you pause before your eyes slipped closed as you sighed and the path turned only slightly towards a different room.
It was dark, but you found no care to light any fire as you made your way through the quarters with a slower hesitancy. Being in here felt so strange, not right and you were too on edge to consider looking around like any other would normally. But as you draped the fur cloak over a dresser, you ran your fingers gently through the light colour.
In the night just like this, sat in front of the Weirwood in your final moments only together as you found a comfort hiding your face between this very fur and his neck for what you both felt was surely the last time. And as you carefully peeled off your boots, you slept only under the thinnest of the top sheets as you saw and felt too much in the quiet.
Sleeping alone used to be normal, but then it was by Robb’s side for years no matter where you travelled too. Then in the worst of it, your nights too often interrupted by the violence of pale blue eyes and a slimy taunting voice that sought to make you afraid of sleeping at night.
As you lightly drifted off, part of you wished Theon never brought you here. You felt as if you were just ruining his life, and he deserved better. He always deserved better, better then what Catelyn treated him as, better then to be shut away at the Night’s Watch and better then being trapped with you.
Yet later in the night, your mind woke just enough to sense as a figure came into the room, keeping the dark as much as possible like they didn’t need to see to navigate. The part of your mind that was still mostly asleep clenching your hands as if to brace yourself.
If he thought you were asleep, he would often drag you from bed and wake you up with a jostle usually to the head against the hard ground. Make you foggy and a little less coordinated as he begun, but it never came. And in an instant your mind which was slowly finding itself more awake settled itself as the figure was warm. Sliding into the sheets behind you, slowly before leaning over you.
The brush of his curls against the side of your cheek and neck, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself wasn’t for you to enjoy anymore, relaxed at the feeling. Feeling Jon carefully drape back your hair, collecting it so gently in his hands to neatly move it out of your face and tucked neatly to the side.
A large, calloused hand ran lightly over your arm before finally relaxing. His other arm stretching out to the other side of the bed by your own head as you felt his chest bare against the thin material of your shirt. Slowly, you let him pull you closer into his arms before you shifted yourself to fit better in his touch as well. His free hand draped over your hip with a gentle touch before it slid up to just under your breasts. Pulling you back firmly into him as his own forehead nuzzled against the back of your hair.
For the first real time in either of your lives, you freely found yourself sleeping in Jon Snow’s bed, tucked safely in his arms and were you not so close to the depths of dreams once more?
You may have otherwise cried at how overwhelming it was that you and him fit together so perfectly.
#jon snow x reader#robb stark x reader#jon snow#robb stark#game of thrones#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#jon snow x you#robb stark x you#jon snow imagine#robb stark imagine
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For the lovely @ottohight0wer who requested an Arnolf Karstark edit!
ADWD – Jon I
Arnolf Karstark was the late Lord Rickard's uncle. He had been made the castellan of Karhold when his nephew and his sons went south with Robb, and he had been the first to respond to King Stannis's call for homage, with a raven declaring his allegiance.
ADWD – Jon IV
“I am […] inclined to bestow Winterfell upon Arnolf Karstark. A good northman."
"A northman." Better a Karstark than a Bolton or a Greyjoy, Jon told himself, but the thought gave him little solace.
[…]
"Arnolf Karstark is an old man with a crooked back, and even in his youth he was never the fighter Lord Rickard was. The rigors of the campaign may well kill him."
[…] Arnolf Karstark writes that the storms have been fierce upon the narrow sea. […] I must consider White Harbor lost to me. […] I can only hope to win the north by battle.”
ADWD – Reek III
"Stannis must march or lose them … and being the careful commander that he is, he will summon all his friends and allies when he marches. He will summon Arnolf Karstark."
Ramsay licked his chapped lips. "And we'll have him."
ADWD – The Prince of Winterfell
Arnolf Karstark awaits only a sign from Lord Bolton before he turns his cloak […].
ADWD – Jon IX
"Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?"
"He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. "My brother Harry is the rightful lord, and by law I am his heir. A daughter comes before an uncle. Uncle Arnolf is only castellan.”
[…] "Arnolf is rushing to Winterfell, 'tis true, but only so he might put his dagger in your king's back. He cast his lot with Roose Bolton long ago … for gold, the promise of a pardon, and poor Harry's head. Lord Stannis is marching to a slaughter."
#valyrianscrolls#asoiafedit#thenorthedit#valyriansource#arnolf karstark#alys karstark#house karstark#asoiaf#*edits#ours#by jacoby
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Rich Girl x Poor Boy
“The Hand’s daughter.” Harwin went to one knee before her. “Arya Stark, of Winterfell.”
“I’m a ‘prentice smith, and one day might be I’ll make a master armorer[…]”
Forced Proximity
“I’m taking men and boys from the city,” Yoren growled as sharp steal scraped her head.[…] Afterwards he told her from here to Winterfell she’d be Arry the orphan boy.
“I did my work, is all. Bellows and tongs and fetch and carry. I was ‘sposed to be an armorer, and one day Master Mott says I got to join the Night’s Watch,[…]”
Found Family
She make much better time on her own, Arya knew, but she could not leave them. They were her pack, her friends, the only living friends that remained to her, and if not for they would still be safe in Harrenhal, Gendry sweating at his forge and Hot Pie in the kitchens. If the Mummers catch us, I’ll tell them that I’m Ned Stark’s daughter and sister to the King in the North. I’ll command them to take me to my brother, and to do no harm to Hot Pie and Gendry. They might not believe her, though,and even if they did…Lord Bolton was her brother’s bannerman, but he frightened her all the same. I won’t let them take us, she vowed silently, […]
I Hate Everyone but You
“She’s no use,” Gendry repeated stubbornly. “Her and Hot Pie and Lommy, they’re slowing us down, and they’re going to get us killed. You’re the only one of the bunch who’s good for anything. Even if you are a girl.
“Arry, come on! Lommy’s gone, leave her if she won’t come!” Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them…but Gendry came back, […]
Miscommunication 
“She’s my sister.” Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man’s shoulder, and squeezed.” “Leave her be.”[…]“Why did you say that?” Arya hopped to her feet. “You’re not my brother.” “That’s right,” he said angrily. “I’m too bloody lowborn to be kin to m’lady high.” Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. “That’s not the way I meant it.” “Yes it is.” He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. “Go away, I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I’ll go find the black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.” “But..” “I said, go away. M’lady.” Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is.
Love Triangle
He doesn’t like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured.
Forbidden Love
“You must be a lackwit, boy,” said Lem. “We’re outlaws. Lowborn scum, most of us, excepting his lordship. Don’t think it’ll be like Tom’s fool songs neither. You won’t be stealing no kisses from a princess, nor riding in no tourneys in stolen armor. You join us, you’ll end with your neck in a noose, or your head mounted up above some castle gate.”
Right Person, Wrong Time
As Arya was cinching her saddle girth, Gendry came up to say that he was sorry. She put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into her saddle, so she could look down on him instead of up. You could have made swords at Riverrun, for my brother, she thought, […]
There was life at the crossroads inn, though. Even before they reached the gate, Brienne heard the sound: a hammering, faint but steady. It had a steely ring.
“…till you stand before m’lady.” Renly stood behind the girl, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. Not Renly, Gendry. “M’lady means for you to answer for your crimes.”
#Day 8: Romantic Tropes#bookgendryamonth2023#arya stark#book arya stark#gendry#gendry waters#book gendrya#gendrya#arya x gendry#gendry x arya#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones
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I firmly believe Stannis is the Westerosi equivalent of the dad who hates cats, doesn't want to get a cat, makes a big deal about not liking the cat, and ends up being the cat's absolute favorite (except instead of a cat it's a huge fuckoff direwolf with boundary issues)
x
The door to the workroom opened and Ghost bounded inside, snuffling at Stannis's hands. Lady Stark, following behind, narrowed her eyes at him as she closed the door.
"You fed him something recently, didn't you?" she said. Ghost, finding nothing, gave a disapproving huff and flopped down by the fireplace.
He had, but that was besides the point. "What are the Knights of the Vale doing here?"
"Just don't give him chicken, we had a terrible problem with the henhouses when they were puppies," she said absently, and circled round to sit at her chair on the far side of the work table. "I brought them here for you."
Stannis, still standing, paused. "For me?"
"Yes, for you. I can't bend the knee, Your Grace. Not yet. But I'm not entirely useless."
"Of all the adjectives I've thought to describe you with, 'useless' has never been one of them."
She smiled at that and looked down at the papers strewn across the table. "Littlefinger — Lord Baelish," she corrected, "had plans for the North. Marrying my Aunt Lysa and becoming Lord Protector of the Vale wasn't enough for him; he wanted more."
"How much more?" Stannis asked as he took his seat again. He was already well able to guess the answer.
"Everything," she answered, a distant look in her eye that Stannis did not like. "He wanted to marry me off to the Boltons. I think the plan was for you you to come sweeping down from the Wall and either take Winterfell or kill out enough of the Bolton forces to weaken them. At which point Littlefinger could come riding to my rescue with the Knights of the Vale. He'd have a ward at the Vale who looked to him for approval, and a new Lady of Winterfell who'd be grateful to him for saving her from monsters twice over." She nodded at his moue of distaste. "Yes, well, he always did consider me one of his cyvasse pieces, to be moved around the board as needed."
Stannis had avoided Baelish at King's Landing, insofar as he could while both of them served on Robert's Small Council. But he well remembered how Baelish spoke of women, how effortlessly he used them and used them up. What damage had he inflicted on a young, friendless girl while he'd had her in his custody? No wonder Lady Stark had fled from him at the first chance of escape.
If that's what had truly happened. The story from the Riverlands was that Baelish had been killed by his own men, and there was no reason to doubt it — such a treacherous man would have succumbed to treachery sooner or later. But Lady Stark had proven herself capable of surprising things, these past months.
It didn't bear thinking of too closely. He cleared his throat. "The Vale, the North — if Baelish wanted the Iron Throne, he'd have needed more than two kingdoms at his command."
"The Riverlands probably would have been next," said Lady Stark with a frown. She pawed through the papers and pulled out a book. "I've been going through the maester accounts, such as they are, from the time my father left Winterfell until now," she said, flipping through it. "There are gaps, obviously, but Maester Wolkan's been keeping remarkably faithful records. Including copies of every raven scroll." She passed the book over to him, tapping at a particular passage. "This was sent to Roose Bolton from the Twins, only a few days before we began the siege."
"'The Blackfish traitor has stolen Riverrun from us. In the name of fellowship among the new Lord Paramounts and the victors over House Stark, we ask for your aid in catching this damned fish and roasting him on a spit.'" Stannis set the book back on the table with the peculiar urge to wipe his hands clean. "Walder Frey was always a craven. Wanting everyone else to fight his battles for him."
"He didn't even have the courage to murder my brother himself," said Lady Stark, taking back the book and closing it with a snap. "Though I've been told it was his son who murdered my mother. A great warrior family, clearly. Plus he doesn't know it's 'Lords Paramount' and not 'Lord Paramounts.'"
Stannis had seen flares of temper from Lady Stark before (on any number of occasions), but the icy rage in her voice gave him pause. Not for the first time, he considered how very merciful she had been with him, in the end. A man responsible for his own brother's murder, when she herself had lost her brother to the very basest of treachery — what might she have done to him, if he'd been anyone other than the rightful king?
Even as he wondered, he knew that his titles had not been what had stayed her hand in judgement. The Starks had never been particularly pragmatic, mostly to disastrous ends, and for all her intelligence Sansa seemed to have inherited a fair helping of the Tully pig-headedness on top of the Stark romanticism. King Stannis would have had no better luck against her judgement than Lord Stannis or Ser Stannis or even Goodman Stannis; it had been for some other reason she had spared him. He wondered when the bill would come due, and if it would ever be in his capacity to pay it.
Lady Stark had continued on. "I haven't found any record of a message sent back to the Twins, but I doubt the Boltons sent one. Lord Bolton were never much for rousing himself for anyone else's interests, even before he betrayed my family. I sent a raven to House Mallister of Seaguard; he sided with Robb during the war, and the Mallisters have always been loyal to House Tully." This time she handed over a scroll, flattened out but still curling slightly at each end.
It was only a bit longer than Walder Frey's, and about as useful. Blackfish holds fast; they have supplies within to last two years or more, and the siege set by the Freys will not last half a season. Brynden has not called the banners of the Riverlands, for Lord Tully is still hostage to the Freys. But if Lady Stark should call, Mallister will answer.
"'If Lady Stark should call,'" he repeated wryly.
"Lord Mallister bounced my mother on his knee when she was a babe, Your Grace," she said, equally wry. "All the oaths of fealty in the world can't replace the bonds of family and friendship between the northern Houses, even those not in the North itself."
"So I am beginning to understand," he said, handing the scroll back. "So the Twins are undefended at present."
"Most likely — Lord Frey is still there, but the bulk of his army will be at Riverrun." She leaned forward. "I've spoken with Lord Royce; he swears to me that Lord Arryn will bend the knee if you lead the Knights of the Vale and your own army and take the Twins. From there, you'll be able to break the Frey's siege at Riverrun — you'll have both the Vale and the Riverlands in a matter of months."
It was a fine strategy, but Stannis couldn't help but feel vaguely offended by it. "Do you mean to tell me that because you refuse to bend the knee, or promise any of your own army to my cause, you've delivered the Knights of the Vale and a promise of House Arryn's fealty as a...consolation prize?"
Lady Stark shrugged. "I suppose so," she admitted. "But a prize, nonetheless. I've only known Lord Royce since I was a guest at the Eyrie, but he seems an honorable man."
"He's an able commander, which is more to the point," Stannis contradicted absently, frowning down at the desk as he mulled it over. Two thousand men was no very great sum — but the Knights of the Vale were one of the best cavalry forces in the kingdoms, for all that they rarely strayed outside their mountains. With the Knights, Stannis's army could divide and take each half of the Twins in a pincer. It would be over nearly before it began.
"Of course, how foolish of me to consider such petty things as honor," grumbled Lady Stark.
Stannis ignored that. "Which leaves the Iron Islands to deal with. Has Lord Greyjoy sent any word?" Even the honorific stuck in his craw. Balon Greyjoy, the only other "king" to survive the war. Stannis had regretted the man's existence ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion.
Lady Stark shook her head. "Nothing. We've beaten back the last of the Ironborn holdouts, but I doubt they'll begrudge us that. My father always said the iron price never spent well. And they rightly blame the Boltons for whatever might have happened to Theon."
Which was still a mystery, so far as Stannis could tell. Theon Greyjoy had not been found among the dead at Winterfell, nor at the Dreadfort. If he'd escaped, there'd been no sightings reported. "No doubt you'll wish to execute him yourself, if he's found, but it would be better—"
"Execute Theon?" she said, her brow furrowing. "I — no. I don't wish that."
He leaned back in his seat. "You surprise me, my lady. I wouldn't have thought you squeamish after all this time." Perhaps that was his answer: she'd spared himself and Lady Brienne not out of principle but cowardice. In a way, it might be a relief: or at least it would be easier to understand.
She looked away. "Father did always say that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword."
"That's not an answer. Your kindness does you credit, my lady, but if you show too much your people won't fear you. Which means they won't follow you, when the time comes." He'd said the same thing to her brother, more than a year ago when they'd argued over the fate of the wildlings and the drawbacks of mercy. The Lord Commander hadn't heeded the advice; was it a Stark family failing?
It must be, for Lady Stark sighed in frustration and said, "I don't want to be feared, Your Grace. And though you've failed to notice, I'm in no need of anyone following me anywhere. I'm staying—" She broke off and shook her head. "This always happens," she muttered, an odd smile tugging at her mouth.
He frowned. "What always happens?"
"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at the distance between them. "We can't go five minutes without arguing about something."
"That's not true." She sighed again and he reconsidered. "Perhaps if you didn't contradict everything I said."
"Perhaps if you had sisters, growing up," she countered. "My mother always said Arya and I were more trouble than all five of the boys put together." Her expression darkened and Stannis followed her thoughts — Theon had been one of those five boys. Raised alongside the rest of them, within these very walls.
"I thought you would want him dead," he admitted. "More than anyone else in the North."
She got to her feet and went over to the window, resting her arms on the sill as she looked out onto the courtyard. Stannis rose and joined her: down below were a dozen carts piled high with hay. All around them men and women were busy unloading the bales and stacking them up in a corner, where more workers took them away in a brisk line deeper into the Keep. Each cart was in the courtyard only a few minutes; when it was empty, the driver mounted up again and drove slowly out through the great gates, replaced by another cart yet more heavily laden. Supplies from the Northern Houses, to lay in for the oncoming winter.
"I don't want Theon dead," said Lady Stark after a long while observing in silence. He glanced over to her, but she was still looking down at the carts. "I don't want anyone dead, Stannis — there's been so much death. And more coming, if what Jon told you about the White Walkers is true."
She'd never called him by his name before; indeed she didn't seem aware she'd done it. "I believed him," he replied. "I still do. Your brother didn't seem the sort to make up stories."
"He always was honest to a fault," she said, turning to look at him at last. Her blue eyes were bright — tears, unshed. "I wish he'd come with you."
So did he, he realized. Not for his skill in battle or his perception or bravery: but only so his sister would not look so devastated at his loss. "He took an oath to the Night's Watch," he said, cursing at himself for his clumsy words even as he did so.
"I know that," she huffed. "Five minutes without arguing, is that really so difficult?"
"Evidently," he conceded, and she laughed. A watery sound, and she pressed the heels of her hand to her eyes quickly as she turned back toward the table, but laughter nonetheless.
#got: bitches get stuff done#game of thrones motherfuckers#I do love sansa accidentally endearing herself to stannis via being a bitch and also a fellow grammar pedant#what's that meme?#'whatever souls are made of yours and mine are the same stuff (derogatory)'#that's the vibe I get from these two assholes#anyway for reference this is post-regaining-winterfell#and post-stannis-and-brienne-being-dumb-and-sansa-yelling-at-them-a-lot#it's way after most everything else I've posted but I just finished this scene and was very proud of it#so as ever: you're welcome/I'm sorry
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