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leupagus · 2 months

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The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL

or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life

Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.

He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.

"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.

She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.

Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.

Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."

"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.

In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.

Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.

"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"

This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"

"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"

"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."

Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.

"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."

Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."

"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"

That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"

"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."

"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.

"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."

"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.

It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."

"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.

She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"

Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."

"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."

She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."

"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.

"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.

He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.

"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."

"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."

Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."

"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.

"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."

"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.

She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.

"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"

"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"

Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.

"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.

#got: bitches get stuff done #game of thrones motherfuckers #the more I write these two together the more I'm mad that they never got to meet #same with Tywin and Daenerys #(although that's mostly due to watching too many Charles Dance interviews where he gushes over Clarke's performances)#(as he should!)#but some of the most interesting characters never got a chance to meet and it's a TRAVESTY #anyway #I've read a fair amount of GOT fic and none of them so far have written Stannis-Sansa interactions the way I feel that they would go #which is as you can tell: poorly #just let them be bitches!!! god!!!!!!#also don't even worry brienne is absolutely going to kick stannis's ass even if she doesn't kill him #she should get little an attempted murder as a treat

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sagau-my-beloved · 1 year

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The unexpected third and final part to the series I never gave a name to, otherwise known as a continuation of the jealous Venti, overworked reader, and treasure hoarders fiasco

Warnings: general sagau, blood, implied death (not main characters)

You had found it rather odd when a certain god wasn't waiting for you after calling it a day and retiring to your chambers. Venti certainly wasn't known to be absent like this, and you couldn't remember seeing him once today.

You didn't let it linger on your mind for very long, alone time was quite a rarity after all. As much as you enjoyed his company, and the company of all your followers, moments where you could simply be by yourself were few and far between.

So you brushed the situation off, retiring to bed earlier that night, happy to have the opportunity to sprawl out completely in the large comfortable bed. What you didn't expect was waking in the middle of the night for no discernible reason.

It wasn't sudden, not due to any sort of sound or occurrence that jerked you from your slumber so rudely. But, nonetheless, you found yourself awake, tired and confused, but awake.

You opened your eyes for a moment, squinting slightly, the feeling of sleep still coating your mind completely. It only took a second to notice, just a small glance to see the glowing green eyes that stared back at you, unblinking.

You mentally jumped, inhaling suddenly before your mind caught up, recognizing the owner of those eyes, even with only the moon for light.

"Venti, I told you to stop that you know." You moaned with a voice still thickly coated with sleep, grabbing the spare pillow and forcing it over your head in annoyance. He remained silent, unmoving, just as focused on you.

After a moment you finally looked at him again, taking in more on his form as your eyes adjusted to the dark.

Something struck a chord with you, an inkling of confusion at the scene, and it took a moment longer to realize why.

Venti was fully in his Archon outfit, both his wings and marks on display, an outfit as revealing as you remembered you mentally noted.

But that wasn't the thing that concerned you. No, the thing that concerned you was how he was covered in red, trailing down his arms to his fingertips, soaking into the white fabric, splattered across his skin and wings alike.

"Venti—?"

"Your grace."

His voice was heavy, lacking any and all of the usual upbeat playfulness, as serious as ever, but with a hint of something else.

"I told you I would take care of it for you, didn't I?" He spoke it like a humorless joke, something that could be seen as funny or ironic in the right context, and it took your mind a moment to catch up with what exactly he meant.

The treasure hoarders. Of course. One of the many things that was taking your attention, one of the few he could do something about.

Realizing that the blood was, in fact, not his, you felt the need to roll your eyes at the heart attack he gave you, scold him for being so reckless, or maybe reprimand him for going against your wishes in the first place.

"Venti I swear—"

"I love you."

That caught you off guard, how he said it. It was whispered as a promise, a soft inkling of his true feelings, as if comparing a single drop of water to the ocean.

"I worship you."

You noted how his voice fell off into a breathy moan at the end, leading into a deep sigh of need, a need only you were allowed to invoke. One the was felt in the very fiber of his being, lighting up each and every nerve as if they were made of stardust itself.

You let the growing silence rest, consuming the both of you in its open arms.

What a most perfect silence it was.

You were upset with him, that much was clearly abundant from your expression alone, a scowl that showed you were considering how to deal with the situation.

"If you left me, I think I might die." This time it was spoken as a confession, holding the same humorless tone, as if it held all the truth of the universe, infinite in its implication.

You scoffed, "Do you really rely on me so heavily?" You had meant it to be teasing, a playful statement meant only to poke fun. It didn't come out as such, sounding more like an accusation, one seeped thoroughly in frustration.

Venti seemed to ponder his response, contemplating the phrasing, testing out the syllables as if they were completely foreign.

"I do."

How simple, how transparent, how utterly human this god sounded, no different than how he felt, you thought. Skin soft and perfect, warm, as if it really was blood that ran through his veins. You supposed that was another thing you now had in common, the liquid that ran through your body being just as foreign, with its divine metallic sheen.

You took a moment to breathe, to ground yourself, to fully feel the moment.

He looked pretty like that, godly and divine, something almost pure, which of course heavily contrasted with the blood drying on his clothes, splattered across his skin like a canvas. It soaked into his wings too, creating a patchy and inconsistent pattern of blotchy red on white, like rose petals on freshly fallen snow.

Why was that the first comparison that came to mind?

You pondered that question, biting your lip with a concentrated look. He certainly wasn't pure like the snow, nor nearly as gentle, though perhaps as fleeting. And to compare blood to roses, how cliche.

Venti wasn't fond of having your attention off him, not now when he had gone to such lengths to secure it all for himself.

"Your grace, you better not be thinking of anyone else." It wasn't so much a threat as a plea, a soft and broken request to be the sole recipient of something so precious. Of course, that isn't to say it didn't come with certain strings attached, a silent reminder of the situation, a soft reference to how what he was covered in was in fact not something as innocent as rose petals.

Your eyes shifted back to him, refusing to relinquish even an ounce of what you were thinking, guarded as ever.

"I'm not letting you get any closer until you take a bath, or at least change clothes."

Venti pouted for a moment, then started crawling his way from the foot of the bed towards you, an expression that screamed nothing but want and careful hope.

"Venti." It was said as a warning. Though you were aware that most of the blood was probably dry by now, you still didn't particularly want to risk it. He only gave a wolfish smile and inched closer, intent obvious to any onlookers.

"Venti—" You weren't able to finish your sentence, being immediately lunged at by the playful and needy god.

He giggled and you struggled momentarily before giving in, fighting to keep a smile off your face, to maintain that frustration that came so naturally before.

"I apologize your grace, you just looked so warm and soft sitting there, I couldn't help myself."

You scoffed at him, "Maybe put on some actual clothes then."

He whined at that, nuzzling closer as if you were the only source of heat he'd willingly take from.

He was covered in goosebumps, you could feel them across his skin as you ran your fingertips over his arm. He shuddered.

"It's cold outside tonight." He mumbled into your skin, soaking up all the warmth you provided. "I didn't feel it till now."

You let out an absentminded hum, one that showed your mind was elsewhere. Venti raised his head to look at you, fear creeping into his mind now that the adrenaline had worn off.

"You're not upset, right?"

He certainly didn't regret it, doing away with the hindrances who were all too happy to greedily steal your attention, whether they knew it or not. They deserved it.

"Well, I think you took it a bit far."

His heart dropped.

Venti was quick to recover, quick to decide exactly his next course of action, what honeyed words would get him back in your good graces.

You made a noise of surprise as you felt his arms leave you, giving him a questioning look as he reluctantly pulled himself away.

He stepped off the bed, keeping eye contact as he dropped to his knees, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips before closing his eyes completely, bowing his head with nothing but the up most of reverence. There's no denying he looked incredibly beautiful sitting there on his knees, his wings falling behind him with such elegance. It would be no stretch of the imagination to say he was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, with the moonlight reflecting off the white and red alike, indiscriminately illuminating each individual color, as if it was made of the finest of stones.

"My divine creator, please forgive me for my transgressions." He spoke in prayer, pronouncing each word with the same meaningful intent.

"I offer myself to you. I would burn forests and mountains alike to cinders, create storms that could cut through stone, so long as you'll have me." The calm and steady voice he had prior was starting to dissipate, shattering to reveal the desperation underneath. "Please, look upon me, I beg you to do so. Look at my face and know that I am a slave to your every whim. Every desire. Please. Please continue to love me."

You were at a loss for words when he opened his eyes again to look up at you, searching your face for something, anything. You continued to give nothing away.

Fear gripped him in that moment of silence, holding him hostage in morbid anticipation.

"Take a bath, go get changed, and then come to bed." You finally spoke, a form of tiredness weighing heavy on your voice. What type of tiredness he didn't have the means to discern, but you welcoming him back into your embrace was a promising notion.

Venti quickly nodded with wide eyes, unable to keep a smile at your 'supposed forgiveness' off his face. He, just as quickly, stood from your bedside and started to leave, intentionally dragging his wings over your face as you sputtered, causing you to glare and him to look back with a coy smile, throwing in a wink for good measure as you just rolled your eyes. You heard him giggle once he was out the door. How he managed to jump from completely serious to the exact same playful demeanor you had come to know eluded you completely.

You thought briefly about the conversation you would be having with him in the morning, already planning out the intricate lines and responses, allowing the repetition to lull you into something close to sleep, finally fully embracing it when you felt a weight dip the opposite side of the bed and a pair of arms wrapping around your torso as a familiar face made itself comfortable against the back of your neck.

Venti thought about the morning as well, but in quite a different way, allowing imagery of him and you together fill his mind. From the peak of Starsnach cliff to the low valley of Windrise, from your bed to the farthest reaches of Teyvat, he would do anything in order to experience it all with you.

God help anyone who got in the way of that.

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin x reader #two thing in a week wow #I wasn't even planning on making a third part but got struck with sudden inspiration #*cough*pretty boys covered in blood on their knees*cough*#he can have a little murder #as a treat

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