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arcielee · 9 months

Text

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of how the rays danced against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, like drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

arcie's masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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rise-my-angel · 4 months

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The thing with R/L shippers and their annoying push back when anyone brings up the super dark undertones of that relationship is that they have convinced themselves the show depiction of R/L is more or less what will happen in the books/is GRRM's intent. Which is hilarious because the people who ship R/L are almost always Dany/targ stans who think Dany breaking bad, being the final villain, and Jon/the Starks being antagonistic to her and taking her down was complete Benioff and Weiss fanfic. Which...lmao...I have a bridge to sell them.

In general, I've noticed this with the remaining book fandom, there is very much an undertone in their 'theories' and 'speculations' of 'everything I liked in the last four seasons of GOT totally came from GRRM and will totally happen in the books, and everything I didn't like was total fanfic, not Martin's intention at all, and will not happen.' Which, once again lmaooo and good luck with that!

Side note, the show depiction of R/L was hilarious. The writers had to magic away Rhaegar's marriage in one of the dumbest plot points on that show, and then attempted to magic away Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon's existence/deaths. They also had to magic away Rickard and Brandon's existence/deaths. Gave zero explanation as to why and how and what happened between R/L. The writers really made R and L into two sociopaths who they wanted viewers to romanticize, but only the opposite ended up happening. The absolute dragging they received from the fandom was INSANE lmao.

Anyway, I think the lack of any development of R and L by the writers to the point where Jon didn't even state how he felt about their relationship might indicate that the book version Benioff and Weiss were told was problematic and they just didn't want to open up that can of worms. But instead their writing choices made R and L even more hated and worse than I think GRRM intended. Just the most hilarious writing choices.

The fact that where the first substantial introduction to the nuances of this plot was scrapped entirely tells me that Benioff and Weiss had no idea what kind of character they wanted Rhaegar to be. We don't truly see anything of the Tower of Joy until late in season 6 in some half baked Bran Greensight vision. But if they did it properly, that Tower of Joy scene should have been all the way in season 1.

Open episode 6 of season 1 with the Tower of Joy flashback as it is depicted in the books. Then slowly transition into Ned waking up in bed after his fight in the street with Jaime Lannister. That is how early in the books the seeds of that mystery were planted, but they never even begun to tackle it until the end of season 6.

Which is bizarre, beacuse they actually shot themselves in the foot already. Show Robert is so much more nuanced of a character in his book counterpart. The way he talks about Rhaegar and the way he lements a genuine heartache over Lyanna is so much more dynamic then what we got from book Robert.

What I could critizise from the books, should have been fixed in the show. They proved they could. They turned what is a pretty black and white unlikeable character in Robert to someone who is as problematic as he is tragic. He is so much more human and that should have been the perfect set up happening at the same time Ned is beginning to experience his traumatic dreams and flashbacks about Lyannas death.

That despite Roberts heartbreak, there is something so much darker then Ned is letting on that is now spiralling him into having consistent trauma reactions over it.

If this were a love story, why would Ned twenty years later be so utterly haunted by it in a way he had long since pushed down?

Also the annulment is...I don't have words for how impossible it is.

I'd literally have to make a whole separate post to explain why that annulment subplot literally could never have happened.

And like, Jon had no reaction because they did not care about using it properly. The revelation of who Jons mother is has always been about Jons personal journey with identity, and making sense the parts of his father he never understood and the sacrifices he made to protect him. It's supposed to be about Jon realizing he was never the bastard who accidentally ruined his fathers honour. It's about Jon realizing he had a mother who loved him and watched over him in their home his entire life, and that Ned Stark chose Jon to be his son all on his own.

It's about Jon learning his mother died loving him feircly begging to keep him safe, and that Jon wasn't Neds son by accident. He was Neds son by choice out of love.

But they only used it to fuel half baked drama about the Iron Throne because at that point all Jon was there to do, was act as an accesory on Danys arm. He was no longer his own character by then so of course he has no reaction. He wasn't told because it was meant to impact him. Jons secret was revealed soley to add drama to Dany's narrative.

R+L=J was never meant to be about Jon's Targaryean side. It was meant to be about Jon learning he had a mother who died protecting him, and that Ned chose to ruin his own reputation because he decided to raise and love Jon as his own.

It was supposed to be about Jon learning who his mother is, why she isn't here, and how that heals all of the hurt left behind that Jon didn't understand about Ned.

It was never supposed to be about Rhaegar or the Targaryeans.

But I mean the second I saw they aged Lyanna up to the the oldest in the show I checked out. I knew they did that beczuse they couldn't portray a 14-15 year old girl marrying a 25+ year old man without the obvious implciations of at the very least, grooming a minor.

They knew this wasn't a romance, but that is too hard of a story to tell, a forbidden romance is so much easier. It was done only out of convience. They had to do something about that mystery, and so they took the easiest route and only ever mentioned it when it pertianed to adding drama to Dany's personal narrative.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar stans #anti rhaegar x lyanna #anti daenerys targaryen #anti targaryen #jon snow #eddard stark #lyanna stark #long post

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astradrifting · 1 year

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Hi! Were there any perspectives in the ASOIAF fandom that made your eyes roll? If there are, what made you say so? Thanks!

[mostly written in 2021, and posted very late. Sorry nonny!]

woof, this could open up a can of worms. I'm almost afraid this is a bait ask but I'm also very willing to run my mouth online about ASOIAF, and I love making fun of dumb theories, so let’s go!

Every time someone says that Jon and Dny are the song of ice and fire, my soul dies a little. Enough said.

I also hate the idea that parallels between ASOIAF history and the events of the books don’t matter. Not to state the obvious, but Westerosi history isn’t real. No part of it actually happened organically, GRRM has manufactured all of it, so everything must have been written with a purpose. I don’t buy that it’s just all world-building, because if parallels are obvious to us, they must be a thousand times more so for the man actually writing it all, and the army of editors who are probably helping him keep it straight.

There is absolutely no way that anything about Jonnel ‘One-Eye’ is a coincidence. Half-brother to Rickon Stark is obvious enough, but then we have his mother. Lynara sounds very similar to Lyanna (side note: a jonsa baby named Lynara would be adorable), but the real link is that she was born a Stark - all of the women on the family tree are listed under their maiden names. Her relation to her husband Cregan isn’t specified; it would have been so easy to have her be from another random house, or even a Karstark, yet what George wanted to convey is that Jonnel has a Stark mother, as well as a Stark father who happened to be heavily involved with the Targaryens.

Another fun thing linking Jonnel to Jon! Jon’s first relationship was with a red headed girl, who claimed that they were married because he’d stolen her. In the same conversation where she’s called half fish…

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. I’m half a fish, I’ll have you know.”

“Half fish, half goat, half horse…there’s too many halves to you, Ygritte.”

(ASOS, Jon V)

this conversation is already jonsa gospel as foreshadowing because of “half-fish”, but the horse part was always a little strange to me. As far as I remember, they didn’t have a prior conversation about her loving horses or riding particularly well, so that was seemingly out of left-field.

Well Jonnel’s second wife was a Ryswell - their sigil is a black horse’s head with a red mane.

pictured: the jonsa agenda winning again

The idea that Stannis will take Winterfell isn’t as personally annoying to me, all these dudebros have very detailed, tactics-based reasons to believe he’ll win I’m sure (something about a nightlamp?), but I just think it doesn’t do anything for the narrative, nor does it make sense with either his arc or Jon and Sansa’s.

Winning Winterfell will put Stannis in a position of strength, give him a base of operations in the North that’s not on loan from the Night’s Watch, and would probably lead to most of the Northern houses swearing allegiance to him, as Manderly has already promised to do. Why would a man in that position ever choose to burn his daughter, his only heir, alive? That is literally one of the few guaranteed book plots we have, so IMO speculation about Stannis all needs to work backwards from this end point; it’s ugly and horrible, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach reading it, but it’s the only ending to his arc that makes sense.

Kinslaying reoccurs time and time again in Stannis’ arc. Kinslaying for his own personal benefit, no less. In his first appearance in ACOK, he listens to Selyse suggest that he kill Renly, then stands by whilst Melisandre kills Maester Cressen, his surrogate father. Cressen raised him and loved him like a son; yet if he had killed Melisandre instead, Stannis would have lost the power she wields for his benefit, the main reason he has a chance at the throne. Later in the book, he implicitly allows his brother to be murdered so that he could gain the Stormlords that had rallied to Renly instead of him (anyone trying to argue that the shadow wasn’t technically Stannis so technically it wasn’t kinslaying will be put in the naughty corner for excessive pedantry). In ASOS, he’s willing to sacrifice his nephew, an innocent 12 year old under his guardianship. He says it’s for the realm, for duty, but really it’s for his destiny. What is the life of a bastard boy against a kingdom so close to his grasp?

It’s escalation. Each time so far he’s had a layer of deniability, but he’s not going to have that in the end. Ordering Shireen’s death himself, murdering his daughter in some desperate bid to secure victory over the Boltons, will be the final step off the cliff. Maybe he’ll have some military victories before that, smarter people than me have no doubt discussed the parallels to the Greek myth of Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter Iphigenia, but I have no doubt Stannis’ story is headed only towards tragedy.

….Turns out that I do have a lot of feelings about Stannis. But to get back to my original point, Jon and Sansa taking Winterfell back together, travelling through the North doing the work and proving themselves as worthy rulers, makes a lot more sense for their future roles in the story than Stannis winning it all for them. It’s also much more affecting and thematically resonant, so I refuse to believe D&D entirely made up that storyline.

I also inevitably end up rolling my eyes whenever I'm bored enough to go onto r/asoiaf, there's always a bad take right on the front page. One that annoyed me enough to go into @istumpysk’s inbox and kickstart my jonsa blogging was one asking what the point of R+L=J even is, because it never amounted to anything and just muddled up J/D being “the song of ice and fire”.

While it gets so close to the point that it’s funny, there’s no way the “song” is going to boil down to a relationship, let alone JD. I would almost buy Jon and Dænerys being the song of ice and fire if Jon actually were just Ned’s bastard, all ‘ice’. Hell, if he really wanted to make a relationship the song of ice and fire, he could have cut out the middleman and made Jon a trueborn Stark from the start - make them starcrossed lovers from warring families, truly ice and truly fire. Utterly boring, but thematically coherent at least. A major point of Jon’s character is that he is both - and something a lot messier than that besides, as a bastard.

It's not all bad on r/asoiaf though, when I went back to look for that post I saw another about how the Titan of Braavos is a Pacific Rim-style mech that will come to life to fight any dragons coming to the city, a theory that I will be championing from this moment henceforth.

Wait, nevermind, in that same thread someone said that Jaehaerys is the sexiest Targ name, so r/asoiaf is immediately cancelled again. That's another fandom perspective that makes me roll my eyes, the idea that Jaehaerys is in any way an acceptable name, especially as Jon's ‘secret’ name.

This 👏 is 👏 Targaryen 👏 propaganda 👏

Just look at it!! How do you even pronounce that? The hill I will most definitely die on is that this name is ugly.

#astra rambles #me throughout this ask: AND ANOTHER THING #my own stannis take does hurt me somewhat because for a while fanon stannis was /my/ boring little man #however then I read the books and didn’t actually like him much lmao #jonsa #anti stannis baratheon #anti house targaryen #anti daenerys targaryen #anti targaryen stans #just covering my bases #meta #within all the rambling at least #jesus this is long #I cut out another terrible r/asoiaf post I was ranting about because it’s seriously been a year since I started this

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jackoshadows · 3 years

Text

The ASoIaF fandom can be so frustrating sometimes.

It’s okay to admit that one doesn’t like this or that character. There’s nothing wrong in disliking a character.

I am pretty open on my blog about my indifference towards or dislike for Sansa because of her stans. I don’t make disclaimers about how much I love the character before proceeding to criticize Sansa. I am not a Sansa stan and that’s okay. My blog is a place for me to jot down my thoughts and celebrate characters, books and shows I do like. If you love Sansa as a character, block me, don’t follow me etc.

What’s obnoxiously annoying are the folks who claim to love all the characters the same and then give their ‘unbiased’ opinions which are held up as canon facts because they came from neutral book reader experts. To hell with that nonsense.

These posts reek of hypocrisy and double standards. It often tears down some characters while subtly propping up others - and it’s gobbled up by the wider fandom as unbiased interpretation of the text.

One example is pushing forth the notion that calling Arya pretty (Something that both her father and brother tell her she is in the books) is wrong, it’s sexualizing her, it’s okay for Arya to be ugly, she’s canonically not pretty because Cat/Sansa said so and no other interpretation is allowed etc. And then the same person who says all this celebrates Sansa’s beauty and ships her with a 27 year old man who falls in lust with Sansa.

Or when they say that the Arya-Lyanna (and Sansa/Lyanna parallels, because it’s always important to mention Sansa with respect to Lyanna even if said person claims to not care about Lyanna as a character) parallels are overrated and not important and they don’t care about Robert’s Rebellion characters but on their blogs there’s all these posts, fanarts and meta about Elia Martell - a Robert’s Rebellion character.

A so called book expert would note that GRRM has several characters outright compare Arya to Lyanna or mistake Lyanna for Arya in the books while Sansa has no such comparison. But no, the unbiased book expert thinks that the Arya-Lyanna and Sansa-Lyanna parallels are equivalent and are both overrated.That post just annoyed me excessively into writing this long ass rant post.

Why are these neutral, unbiased folks so interested in stripping away from Arya’s story?

In the books Jeyne Poole is masquerading as Arya Stark - but that story is only Jeyne’s, has nothing to do with Arya or Arya’s importance to the North.

Arya is a strong warg, Nymeria and her wolf pack are a ‘Chekov’s wolf pack’ that GRRM has hung on the wall - Our expert opinion is that Direwolves are not all that important in the grand scheme of things.

Arya is pretty - why needlessly call Arya pretty, it adds nothing to Arya’s story and is all about sexualizing a child.

Arya-Lyanna parallels - why do we need these parallels, Arya is distinct and interesting without them.

These aspects are all important parts of the character’s story. There are so many very well written essays exploring these concepts with respect to Arya’s journey of self discovery in the books, the narrative significance of her parallels to Lyanna, her bond with Nymeria and her warging talents. For those who are interested, here are two bloggers who actually like Arya and have written about her character and character arc.

https://donewithwoodenteeth.tumblr.com/meta-masterlist

https://ashotofjac.tumblr.com/tagged/arya-stark

Some of these same people will rush to condemn any reading of the books that does not have Sansa wielding power at the end as being ‘Sansa hate’. But they will have no issues to undermine and devalue Arya’s actual book story, the relationships she has, the parallels she has, the skillsets she has, her appearance, her importance to the current story happening in the North.

There is a whole ass plot currently in the books of Northerners rallying for Arya Stark and preparing for battle against the Boltons for Arya Stark. But that’s not important because it’s actually Jeyne Poole and Arya’s story is about sailing off west of westeros. But hey, Sansa will definitely go North and hold power and that’s like 100% happening because we are the unbiased book experts and we say it is so.

Or when all else fails - Arya is a Mary Sue, she’s a fantasy character, she’s a ‘strong female character’ because she fights with a sword, people like her because she’s a tomboy who fights. Sansa is realistic, Sansa is complex - but here are all the essays that basically transfer Arya’s complexity and story to Sansa - because it fits more with their fave, because these aspects would fit better with the traditionally feminine character even though they never tire of talking about how GRRM is deconstructing tropes. Because the trope deconstruction is only applied to Arya, Jon and Dany. Never Sansa.

And honestly, why are these people reading a high fantasy series if they hate fantasy and fantasy characters so much? We love Sansa because she’s so non-magical! Then go read non-fiction books. They also twist Jon, Arya and Dany into ‘fantasy’ characters - despite these characters going through some very real and human experiences. What’s fantasy about Arya’s experiences in war torn Westeros, Jon dealing with bigotry at the wall, Dany trying to rebuild Meereen, while dealing with famine, disease and insurgency?

Or how Jon and Dany getting any kind of happy ending or becoming rulers would be so boring, sweet, predictable, conforming to tropes, a happy ending etc. But Sansa getting love, romance, going home, becoming the Stark in Winterfell, getting her fairy tale ending - that’s totally what GRRM is going to do! No trope deconstruction there! In may ways, Benioff and Weiss’ ending is not all that surprising - Mad Queen Dany, Jon remaining a bastard with the freefolk, Sansa having power as a leader - are all popular theories among bnfs in the fandom. D&D wanting to wind up the show quickly with easily found fan theories is not that much of a stretch.

ASoIaF reddit is equally frustrating. Instead of Sansa stan bnfs on tumblr who pretend to like Arya and Dany while subtly undermining their story and importance, on Asoiaf reddit it’s Stannis stans who dislike Jon and Dany because these characters present a challenge to Stannis. The mere suggestion that Jon may play a role in the battle against Ramsay sends them into frothing at the mouth rage. They hate Jon, Jon is a Gary Sue because he dared advice Stannis - the greatest general ever - on Northern military strategy. Never mind that Jon grew up in the North and learned from Ned, how dare Jon Snow know more than Stannis! Unacceptable!

And I love Stannis Baratheon. I want Stannis to crush and defeat the Boltons. But unlike reddit dudebros, I can see that he is a secondary character, a tragic character who is most probably going to perish and Jon takes over because Jon Snow is a central protagonist in the story.

I feel it’s the same with Sansa. IMO, GRRM clearly doesn’t see Sansa in the same way as he does Arya, Jon, Dany, Tyrion and Bran. Whenever he is asked questions about the books, book plots, long term arcs, endings, age gaps etc it’s these characters he often brings up and references. It’s these characters who are important to him.

And that’s why there’s a lot of undermining and undervaluing of these character’s and their stories, them being described as fantasy characters, tropes, Mary Sues and Gary Sues, ableist rhetoric about Tyrion and Bran to undermine them.

I am damned certain that if it was Sansa who had all the parallels to Lyanna, or if she was the warg, or Jeyne Poole was impersonating her, this would all be ‘VERY IMPORTANT’ and on all the gifsets and essays. But she isn’t. So fandom bnfs are reduced to talking about how these aspects are not all that important anyway.

It’s like how this quote - ‘You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts’ turns up on gifsets every other day on the Arya tag but this quote - ‘Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier of Arya had been a bastard, like her half brother Jon. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered’ very rarely does and will not get reblogged when it does.

Or when Sansa sees Joffrey trying to kill Arya and sides with Joffrey or when Sansa throws Arya under the bus and tells the Lannisters that it’s Arya who is the traitor - just sisters being sisters y’all!

It’s all about maintaining a certain narrative about Sansa - and when others point out her actual relationship with Arya in the books, we are accused of hating and wanting Sansa dead and how we should be criticizing Tywin and the Mountain instead. This is nonsensical whataboutism and ignores that people talk about these aspects of the books because sometimes bullying, getting mocked for one’s appearance, abuse and neglect from parental figures etc. can resonate with certain readers unlike getting one’s head smashed in by Frankenstein.

At the end of the day, I wish these people would be honest about the characters they like and relate to. We are all biased. That’s why our opinions and interpretations are subjective. There’s nothing wrong in saying, hey, I like Sansa more than Arya or Dany, I relate to her character more.

I relate to Jon Snow a lot, I see things from his POV, I would disagree with the characters who disagree with Jon, I enjoy his story at the Wall and the North. My interpretations of the text are therefore colored by my bias towards Jon.

For others, it’s Dany or Sansa or Arya or Tyrion or Jaime. And that’s okay because these are fictional characters and liking one more than the other is not going to earn anyone woke points and lead to women’s rights.

And finally, there’s nothing edgy or cool about disparaging the central protagonists of a high fantasy series as being fantasy characters - go read other books if one is not into fantasy.

#rant post

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stormcloudrising · 3 years

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I agree with you on Jon Dany being a show only thing. There are too many plotlines and too many characters' arc that need to be closed off , that too within the space of 2 books.

The amount of plot that has to be covered to get to a romantic story between the two of them is one of the biggest signs that their romantic relationship was a show only thing. That and the horrible way it was written.

In my opinion, the many clues George has dropped about the future conflict between the Wolf and the Dragon is pretty much totally ignored. Jon is also a Wolf and when he returns from the dead with part of Ghost in him, that will be more obvious than ever before.

Wolves are pack and unless run off, they always remain pack. George is always true to the symbolism he has laid out. Theon was raised by the wolves but he never allowed himself to become part of the pack. That is why he was able to betray them so easily. There will be no conflict in within Jon over which side he is on, which is why that bit of indecisiveness on the show was pure foolish nonsense.

I’ve suggested on many previous occasions that I think that the blue winter rose in the crack in the wall has been misinterpreted by many in the fandom when it comes to a supposed romantic relationship between Jon and Dany. As with practically everything in his story, GRRM has layered the blue rose in the wall with symbolism.

The blue rose represents Lyanna and is a big clue that she is Jon’s mother. What it does not represent is Jon. The blue rose always and I mean, “always,” represent the daughters of House Stark. It has never represented the men of the House. So while it’s a big clue that points to Lyanna being Jon’s mother, Jon is not the blue winter rose in the Wall.

With the myths and legends he has woven throughout his tale, George has set up the blue rose as one of the most important motifs in the entire story…past and present. Lyanna is dead when the story begins and so we know that she won’t be playing the role in the story proper. As the only two Stark daughters in the story, the position of the Blue Winter Rose falls on the shoulders of Arya and Sansa. No one else!

Ok, now let’s talk about the infamous crack where the rose is positioned in Dany’s dream. Keep in mind how George writes his foreshadowing via the visions he gives to the characters that have been so far revealed as being connected to magic…this includes Dany, Bran, Aeron, Jojen, GOHH etc. All of their visions are revealed in symbolic terms. It’s never B/W and obvious. It’s only after the event takes place that it becomes clear to the reader what was meant by the visions.

It’s been foreshadowed throughout the books that the Wall will fall and the Others will invade. There are many fandom theories about the circumstances that will lead to this event but everyone agrees that the Wall will fall. It’s the biggest McGuffin in the entire story.

One of the obvious events that will have an impact on the fall of the Wall and the invasion of the Others is Jon’s assassination by his fellow brothers of the Night’s Watch. There will be no Lord Commander to lead the Night’s Watch when the wall falls but more importantly, the murder of Jon is sure to split the brotherhood in two. Also keep in mind that the Wall is not just a gigantic, tall piece of ice. The Wall is also the Nights Watch. They are symbolically the wall that’s supposed to stand between the world of men and the Others.

Consider what led to Jon’s Nights Watch brethren decision to murder him. He opened the gates to the Wildings and allowed them to come south of the Wall. Many of Jon’s NW’s brothers disagreed with him allowing this. They were likely even plotting against him but they made no effort to move against him until Jon decided to abandon his post and oath and use the Watch to wage war on one of the Lords of the Realm.

This move by Jon pushed his brothers over the edge and he was killed by them immediately after he made this decision to betray his oath.

Jon decided to use the Watch to take back Winterfell but what pushed him to this choice? The infamous Pink Letter. The contents of the letter pushed Jon to march south to retake Winterfell but more importantly, he wanted to find and rescue his “sister,” Arya.

“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 …”

ADWD Jon XIII

As Lyanna’s son, we can see how Jon started the crack that divided the brotherhood and will eventually lead to the fall of the Wall. However, it was to save “Arya,” one of the two Blue Winter Roses in the story, from Ramsay Bolton, which led to Jon’s betrayal of his oath. This action was the immediate cause of his assassination by his NW brothers. So we can see that symbolically in this instance, Arya was the Blue Winter Rose that created the crack in the Wall. This is just one of the many examples of how George uses symbolism to tell his story.

Yes, Dany saw the blue winter rose in the crack, but it does not specifically have anything to do with her. Symbolically what she saw was Jon’s decision to abandon the Wall to rescue his sister, the Blue Winter Rose. This decision started the crack that will eventually lead to the fall of the Wall. It’s also a decision that will reverberate across the landscape and through the ages.

Dany’s vision has to do with Jon and the daughters of House Stark. Not every vision she saw in the HOTU specifically relates to her…case in point, the Red Wedding. In my opinion, what Dany’s visions in the HOTU are lynchpin events that will have an impact on the entire story and as such, will tie into her individual arc in some manner but not all will affect her on a visceral/personal level.

Now before someone goes, what do I mean that the vision of the blue winter rose has nothing to do with Dany, let me say that I’m not saying that Jon won’t tie into her storyline or have any impact on it. That would be kind of silly to suggest. I think that he most certainly will have an effect on her story but just not in the way many imagine.

By the way, I also think that the blue rose in the crack in the Wall also clues us into events of the ancient past. I’ve proposed that Jonquil was the original Blue Winter Rose and I think that we will eventually find out that she was the Corpse Queen to Florian’s Nights King and was also the original crack in the wall of the brotherhood. However, that discussion is for the Florian and Jonquil essay series where we will further discuss why Sansa is the most important Blue Rose on the board.

Thanks for the ask!

#thoughts on this and that #ask stormcloud #blue winter rose #daughters of house stark

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fineosaur · 3 years

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first line game

thank you for the tags @littlerockerao3 and @salty-wench, i haven’t done one of these in a while and this one was super fun to compile (fair warning this IS quite long)

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag 10 of your favourite authors.

pieces of you stuck on me (but i’m careless and i’m wicked) -- a rickon x lyanna fwb multichap

He’d woken up alone, something he was often used to, but in the last months, he had grown more accustomed to waking up beside just one particular person. More or less a year if he was being honest with himself. But he wasn’t completely alone either, he was just alone in her bed.

we both coincide (when the world’s wasting time) -- a rickon x lyanna story that shows their relationship spanning over a few years

The moon is already out when he still finds himself at her side. She’s solid and warm in his embrace, swaying lazily with him to the strumming harp and the melodic voice that sing the words that seem to weave their way in his head, taking root as he tries to focus on just being there with her.

in the highlands of our dreams -- a single dad!rickon x lyanna fic that’s a lot on the softer side than my usual work

Most of his life had felt like there was an errant thumb on the fast forward button. At times he knew it had much to do with the way his thoughts often ran too fast, and even with long enough legs to chase them, they just kept their brisk pace. Other times, he wasn’t so much to blame.

watch me wary -- a rickon x lyanna fic where rickon goes off the grid for a few years and has to come back to face his family (aka rickon’s apology tour)

“You’re late again, kid.”

He rolled his eyes despite the verity in the statement. Pulling off his helmet, he held a hand out to shake the shorter man’s hand.

watch me wary (prequel) [title in progress] -- set in the stormlands 2 years after rickon leaves home and involves him falling in love with steffon seaworth

There was a feeling between relief and guilt that followed leaving home. Often times thought of as ‘running away’ or ‘disappearing’, at least ‘leaving home’ sounded so much more tempered.

an empire for two -- a canon-divergent robb x theon & rickon x lyanna fic which involves established throbb and an arranged marriage for lyckon

It was warmer inside the castle. It always was; with the hot water from the springs running through its walls, the castle lived and breathed through each change of season, chilling winters and weeping summers, not buckling for any.

where the stars do not take sides -- a oneshot set in a canon-divergent setting where rickon x lyanna spend a few last hours of peace together before they return to war

The snow falls around them rather gracefully. There’s often peace in the Godswood, and the distant howls of the wolves do nothing to deter from that. Though nightfall has come and its chill alike, they stand stiffly facing one another.

be with you -- a rickon x steffon oneshot that shows their relationship as well as how they fell in love

The floor manages to feel warm despite the hour. If he thinks hard enough, he guesses that they’re one of the only two left there.

His father’s office is littered in papers, stacks of words that blur into one with his boredom. Really what keeps him going is the way the man in front of him continues to push his mop of brown hair back, no matter how many times it falls back into his face as he leans over the glass desk.

sight for sore eyes -- mixed pov which has tommen pining for rickon who is pining for lyanna — true heather style

There’s a moment of reprieve that comes once the moon has passed its apex. Its scattered light plays amongst the stars that pepper the sky and the hazy streetlights that guide them through the night.

to feel like gold -- a lyanna x myrcella oneshot where myrcella chooses to indulge in a little rebellion with the girl that’s been on her mind for months

The room is almost too bright for her liking. It hardly fits her resentment. The brisk night air streaming through her windows suits her well enough, rippling over her arms in goosebumps as she feels the frown between her eyebrows deepen.

forest fires -- an arya x gendry oneshot set with a lunar eclipse and a brief moment of repose for the couple

The night’s brisk breeze doesn’t unsettle him like it used to.

It’s still cold though. The wind makes the hair on his arms stand up and he wonders why he hadn’t thought to wear a jumper over his thin cotton t-shirt.

help! -- a stark family -smutty crack fic- that involves ned and cat accidentally stumbling into each one of their kids in precarious situations with their partners

It almost felt like nothing had changed like her children were all still children. Like they’d never flown the coup. But as she stood there, holding a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, she knew that a lot had changed, that every one of her kids had grown up, fallen in love and were seemingly happy. It flooded her with such relief to know so, though the still gentle tug at her heart was there, telling her that her babies would no longer run to her begging to be held after a nightmare.

it’s all hope -- canon compliant robb x theon oneshot that involves a love confession before theon sets off to pyke

Much like the fire within the hearth that beckoned him with its flickering warmth, he felt disquiet within himself.

The air felt thick, far more humid than that of the North’s. He could easily make out the Red Fork by where he stood, pulling at the laces of his tunic. It unsettled him, the rushing water, so fresh, unlike the brine of his home.

take one last look back-- a jon x satin drabble where the couple has a little spat in the car

The wind becomes distracting. With the way it whistles through his ears, blowing at those perfect curls of his, it even makes it abundantly clear how much his eyes sting.

When he leans back in his seat, his eyes meet the rearview mirror, where he can see his grey eyes, dark and stormy, the perfect juxtaposition to the gleaming sun that threatens a headache.

second nature -- a rickon x lyanna drabble that has a drunk rickon confessing his affections for his best friend, lyanna

She’s sitting in her car with one leg crossed when she sees him take a minute to check each side of the road before crossing. It’s 4 am, her car is really the only one on the road.

Her car is flanked on the side of the road and it’s completely unsurprising that his first instinct is to lower himself to her opened window and flash his stupidly white grin at her.

a troubled mind -- a robb x theon oneshot, after his parents’ deaths, robb overloads himself with responsibility and on the verge of falling apart he seeks comfort in the one person who’s always been there for him

He’s never gotten the opportunity to let it all get to him. There’s never been time for it. Not when there’s always been at least one other person that needs the safety his arms provide.

It’s part of being the oldest son, he tells himself far too often.

calmest wave -- an arya x gendry drabble, a post-show canon fix it where the couple are parents in the stormlands

The shattering waves could still be heard, breaking onto the rocky coast of Shipbreaker’s Bay, even from where they walked, with withered leaves crumbling underfoot.

There was tranquillity within the godswood, interspersed by the humidity carried across the Summer Sea and yet he still felt a breeze pick up, cooling him down as he gently held the small hand in his palm.

you were just dancing on your own -- an arya x gendry drabble where arya seeks comfort with gendry after a bad night

It’s still dark when Arya wakes up in her car; windshield covered in a think layer sleet. Her teeth chatter as she pulls her jumper tighter around herself, yellow haze in her eyes from the streetlights.

She’s in the passenger seat of her car, seat pushed back the most it can go. Her heater doesn’t work, no matter how much she bruises her knuckles against the vents.

high, high love -- an arya x gendry oneshot - set in the pieces of you stuck on me universe. after a few years away, arya returns to the man who she’s always loved

She had been back in Winterfell barely two weeks, in a way, things fell into place, though it was in the most disjointed way possible.

Arya found her footing, day by day, acclimating to the changes she had missed, she had to anyway; this was her family, and no matter how much they had changed, how many things she had missed, they made her feel like home, and she was back home now, for good.

stubborn-hearted blue -- an arya x gendry oneshot where arya moves into the same building as a man she had a fwb arrangement during her college days

She was still adjusting to life in the new city.

Arya hadn’t been in the Riverlands since university, and at this point, it felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory, more like a dream. But now she had been back for almost a month and boxes still littered her living room, still waiting to be unpacked. between her new job and just trying not to pass out as soon as she was back home, there wasn’t much room for unpacking.

okay WOW i cant believe that managed to date back to over a year. this is pretty much a whole year of my writing summarised in opening lines.

if it isnt obvious, about half of these have yet to be posted, but this was still fun to give a little teaser for those ones.

i’ll be tagging @yanak324, @evax3, @selkiedams, @livhatesolives, @lightninginabottle0613, @watersandwolves, @estrangedandwayward, @jeynepoole, @sneetchstar, @treaddelicately, @bobafettsslut, @nalgenewhore

also, hi! enjoy!

ps, i hope everyone is taking care of themselves and keeping safe x

#i havent been active much in a long time #this is the most active ive been in the last 6 months and that's because im back in lockdown #i think i now have a lot more time for this stuff now that life isnt as fast paced as it has been for the last year #tag games #my writing #rickon x lyanna #robb x theon #jon x satin #rickon x tommen #arya x gendry #gendrya #lyckon #throbb #jonsatin #asoiaf fanfiction

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esther-dot · 3 years

Text

first lines

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

Thank you for tagging me @rocknghorss!

I’m looking for a pattern and I can’t concentrate enough to notice one because I’m too focused on the fact that I have always said I don’t like reading second person, and here, I’ve written two fics with it! Hypocrite. Um…I clearly have a tendency to use my first sentence to set the scene which is against all writing advice. The opening is supposed to be snappy, and I’m here, “But if I don’t know where it is, how can I see it?” lmao. Also, I do have several that start with dialogue, and without the next sentences, I can’t say that I’m very fond of it which surprises me because for some reason, I thought that was a good way to start fics, but here, they just aren’t very grabby. I think, reading through this list, Sansa Stark’s Definition of Leisure is my favorite (#18) because it does make me want to read more.

I’m not sure who has done this already, but I’ll tag @amymel86 @vivilove-jonsa @schnoogles @charmtion @chispas-and-broken-bindings @cappymightwrite @cellsshapedlikestars @kit-kat21 @fromtheboundlesssea @sailorshadzter (no pressure---only if you feel like it!)

1. Because --He comes to Winterfell rarely, always unannounced. It warms her heart when he appears; wind chapped, hair wild, a smile hidden in the corners of his lips.

2. The Nights Are Dark -- The queen rides through the gates with the morning light, but it is night before he sees Sansa. Night, it is always night when she comes to him.

3. All That Is After -- The first time he returned they spoke only once before he had ridden into the night, swearing never to return.

4. Something Better -- “It’s pretty.” Jon’s dirty finger traced the wolf’s head on her crown. After her coronation she’d tucked it away in a box lined in velvet, locked it, and tried to put it out of her mind.

5. flames -- A fire, she could see it from her window, and she knew what it meant. Wool dress, thicker stockings, hesitation. How could she?

6. life is not a song -- “Tell me about the Long Night, Mama.” "Haven't you tired of that story, yet?" Sansa patted the pillow until Jeyne obediently placed her head where it belonged.

7. this one belongs to me -- Red hair, pale face, mud splattered across her cheeks, but all he could see were her eyes, Tully beauty, Stark fierceness, eyes that he would know no matter how her face had changed.

8. Stories -- “They say the former King in the North is a ghost.” “Is that what they say?” Sansa smiled at her son as he snuggled down deeper under his furs. “They say he’s a wolf.” “Oh my” she softly exclaimed, feigning surprise.

9. Free -- Saying goodbye to it all was painful, and relief. He could not hold onto the past without breathing in every bit of suffering he wanted so desperately to forget. Not wanted, he had to forget.

10. North -- "Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen and your mother was Lyanna Stark. You are not father's bastard, you’re heir to the Iron Throne."

11. Cursed -- He was standing before her, a man from her songs, King of the Seven Kingdoms, savior of Westeros, asking her the question she had always dreamt a prince would ask, but she was no longer that girl.

12. Jon is Jon -- You think of the crypts and the quiet dead, but on the streets of King's Landing the dead still cry out.

13. Sansa -- Sansa stood beneath the heart tree, its red leaves dripping down into the snow the same way fire licks up into the sky. Her fingers traced the memories pressed into its aged rings, the white bark holding every generation's prayers secret.

14. Together -- Everyone was mad at him except Sansa. When he arrived Sansa hadn't just hugged him, she held him, and allowed Jon to embrace her, much longer than was acceptable in Daenerys' eyes.

15. Choose -- "You love her." It was snowing, they stood on the battlements as they had before, but nothing was at it had been. Jon ducked his chin into his furs, his answer clear to Sansa even if he wouldn't speak it.

16. Healing -- After the war, for one moment, when her siblings and cousin had all survived, she thought they could finally find peace. She thought they were safe. But, Jon had promised, and he was now a dragon, as their new queen was fond of saying; there would be no peace for him. There would be no happiness for her.

17. Grey -- Riverrun was blue water, green trees, yellow sunlight; the North was only grey. The grey of the castle walls encircled her as if to assure her there was no escaping, this was now her home. She must learn to adjust to the cold, not long for the sun.

18. Sansa Stark’s Definition of Leisure -- Eventually his behavior had caused an argument, their first fight since he had returned, and gods, did he love it.

19. Feel – Worst of all, she makes him feel. He doesn't want to think about his father, let alone feel anything about it. He doesn't want to feel anything about his mother or the shame he had been made to feel for who he was. Shame was part of him, how could that shame no longer be his?

20. Sansa & Arya – There are many things you do not say. You are good at not saying these things, they sit on your tongue, held in only by your teeth and closed lips.

All of these are on AO3.

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thesunwillshineonusagain757 · 3 years

Text

➳𝔸 ℙℝ𝕀ℕℂ𝔼’𝕊 𝕊ℚ𝕌𝕀ℝ𝔼 ♥︎

( So this is for the first day of the rhaelya week its my fist time writing something directly into tumblr and the first time I’m participating in a special ship week so have in mind I’m new. Thank you for reading )

Day 1: CANON DIVERGENCE

➴————-　♥︎　-————➶

Rhaegar wouldn’t know when he had started to love that girl, the blue-eyed beautiful girl that was Lyanna Stark, she was brave, and had determination beyond his , beyond anyone he had ever met that he knew whether it was because she had fought on the tournament of Harrenhal against her fathers wishes, or because she had gotten to the final fight against him. He hadn't known Lyanna was the knight of the laughing tree at the time, but he was memorized by the mystery knight anyway.

The knight had ridden their horse with mastery and confidence, like he hadn’t even when he was already getting proficient at it. He assumed the boy in the armour, couldn’t be older than fifteen, yet they were amazing. Rhaegar had made a mental note to congratulate the tutor or knight to whom that young man was squirting, but every day after his fights, when the crown prince sought him he had disappeared, evaporated, nobody had any idea of his whereabouts.

It all got worst when his father demanded to know about the young man and his true identity, all the knights were looking for the young boy who was wearing armour too big for his young frame, so when Rhaegar was told that the last combat of the tourney, that it would be worth the tourney's victory he was more than looking forward to it. And there he was the young knight looking to him, from across their battlefield. His father and all the realm looking down at them.

Yet for some reason, Rhaegar felt it was just the both of them, him and the knight of the laughing tree, the mysterious man that intrigued and had plagued his dreams since the first second he had laid eyes on the young man’s frame. If he told that the young man had taken so much of his thoughts, people would tell him he was in love with the man. But it couldn't be he had never talked with him, the unknown knight only fascinated him to no end, that was all.

The crown prince took a deep breath and so it began, dashed riding in the direction, his opponent, the young man rode towards him at similar speed, he saw an opening he could explore as he got closer with his lance, but as the position himself for the attack. The young man swiftly attacked him, almost hitting him squarely on the head, if he hadn't ducked his head at the last minute.

It was certainly a close one, so when he got to the other side of the arena, he turned to go back at the knight of the laughing tree, he was already waiting for him, so they both rode towards each other, Rhaegar saw the same opening she had seen the first time and as it was the only weakness he saw he decided to exploit it, but he should have known better. As they got closer, he thought to himself it must have been boring to watch, but before he could think again, something different happened, he felt a pressure on his chest, and before he could realize it he was falling to the ground.

He got back to himself second after his back encountered the muddy ground, he got with a helping hand he swiftly realized was Ser. Arthur’s hand, he took his helmet leaving the icy wind he shook his head and then looked in the direction of the knight who had defeated him, no one had celebrated the other knight's victory something he thought was a shame, Rhaegar had no problem being defeated , he was not unpredictable like his father.

The young knight rode to the place where his father and family were sitting, his father seemed displeased and that was never a good thing, so Rhaegar looked back at Arthur, who was already looking at his face.

“ If my father says anything ….”- Rhaegar whispered to Arthur

“ I’ll distract them, and you get the young man out of here .”- Arthur whispered back at him and Rhaegar a smiled in gratitude to his friend, who was more like a brother to him

But that wasn't necessary before he could the young knight was given a crown of blue roses, but the most unexpected and what shocked every single person watching the scene unfold, the knight of the laughing tree, took his helmet off, revealing something far to scandalous , the young knight wasn’t a young man, in truth the young knight was a woman , a young beautiful one, with black hair , skin white as snow, and eye silver-ish blue.

Rhaegar could describe the feeling, he asked himself if it was that, the feeling of falling in love, as he had read in the books and fairy tales in his childhood. That was the feeling of being drunk with the feeling of love. He knew her from somewhere but at the moment the thoughts were connecting her to anything she was.

“ Your majesty.”- She addressed his father with a sweet voice as she got down from her horse without help

“ It’s Lyanna Stark, the third child and only daughter of the warden of the north .”- Arthur whispered to Rhaegar

“ Lyanna.”- Rhaegar whispered her name, it felt sweet the name that was upon his lips

“ Your grace, I fought on this tourney to win. But not for any cause for one and only reason.”- Lyanna said kneeling in front of King Aerys

Rhaegar felt fear creeping up on his stomach, he would be able to kill his father he had thought , but if he harmed that young woman, Rhaegar would be capable of anything that he knew in his bones.

“ And why did you win, little thing.”- His father responded looking down at her with mockery

“ I won it for you your grace.”- She said, and the air seemed to change

Before when she had removed her helmet and revealed she was a woman, it seemed that the air had run out , that the tension had taken over the place. It seemed certain that his father would kill the young woman, but now Rhaegar wasn’t sure. His father sat up, he seemed to be surprised but most unlikely, he seemed pleased. A slight smile graced his face, something that now was something so eerie and odd.

“ You did ?”- Aerys asked

“ Yes, your grace, I won by the grace of the old gods and new, so I could crown you the most handsome and most inspiring of people. I came to crown you with this crown of rose I know it’s not much your grace, but it’s what I have to give you.”- Lyanna said with a determinate but sweet voice

Rhaegar understood what she was doing, by flattering his father, maybe he would show her mercy. It was a plan that might seem foolish , however Rhaegar knew that his father was in need of attention and praise that it might work out . He could see that his father was more than satisfied with the words of the girl who had now stood up and stretched out her arms so that the king would take her gift.

And most extraordinarily, his father took the crown of blue roses, with a radiant smile upon his lips, he crowned himself with the crown made of blue roses , and sat back at his place, that day had already surprised and surpassed every single expectation, yet his father had still something planned.

“ So what do you want ?”- Aerys asked the young girl

“ What, your grace ?”- Lyanna asked looking up to Aerys

“ Well, you fought valiantly for me , what do you want ?”- Aerys

“ Your grace, I … I didn’t think about anything. I’m sorry .”- Lyanna said as surprised as the people on the audience

“ Then maybe we can knight you, where is your tutor ?”- Aerys said

Buzzing took over the stands where the lords and ladies of all Westeros were seated, a woman, a knight, it would be the first time in history that a woman, even a lady had come close to being named with the title, so the surprise and shock that had taken everyone was understandable, not that Rhaegar found it something so surprising, for Visenya one of his ancestors had been one of the most skilled swordsmen or woman of Westeros.

“ Your grace, I’m not squirting for anyone, I learned on my own.”- Lyanna confessed

“ Well, then we will find you a knight .”- Aerys told her

Rhaegar would have thought his father was bluffing, but it had been long since he had heard his father sounding so sane, he looked back at Arthur who seemed to be as surprised as he was, and as astonished as everyone on that tourney were.

“ Oh I know already, my son Rhaegar is in need of a squire, you'll be his squire. “- Aerys said with a big smile

The commotion among the lords and ladies of the nobility only increased, but Rhaegar did not focus on them, for Lyanna turned to look in his direction, and when she looked at him, it was as if his soul flew away. She seemed scared of the future, and all he wanted was to protect her. Rhaegar didn’t know what the future would be. But one thing he was sure of, that big-eyed, curious, beautiful girl was the love of his life and he would fight to the end for her. He had been someone before and after Lyanna Stark, and if he had to die in Lyanna's defence it would have been worth it.

➴————-　♥︎　-————➶

#rhaegar x lyanna #lyanna x rhaegar #canon divergence #lyanna becomes rhaegar’s squire #rhaelya #rhaelyaweek #rhaelyaAUweek #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf writing #got #r/l #r+l #Day 1: CANON DIVERGENCE

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magalidragon · 4 years

Text

Tiny Dancer | a drabble set in the “It Is What It Is” universe

a/n: For @stilesssolo I said I would do a drabble of smol!Jon in ballet tights. 🤣 Here it is! Also I just threw his moodboard together in like ten min which is why it is trash. But then again, so am I, just absolute Jonerys trash, lol.

————————

Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splitz and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said itw as because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devlish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she ahd ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….teh greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in a white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked upt he other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love yo so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. <i>Baby might need this more than you.</i> She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked opent he envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll hsow you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my moodboards #jonerys drabbles

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

Note

When Jon think about wanting winterfell and it's Lord he felt hunger which he later connect with ghost's hunger. Do you think that passage is implying something?

Hi anon!

I think the passage has many layers when it comes to symbolism and foreshadowing.

ASOS, Jon XII is a fun chapter. Jon’s been through a lot. His trip North of the wall left him traumatized and disillusioned in a way that’s hard to sum up. Anything he had hoped to be proud of in life was obliterated, he suffered serious injury, has been separated from ghost, learned that all his family are dead or missing, fought a viciously cruel battle, feels responsible for the death of his stockholm-syndromy abuser, was stripped of all respect and honor by his superiors, and he got to see a woman die in childbirth. Now Stannis and Mel are squatting at Castle Black, and the threat to the North keeps looming.

Life sucks.

We’d been introduced to some options that were denied to him in life:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. (ASOS, Jon V)

“If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father’s household guard at the least,” Jon said. “It’s not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you’d best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you’ve told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived.” (ASOS, Samwell IV)

One fails because of the seasons, the other was prevented by Catelyn. The Watch has been a soul-destroying nightmare, Ygritte’s offer of taking over a Tower “after” is not even worth a moment’s consideration to him. Every hope he ever had about his life has been disappointed.

Jon’s just about sixteen and is completely done. Sam notes how much time Jon spends in the training yard, even though he’s injured and off-duty for the title of turncloak. He does not bother voting in the Lord Commander election. A maligned outcast again. Forever.

The warg, I’ve heard them call me. How can I be a warg without a wolf, I ask you?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb’s voice, and my father’s, as if they were at a feast. But there’s a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me.” (ASOS, Samwell IV

He is lonely. Even Ghost is gone, his one proof that he belongs to something.

Stannis alienates Jon by talking ill of Robb, but he offers Jon recognition for the things he did right, a rare thing, and then he offers him legitimization. Basically, “You proved your worth and you have the Right blood. All you ever wanted can be yours. For the small price of breaking your oaths for real and of your own volition and forsaking your gods.” Downright mephistophelian.

Jon is torn, can’t sleep, fights. For the first time he has a real choice. He remembers the traumatic incident where his bastardy became a true concept to him.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he’d taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

And Jon’s response is a near black-out rage against his sparring partner. All his suppressed feelings of grief and anger and longing and loneliness are just broiling inside him.

Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

Jon soaks in the hot tub and thinks of Winterfell, mulls restoring it versus not belonging and destroying its soul in the process

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods

The tree is almost described like a person. A person with Tully coloring, like all his siblings save Arya. Like Sansa. The hot springs in Winterfell have a potential link to his decision to join the Watch, or at the very least to his siblings in general. The castle of Winterfell is juxtaposed with the heart, with the purpose and point of it all. Save a structure by destroying what made it a meaningful place? Betray his family in his heart, the person whose castle is truly is, betray all his values and his gods?

He takes a walk past sites of all his recent experiences and North the Wall over the recent battle field and just sits to think.

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset.

There’s an essay I could write about walls, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa (the sun to Arya’s moon) and how they all interact in the books, but let’s say just like this word play, the fact that Jon answers his own question is not an accident:

"Close your beak, crow. Spin yourself around, might be you'd find who you're looking for."

Jon turned.

The singer rose to his feet. (ASOS, Jon I)

The singer rose. Lyanna, his mother, the riddle. But also Sansa, who unwittingly took up her mantle. One unlocks his path to the other and everything that follows in his imagination:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

Jon paints a picture of recreating his own childhood with his wolf pack at Winterfell, only this time there are no outcasts, and he is the Father. He gets to be Ned. The Lord of Winterfell with a lady’s love. And a son, something he had, apparently, dreamed of until he stoppped.

He has always wanted this thing that he has no right to and it filled him with a guilt strong enough to concern the gods. But he admits it to himself, lets himself truly feel it. The feeling flows through him the same way the rage did earlier. powerful and all encompassing.

Like a dragonglass blade. There we have some lovely foreshadowing for a) potentiall the origin of the Others, b) Jon’s paternity, and c) his own death when his desire to abandon his vows and head to Winterfell is met with, you know, some blades. Not to mention d) his desire to have these things.

Each of these is answered by his primal hunger response. Which is of course, his connection to Ghost. The wolf he has so woefully said goodbye to, that he missed deeply and bitterly, chooses this moment to reappear. This moment where Jon returns to his own feelings, his true self.

a) the answer to the Others are the direwolves, the Starks, their magical connection to Winterfell and what happened way back when.

b) the answer to Jon’s paternity is a violent embrace of his mother’s side.

c) the answer to his own stabbing will be warging into Ghost and biding his time in there, becoming more wolf than he ever anticipated.

d) the answer to his heart’s desire...

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red suns. Arya’s wolf has golden coins (haggling for death, faceless men coins, spinning fates), Grey Wind has molten gold (like a crown that kills you).

Jon’s wolf has red suns. Like the colors that the sun painted on the Wall. The direwolf in heart tree colors, inverted bastard colors of house Stark, Tully colors, Sansa colors.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

Not the red gods, not fire. The old gods. the heart tree, the wolves. He may be a Snow, but the old gods gave him Ghost. His own wolf. His white wolf. His place was made by their will.

There is honor in that choice. No matter what anyone else says, Jon knows who he is and he has that power: to reject betraying his heart.

How does this choice led by Ghost fit the layers?

a) The answer to the Others: don’t steal, don’t trick. Be honest. Accept what was painful. Not the Wall matters, the answer is in the heart tree.

b) The Dragon father does not Need to guide his decisions. He can let that go. He is a Snow.

c) Being in Ghost will lead him back to himself. Not fire, not Melisandre. The old gods.

d) Well... What does Jon want? What IS his answer?

Jon is filled with sudden energy. He strides back, rejects Val in his mind, stalks dramatically into the dining hall and is suddenly voted Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We close on this:

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

Jon’s answer? We never hear it in this chapter.

We hear it in ADWD, Jon I:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa."

And ADWD, Jon IV:

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

The chapter is followed by? Sansa. Rebuilding Winterfell out of snow.

When Jon lets go of pretense, honestly asks himself what he wants, shame or not, his wolf takes over and helps him find the answer and the path. The answer is not in taking the Castle and creating a mimicry of what it was, it is in honoring what it truly was and truly means. The heart over the structure.

And in giving supremacy to the heart, to the red-white heart, he unknowingly paves the way for his own place: Winterfell built of Snow. He doesn’t have to steal the castle, he will be invited to belong.

That’s my own humble interpretation, anyway.

#asoiaf #jon snow #ASOS #Ghost the direwolf #asoiaf speculation #layered symbolism #foreshadowing #jonsa #Starklings

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Note

who do you think would prefer an s/o who’s charming, more of a people person, using their words to get what they want vs an s/o who’s more quiet, strategic, and plans and schemes to get what they want? is it a case of opposites attract, or would they want someone to compliment them? 👀

.......so i ended up having a lot of thoughts about this LOL

okay so i think this depends on the s/o’s morals! like you can be scheming to help others instead of hurting them. so let’s go with that bc i dont wanna brainstorm a low ethics/morality s/o (this makes me think of 7KPP, a fantastic visual novel that’s the only decent Court Drama Simulator vn i’ve come across). Also there’s a loooot of characters so imma just list the ones I have Strong Thoughts on and sort them by region oh lord what have you done my dork is showing

Northbois

So while I feel like Robb and Ned would prefer a more outgoing and charming sort of person ... I really can’t help but ship them with someone whose more cunning and can actually play the game of thrones. Like lord someone help these Starks because their intrigue score is 0 and they need someone protecting them from Tywin, Roose and Walder LOL. I can really see both father and son thinking their s/o is this sweet thing and not having a clue of how much scheming they’re actually doing to protect Winterfell... Ned would probs catch on after a while but Robb would just be blinded by love and devotion haha.

Sansa would probs want the first ideally, but as she gets older she’d greatly appreciate someone who has that sort of cunning and uses it for good purposes. Also she’d like a calm and steady personality to rely on.

Jory is a straight up honest guy to a fault, kinda like Ned, so he’d also prefer the first type of person and appreciate them more.

OKAY SO you’d think Roose would go for the second type but HEAR ME OUT. I think he’d go for both equally, or a mix of the two. Listen. I have a strong HC that he would be very attracted to someone who is his opposite in many ways - outgoing, charming, sweet and kind. If that person also happens to be cunning as hell and willing to manipulate anyone - even him - to protect what’s their’s, oof. He’s gone. I think he’d really get off on the idea of having an s/o who everyone is shocked he’s involved with bc “omg they’re sooo nice” and only he really knows their “other side”, so to speak. Realtalk I don’t think he’d go for someone just as morally awful as him bc he’d see them more as a threat than a potential partner.

Ramsay is a little shit that would also be attracted to the first kind of person but honestly needs the second type to keep his ass in line. That’s the sort of person who would figure him out and manipulate him accordingly so he isn’t skinning the goddamn neighbors. Also he wouldn’t give a damn about their morals so go off i guess just dont start any revolts in the north

VERY Northbois

Jon really doesn’t care for schemes, even if he acknowledges they’re useful, and he’d be attracted to someone who knows just what to say and is charismatic bc lord knows he’s struggled w that for a bit. Benjen really loves outgoing, charming and talkative peeps esp when they wiggle their way out of stuff or convince the upper command of the Watch to consider a different plan. He’ll be soooo attracted to that. Edd is kinda meh on both I’d feel? Like he’d prefer a quieter person but not a scheming sort, that’s too troublesome to deal with. I think he could come around to the first one eventually.

Mance super respects the second type, he finds it very attractive actually, especially when they start manipulating him into something and he catches them. Tormund is a dork and prefers outgoing people, totally doesn’t notice when he’s being taken in lol. He rlly hates the second sort of person, sees them as snakes.

Southbois

Edmure would absolutely be drawn to a gregarious and outgoing person! And if they can talk their way into or out of things thank god bc fishboy has a habit of putting his foot in his mouth. I really don’t think it’d work out with a schemer person bc of that Tully honor, and unlike Ned or Robb, Edmure would start to catch on (I don’t buy into the show characterization of Edmure like frack that he’s not an idiot). Brynden has a lot of experience and has seen a lot of BS, so he’d understand the risks and sacrifices his s/o would be making when they’re playing the game, and he’d really wish they wouldn’t!! Like yeah it’s to protect their family and friends but he wishes they didn’t have to do that. He wants to protect them on his own.

Brienne REALLY prefers someone whose honest and can talk their way in and out of things!! Like the Starks she’s very honorable and has no patience for lies and manipulating even if it’s for something good. It’d take a lot for her to trust and be attracted to that kind of person, they’d have to like... be very honest with her about what their plans are and why they’re doing them.

Kingslanding bois

oh lord Stannis okay so INITIALLY he’d be put off by both personalities for diff reasons - outgoing because socializing and diplomacy is something he just sucks at and the second one because holy hell he hates dishonesty and scheming. Now, he can admire a strategic and collected mind, but as soon as dishonorable plots roll in he starts side-eyeing. I think it would take some time for that latter personality to gain his trust, and if this is like... his wife we’re talking about, she’d probs have to scheme behind his back, even if it’s for his own sake. For an outgoing person, he could eventually befriend or fall for them once some common ground is found. He wouldn’t be able to admit how much he admires their people skills haha.

Davos understands that sometimes manipulating and scheming is needed and can be used for good, but personally he prefers a more diplomatic, out in the open approach. So the first type is def his kinda person. He could still befriend the second type as long as they’re not assholes, though.

Tywin would honestly work with both sides of the spectrum and in between, but ultimately, you’d have to understand who you’re dealing with. There’s no honor or high ground being involved with Tywin Lannister, and the s/o should expect to get dragged into his schemes, esp when he trusts them ... and that’s no easy feat. Ultimately it’s less of how you get what you want and more of ... what are you willing to do to get it. Pesky morals and all that.

Tyrion has had enough of his dad’s bullshit that he’d only be romantically involved with the first type, someone who uses sass and flattery like he does. He can still respect and befriend a more cunning person, though. Jaime also prefers the first type, he thinks it’s just because “oh I like outgoing and forward people” and not...”i’ve spent years dealing with lies and schemes from father and cersei”, yanno that old chestnut. Bronn definitely prefers gregarious and cheeky peeps, schemes go over his head and bore him.

Sandor dislikes both sorts of personalities for different reasons ... He’s offput by someone who would be very talkative and outgoing with him (like why are they talking to him wtf), and he also hates scheming and lying and all that, he’s seen too much of it. The first type has a better chance of befriending and getting close to him, the second not so much.

Petyr very much respects and admires both but like ... you know he’d prefer someone that he thinks he can outwit and manipulate, so probably more of the first type of personality because they seem less cunning and more of “just” a people person. Given his obsessive/yandere tendencies he probably wouldn’t notice he was being taken in by someone friendly and kind.

like okay weird thing to think about but just consider this... I really wonder what it’d be like if Robert had an s/o like the first one you mentioned. Not Cersei, certainly not his beloved Lyanna - a third party, a gracious and likeable queen that kinda makes up for his faults and she’s TRYING hard as hell. like idk if they’d ever fall in love but like idk i feel like his depression would be slightly lessened to have a partner that’s very beloved and tries to help him and put him in a good light in his subject’s minds. Am I making sense? She’s not perfect but she wants what’s best for the realm and if she’s gotta do it herself she will. IDK sorry this is a tangent, i think about major change AUs and their political consequences a lot

Heckin south n east bois

Margaery is a Big Gay and you can’t fight me on this, you will lose. She’s super attracted to the first kind of gal bc that’s def how she is herself! So she’d love to play those little word games with them. The second personality type she’d just write off as “eh quiet person” but once she got closer and began to realize their cunning and wittiness she’d def take an interest, esp if she found out about some good things they did. Then it’d be a classic “outgoing babe dating more reserved babe” and yall both would be VERY well-known in court. absolute power couple

Oberyn likes both equally! Especially if your motives are to help others and/or save your friends and family. He loves that kinda loyalty and he really admires someone who has a way with words and schemes in equal measure. Hell he does both himself. He might lean more toward an outgoing person just because that’s how he is too.

idk where to put Beric but he rlly likes the first kind of people!! He’d probs ask you to get supplies or money on the Brotherhood’s behalf, and he actually kinda likes it when he finds himself doing something you wanted cause you asked so nicely or talked him into it ..... Thoros calls him a simp and it’s true ok don’t bully he can’t help it

& lastly Essosssss

So, I think Daenerys would be a lot more drawn to the second kinda person. First of all: Very mysterious, ooh. Secondly, she’d appreciate a cool head that will tell her the truth and is willing to do more unsavory things bc they believe in her so much. Obvs she would need someone with unquestionable loyalty, and once she tests and is reassured of that loyalty, then she could start some kinda romance. She’s def attracted to someone who can get shit done that way.

Jorah is a big opposite in that he’s kinda had to do that unsavory stuff himself and is still ashamed by it, and generally doesn’t trust people like Littlefinger and Varys and Illyrio, etc so he’d prefer someone who is just genuine and talks their way out of things. Also yall know him he can’t resist once he starts liking someone like cmon

Grey Worm is absolutely in the first camp too but for diff reasons! Scheming and all that shit just makes him nervous and he distrusts it, even if it’s for Daenerys’ sake. He just wouldn’t associate with the person ... Someone more outgoing would definitely fluster him more but at least he could feel like he could trust them. Missandei can go either way - she knows the power in both diplomacy and manipulation, and would likely admire and be pulled to someone who uses both to help people.

sorry i got so wordy and a bit repetitive lol both are like, my fav kinda character archtypes, esp for court settings.

#libra says #libra says A LOT OF SHIT LOL oops #yall can send in stuff like this anytime idgaf its interesting #libra headcanons #got x reader #got imagines #game of thrones x reader

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amymel86 · 3 years

Note

Please, please, please, PLEASE post anothe snippet

A little sneak peek please

Everything you write is amazing

asdkjshfhddfdfd!! Thank you so much, anon! Sending this message was so incredibly sweet and I really appreciate it!

I wasn’t sure what to share that I hadn’t already but as I’m currently working on the epilogue to Redamancy and I am just so weirded out that *I* am about to finish a long fic, I thought I’d share a bit of that on this fine sunday :) ...

Seven Years Later...

The morning filters through their curtains in dappling light. Jon blinks his eyes open to be met with his nose buried within a mass of copper silk. Sighing happily, He tightens his arm around his wife and begins to grow hard against the curve of her backside.

“You’re needed at the treehouse today,” she mumbles into her pillow. “So don’t get any funny ideas.”

Sansa had sold the apartment that Jon had fatefully rented from her when they’d first met. With that money, they saved Robb from having to carve out the ancient Stark lands to finance his Tree House Event Rooms. They bought the old Gamekeeper’s Cottage and both returned to living in the North, complete with little Melody of course.

“My idea isn’t particularly funny,” he tells her, voice a tad raspy as he grinds his erection into her ass. “But it is very fun though.”

Sansa giggles and arches back into him. “As tempting as that is, Mr Snow, my brother is the one who needs your energy today.”

Jon groans and rolls to his back, his hand slipping under the waistband of his boxers to grip himself and will his lust away. Impossible - what with her right beside him. He’ll never not want her.

She’s right though. He’s wanted early to help Robb set up for a wedding they’re hosting at the tree house. Their business is doing well and both Jon and Sansa can be found pitching in for the many bookings at Winterfell Events.

Rising, Jon manages to calm his libido while taking his morning shower. When he’s done, the thought of breakfast pulls at him as he descends the staircase. He expects to find his wife at the stove, but the sight that greets him is of her on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor, carefully picking broken shards of glass from spilt milk.

“I’ve told them not to move,” she says, gesturing to the three children stood, barefoot in the kitchen.

“We were helping mummy make your favourite pancakes!” Melly says proudly.

“But Olly dropped the glass jug,” her sister, Rosie Lyanna -hastily (and accidentally, although happily) conceived not long after her big sister’s birth- pipes up.

Olly has retreated to the corner, his face turned down and scarlet red.

“It was just an accident, Olly,” Sansa says as she mops up the milk with a tea towel. The boy says nothing, continuing to study his toes. Sansa exchanges a look with Jon.

Olly is their first foster child. He is eight and has been in the care system since he was four years old. His file says he is suspected to have learning difficulties that sets off his frustration which in turn leads to shows of anger. As far as Jon and Sansa can see, he’s very bright when he’s engaged, but so far not much has been done to help him.

Even though the boy has a head of dirty blonde hair and big, brown eyes, to say that Jon can see himself in Olly is a bit of an understatement.

His heart lurches just looking at the expression on his tucked down face – he remembers it well; expecting to hear the disappointment, the punishment.

“Be careful!” Sansa warns as Jon tip-toes over with socked feet. First, he picks up Rosie (named because of the authentic blue winter roses both he and Sansa had been determined to find and take to Old Nan and his mother’s grave. They had still been in her King’s Landing apartment at the time and the whole place had nearly been turned into a fragrant rose greenhouse with the amount of failed fake white ones they had dotted around the place. One of them had bloomed winter blue for the second time on the day they’d brought their second daughter back from the hospital.) Jon kisses her nose as he puts her down safely in the lounge area. She giggles, making her little ginger curls bounce. Jon goes back for Melody, swiping her up in his arms and making her shriek and laugh as he throws her down on the sofa.

Tiptoeing back into the kitchen, Jon approaches Olly. “Want me to lift you too, buddy?”

The boy shakes his head. “I’ll wait until she’s done,” he says, nodding his head toward Sansa.

“Ok,” Jon tells him. “We’ll wait together. You wanna sit on the kitchen counter?” he offers, holding his hands out ready to lift him up. Olly looks behind him at the counter and then tentatively back at Jon. He nods and allows himself to be lifted.

“He was really keen to help,” Sansa tells Jon after all had been tidied up and the children were occupied. Olly had retreated to the safety of his room. “But then he accidently dropped the measuring jug and it’s like he just shut down.”

Jon smiles softly at the worry in his wife’s eyes. He’s reminded of a hazy, whiskey-soaked night where she was picking up shards of shattered glass then too. He’d been so consumed with the thought that no one would ever give him a chance at love.

“Do you think we should give him his space or go and talk to him? I just wanted to hug him so much but I don’t think he’s ready for that,” Sansa says, worrying her lip.

And there she is. Jon’s heart swells in his chest.

Wrapping his arms around her, Jon gently kisses her cheek. “Let’s get the pancake ingredients out again and ask him if he wants to come and mix the batter.”

*Olly might get changed to an OC since I’m not 100% sure about invoking the memory of the show character lol He might become ‘Olyvar’ instead.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #fic snippet #redamancy #modern au #donor au

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millysaurusrex · 4 years

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Your Gendrya fics are giving me life 😍 can you write about their wedding day/getting married? Thank you!!!

Soooooooooo it took me a year to actually do this. But......here it is 😂

The wedding between Arya & Gendry as seen by the old gods

The lord smith is not of the old gods. He was born beneath the eyes of the seven, in a small tavern near the Sept of Balor - though he does not pray to them either. He is southern borne, with warm skin tanned by a lifetime of working blazing fires, and eyes blue like the sea that crashes upon the rocks. He is different from the southerners, not perfumed and ceremonious. He is different than the northerners, too, with their cold roughness.

He is of soot and steel and fire.

The smith cuts an impressive figure in black and gold, a crowned stag salient stitched proudly into the fur of his cloak. His blue eyes nervously sweep over the thick circle of trees that make up the godswood. It is a small, intimate affair with only the lady Sansa, her brother lord Bran, ser Brienne and the newly knighted ser Podrick in attendance. A heaviness sits over the holy grounds, a sense of mourning for a small family which once was larger, and an eerie silence which once was filled with laughter.

Through a clearing of trees, a girl stills her breath. She knows how to quell the heavy beat of her thundering heart. She stands tall and brave, as women of the North often do, and shifts her grey eyes to where her betrothed awaits. He cannot see her, behind the trail of trees that twist and turns into the courtyard, but it’s as if his eyes still meet with hers. It is how it’s always been, how it has been through weeks and months, years and centuries. They have only just found one another again, but they have been linked together for eternity.

The gods know this. They’ve seen Stark after Stark married beneath the weirwood tree from Bran the Builder to Ned Stark. They have watched as this love story played out over and over and over. Those that follow the seven call it fate, but in the north they know it is the gods will.

For these two souls have always been in the gods plans. Their souls have found one another time and time again. It was always how it was to be.

Sometimes, the souls meet here, in the cold and distant mountains of the north. Sometimes, they meet far beyond the ice wall, wild and free. Sometimes, they meet as children. Sometimes as young lovers. Sometimes long after their first husbands and wives are dead. But they’ve always been bound to one another.

She is still and serious, a slight flex of her fingers the only telltale sign of her discomfort. She is as formidable a sight as the lord smith; the dark grey fur of her maidens cloak a sharp contrast against the white snow. Her hair is dark, curling down around her shoulders. Her face is pale, marred with scars and bruises that might never heal.

“Are you nervous?” The Targaryen lord asks. She turns to him, seeing a different face, the face of a boy who always loved her, though he feared he’d never belong to their family. He is not her cousin, she knows. For if some bastard boys on the kings road can become her brothers, then surely so can this man. So she refuses his name, the one his mother whispered as she bled out in a lone tower far away. He will always be Jon Snow to her.

“I never wanted this.” She says softly. And it’s the truth. She’d never wanted this life, the life of a bride, the lady of a lord husband. She couldn’t be that person. So she became someone else.

“It’s not too late to turn back.” Jon says, touching her elbow with a gentleness that is all brother and not would-be-king. “You can refuse. Gendry will understand.”

It is also the truth. The lord smith would never force her. She has done it before, turned him away, told him she could not share that life with him. He would never hate her. But she might hate herself.

“No. If there is anything I’m sure of, it’s him. It’s always been him.”

And so Jon links his arm with hers and they make their way to the heart tree, where her everything waits. She has searched the world for all that she has lost: love, hope, strength, family. But she knows it is all there, wrapped in the colors of a home he’d never known. He was nearly as lost as she was - two

children of dead lords trying to make it back home.

Her steps are silenced by the thick snow and she baits her breath, her face steely with determination. Even this child of winter, this wild wolf, cannot deny the pull. The gods have led her to her mate, like her family’s sigil. The wolf and the stag. Beast and prey. She has always been the hunter, and he the hunted. But, in this moment, as she makes her way through the trees and catches his eyes, it is she who feels like prey.

His wild blue eyes capture her attention until they are all she sees. The godswood have never been quite so beautiful, it is the perfect day for a winter wedding, but it is he she sees, and only he.

He looks so serious, so confident, almost regal, she thinks, and the thought that this man, this bastard boy from the slums of King’s Landing, could be this noble lord in front of her is almost laughable. But, her heart fills with something heavier than laughter, something that fills it completely and it is a blessing that Jon is holding her arm, else she might run like a fool to the lord smith.

She has never been quite so sure of anything.

When they reach the heart tree, and Jon places her hand in Gendry’s, Arya feels it. The sudden, audible silence that fills the godswood. It is as if the wind has paused, the winter birds have silenced. The lord smith notices, too, although he does not know these gods and the magic of the godswood. He is just in tuned with her.

His eyes shoot to the sky, thick brows furrowing. She squeezes his hand reassuringly, and when he looks to her, his eyes tell her everything. There is magic here. Magic older than any of them could imagine.

It is Maester Tarly who marries them. His smile is sheepish but kind. “You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had the pleasure of doing one of these before.”

She smiles and reaches out with her free hand, squeezes his arm. “I don’t think any of us have.” Her betrothed grins, too. After all they had been through, a wedding seems so foreign.

But Samwell carries on. He asks who comes before the old gods, and one by one they announce themselves.

“Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

“Gendry Baratheon of Storms End.”

And soon they are kneeling, cold snow seeping through their fine clothes, as they bow their heads and pray. Well, she prays. She is not sure Gendry believes in her gods, but he closes his eyes anyhow, and it is silent all around them.

All around her she feels eyes staring at her. And in her minds eye, she sees them. Sees father and mother, Robb and Rickon. Even Summer, Greywind, Lady and Shaggydog are there, watching them. Jory, Maester Luwin, Old Nan. A woman who looks like her, a flower crown neatly in her long dark hair. Her aunt Lyanna. And a man, built like Gendry with the same stubborn blue eyes. It is hard to remember the king, but here he is younger, healthier. Ghosts bearing witness to this moment.

She prays to gods she has not prayed to in ages. Asks them to watch over her and her new lord husband, asks that, after all the horrors they have endured, that they at last find some happiness.

It is only when Sam gently clears his throat that Arya opens her eyes, unwilling to let go of the warmth of feeling her family surround her. But, they are once again in the godswood with what is left of her family.

Gendry squeezes her arm, and her eyes meet his, Baratheon blue and Stark grey and she is suddenly filled with the sense that they have built a new family, a family of their own. Sansa, Jon, Bran, ser Brienne, ser Podrick, ser Davos, even Sam and Gilly and little Sam. They are here to witness the joining of House Stark and House Baratheon, as the gods always have willed. It was always meant to happen.

So, when the lord smith carefully removes her maiden cloak and wraps her in black and gold, the snow birds begin to sing and the godswoods are filled with distant howling. Tears prickle her eyes as his warm hands flatten against her cheek and she leans in to kiss her new husband.

Yes, the gods have always willed it.

#gendrya #gendry x arya #asoiaf #arya stark #took me forever #gendrya wedding

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jackoshadows · 4 years

Text

@currentlyconfused16

So I didn’t want to reblog this post:

https://currentlyconfused16.tumblr.com/post/618980963706355712/jackoshadows-reganx2

you commented on since it had other reblogs and comments and I thought I would make a separate post on this since I have received similar comments on other posts, namely that:

I actually do think and hope that Sansa will end up as the Lady of Winterfell in the books (maybe Queen of the North, idk) but she’ll be much more prepared, as her current arc in the books is about learning how to play the game of thrones and being in charge of her own destiny, surrounded by her family. Which is why her show ending is so disappointing. Yes, she ends up on a throne in Winterfell, but she’s alone, with no family or true friends around her, surrounded by bannermen who hardly know her. The books have always put emphasis on the Starks being and working together in the end, and they all end up alone.

So let me address why I think that Sansa is not going to end up in charge of Winterfell at the end of the books. This is just my interpretation and speculation based on the books and the author’s thoughts and opinions.

I am coming at this from the perspective of a book reader. If you have not read the books, then just skip to the tl;dr version at the end 😁

First, note that the only ending on the show confirmed to be from the books/GRRM is Bran being King on the Iron Throne/7K. D&D have variously explained the badly written other endings of the show as being there to ‘subvert expectations’ and because ‘it would be different’ and ‘it would be unexpected’ and to ‘surprise the audience’ etc.

Second, playing the game ≠ ruling a kingdom. The show equated the two in order to push their Queen Sansa narrative. But that has never been a thing in the books. GRRM has clearly shown this with the narratives of the actual rulers and entire books on what it actually takes to rule city states. What Littlefinger does in the books and what Dany, Stannis and Jon do are entirely different things. The one has no connection to another. Do you think that Littlefinger or Varys would be good rulers?

Sansa’s ending has been particularly criticized because it makes no sense - it’s like fitting a round peg into a square hole. D&D knew the book endings from GRRM before they wrote season 3 - if Sansa is going to end up in charge of Winterfell, he would have have given them a path to queen Sansa and they could have figured out a way to do it on the show.

In contrast to Bran/Isaac Hempstead who sat out an entire season, was sidelined and basically given nothing much to do on the show other than exposition, D&D have admitted in interviews that they wanted MORE Sophie Turner on the show and therefore gave her the plot of another book character.

Their exact words:

“And it’s because of Turner’s strength, Benioff continued, that it made sense to give Sansa a dramatic storyline this season and to use Ramsay’s engagement for that very purpose. In fact, the showrunners first thought about putting Sansa and Ramsay together back when they were writing season 2. “We really wanted Sansa to play a major part this season,” Benioff said. “If we were going to stay absolutely faithful to the book, it was going to be very hard to do that. There was a subplot we loved from the books, but it used a character that’s not in the show.”

https://ew.com/article/2015/04/26/game-thrones-sansa-ramsay-interview/

To re-iterate, Sansa will have nothing to do with the battle of the bastards or retaking Winterfell in the books. She is stuck in the Vale and will not be going North anytime soon. Ramsay Bolton is Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow’s nemesis. They are going to be the ones taking him down along with Stannis Baratheon.

Out of all the Starks, Sansa has the least connection to the North in the books. She grew up revering the south and learned from a Septa. Every other Stark (Other than Rickon) knows more about the North and how it works than Sansa Stark. We can read it in their POV chapters. Every other Stark has a living Direwolf - the symbol of house Stark. Sansa lost hers after siding against her family and with the Lannisters.

The show just put the Starks into boxes: Sansa - politician, Jon - warrior, Arya - fighter/Killer, Bran - warg. This is not true in the books. Arya and Jon are also strong wargs and connected to Rickon and Bran through warging via their direwolves. Something that Sansa cannot do because Lady is dead.

Jon Snow is planning Stannis’ entire Northern campaign, advising him on the finer details of Northern politics and battle. He has learned the same as Robb from the same people. So has Bran. Bran Stark has actually ruled Winterfell as the prince of Winterfell. Arya Stark sat by her father Ned Stark and learned from him as he worked with the people of the North. She is currently learning manipulation, reading emotion, languages and courtly manners from the Faceless Men.

There is no way that Sansa is going to be in charge of Winterfell over these other Starks who have actual experience and knowledge in how the North works as opposed to her. Does Sansa know how to attack Deepwood Motte? Does Sansa know how to approach the Mountain clans? These are things that Jon has learned from Ned Stark - the man that Sansa calls stupid on the show.

Then there is the fact that GRRM has put a couple of obstacles in the story to prevent Sansa from getting Winterfell as Ned’s eldest daughter.

She is still married to Tyrion in the books - a marriage that cannot be easily annulled. There has to be a friendly regime in KL before this marriage can be undone. Until then she is disinherited by Robb Stark’s will and no ruler friendly to the North will want to see a Lannister get Winterfell.The show ignored this marriage.

Jon Snow has been legitimized as Jon Stark by Robb Stark’s will. That makes him the eldest living Stark child and his age, experience and knowledge of the North makes him a strong contender to be Lord of Winterfell as opposed to LF’s protégé in the south. If he becomes KITN by Robb’s will in the books, he will also be the Lord of Winterfell. The show ignored all this to make Sansa Lady of Winterfell.

Robb’s will is binding. Meaning that once Jon is legitimized, there is no going back on this. Catelyn makes it a point to warn Robb about this - which indicates that it will be important later on in the books.

Bran and Rickon are still alive and well in the North. GRRM reminded everyone on his blog that Rickon was still alive in the books after the show killed him off to make Sansa the Lady of Winterfell on the show. Bran randomly tells Sansa that he cannot be lord of anything, only to go on to become King on the show. Garbage writing to once again justify Sansa in charge of WF even if it makes no sense.

Now, one can make the argument that if Rickon dies in the books as he does on the show, Bran is king of the 7K at the end and Jon is exiled as in the show, then Sansa can end up in charge of Winterfell. I disagree. Why? The answer is Arya.

Arya is arguably GRRM’s central female character in the books. She is the female character with the most POV chapters in the books after Jon and Tyrion. She was one of the first characters he created and other characters like Sansa were created around her. Sansa was created as a foil to Arya and because he wanted that one Stark family member who did not get along with the rest of them like for all the other houses.

Because of D&D’s open preference for Sansa over Arya - they have said as much in interviews - they gave over many of book Arya’s narrative themes, plot significance and relationships to show Sansa. The entire reason for why Sansa ended up in the North on the show is plot borrowed from the books for another character that is all about Arya’s importance to the North and several characters and houses fighting over Arya Stark to hold the North. The North is rising up for Arya in the books. They basically erased Arya from her story to put Sansa in there. Thematic words like - ‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives’ belong in Arya’s story in the books, not Sansa’s.

So basically the show had to co-opt Arya’s story and hand it over to Sansa to give her a path to QITN/Lady of Winterfell on the show. It could not be any more clearer here which character is headed towards being Lady of Winterfell and possible Warden of the North in the books. Hint: It’s not Sansa.

Arya still has a strong connection to her Direwolf Nymeria described thus:

“She says there's this great pack, hundreds of them, mankillers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell."

"Some will tell you that they are demons. They say the pack is led by a monstrous she-wolf, a stalking shadow grim and grey and huge. They will tell you that she has been known to bring aurochs down all by herself, that no trap nor snare can hold her, that she fears neither steel nor fire, slays any wolf that tries to mount her, and devours no other flesh but man."

“Wolves. Hundreds of the bloody beggars." He'd lost two sentries to them. The wolves had come out of the dark to savage them. "Armed men in mail and boiled leather, and yet the beasts had no fear of them. Before he died, Jate said the pack was led by a she-wolf of monstrous size. A direwolf, to hear him tell it. The wolves got in amongst our horse lines too. The bloody bastards killed my favorite bay."

And as per GRRM, Nymeria and her pack of wolves will have a major role to play in the North where they are headed. We already know that direwolves are going to be taking on Ramsay’s dogs in the battle of the bastards from GRRM’s notes. Which direwolves? Ghost? Shaggydog? A Bitch from the seventh Hell with her pack of wolves? All of them?

Arya is symbolic of the North. The other daughters of the North - Lyanna Mormont, Wylla Manderly, Alys Karstark etc. - are all Arya types in terms of personality and looks. The Arya/Lyanna comparisons have been strongly made in the books for a reason.

And finally Arya is the only Stark to have the Stark look. The only one. Think about this for a second - who would GRRM have end up as the last Stark in charge of Winterfell if Bran, Rickon and Jon are out of contention for the position? The Stark with the traditional long face and grey eyes of House Stark or the Stark with the red hair and blue eyes of house Tully?

Who will be Lady of Winterfell? The Stark with the Direwolf or the Stark without one? The Stark who has learned how the North works from her father or the Stark who has not learned this? The Stark who is still following her father’s words - ‘The man who passes the sentence should wield the sword’ while far away in Braavos or the Stark who is complicit in her little cousin’s slow poisoning in the Vale?

And lastly Arya has a lot of foreshadowing/hints of becoming a leader in the books. She is one of the rare nobles in the books who is friendly with the small folk, sympathizes with them and actively helps them - hallmarks of GRRM’s leaders like Dany and Jon. Varys’ description of a perfect ruler fits Arya to a tee:

Aegon has been shaped for rule before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them"

Of course Varys is describing Aegon here, but everything he says holds true for Arya as well and is basically GRRM laying the groundwork for leader Arya. Arya’s ability to connect with the common folk, to identify with them, to work with them, to know them personally, to sympathize with them, is all leading to a path towards her becoming a leader of all the people.

And finally why am I saying that this Queen Sansa is D&D giving Sophie Turner her desired ending? Because that’s very evident from all their interviews. Sophie has wanted Sansa to be Queen and has been pushing this narrative since season 6 - talking about how every other character was useless except for Sansa - something that Sophie seems to actually believe in.

D&D have openly stated in interviews that at a certain point they stopped adapting Sansa and Arya from the books and based these characters on what Sophie and Maisie wanted for them. And Maisie clearly takes her lead from Sophie. That’s why the show versions resemble a self insert Mary sue propped up at the expense of other characters.

Queen Sansa at the end makes absolutely no sense when her brother, a Stark, just became King of the 7K. You mentioned as much in your post. So why was it there? In an interview they gave in Japan after the show ended D&D talked about being most interested in the Stark sisters and their endings because they had known them as child actors and seen them grow into adults from tiny children. (Isaac for some reason gets no such consideration from them even though he was an even younger child actor).

So it was not really about the characters at that point but more about the actors. It’s not that hard to put two and two together and come up with four here. It was a completely nonsensical ending for Sansa in a long list of other nonsensical endings on the show that they just put in there to make Sophie happy. That’s all. It’s clear they had just given up on making a well written show for the final season with shit like ‘Well Dany just forgot about the Iron fleet’ . So what’s one more garbage writing in there to make their child actress happy?

And to be clear, I am not blaming Sophie here. I am blaming the adults, the supposed expert writers of a big budget HBO TV show adapting a popular book series. Who, instead of adapting the book characters, decided to let a couple of teenagers dictate the writing for their characters on this show.

TL;DR: The show reduced and took away Jon, Arya, Bran and Rickon’s important roles in the North in the books and replaced it with Sansa from season 5 onwards in order to give Sophie Turner more to do on the show. They gave away book Arya’s narrative themes, plot significance and importance to show Sansa, then kicked Arya out and gave the North to the least deserving Stark on the show. The only logical conclusion that can be made from all this is that Sansa will not end up Lady of Winterfell/QITN in the books.

#Arya Stark #Bran Stark #Jon Snow #Rickon Stark #House Stark #Asoiaf #GOT #anti D&D #Book Sansa

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 4 years

Text

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentySeven

Title: Swear It

Words: 1,677

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I’ve been looking for jobs (even though there aren’t any) and trying to remain sane while locked up in my house with my entire family. I’ve also been trying to write more things to give y’all more content. I’m going to make a whole different post about that, so go give it a look! Enjoy the chapter!

Taglist: @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

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Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

“Half are gone,” Greyworm said as he took some markers off of the war map.

“The Northmen as well,” Jon said. Yhon Royce grabbed some as well as a member of the Dothraki.

“And the Golden Company has arrived in King’s Landing.” Varys put a marker down. “Courtesy of the Greyjoy Fleet.”

“The balance is growing even,” you mused.

“We will rip her out. Root and stem,” Daenerys said, eyes straightforward.

“The objective here is to remove Cersei from King’s Landing without destroying the city.” Tyrion looked up at Daenerys and all she did was throw daggers with her eyes.

“Thankfully, she’s losing allies every day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in the name of her Queen, Daenerys of House Targaryen. The new Prince of Dorne has also pledged his support.”

“It won’t matter how many Lords or Houses turn against her. As long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“So you’re saying that we need the Capital,” you said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen the people of King’s Landing rebel against their King when they were hungry. And that was before Winter began. Give them the opportunity and they will cast Cersei aside in favor of you,” Tyrion said. You could tell that he didn’t want the people to become collateral damage. He wanted as little death and destruction as possible.

“So we surround the city. If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, we’ll burn them with the dragons,” Jon said.

“And if the Lannisters or the Golden Company decide to attack, we’ll defeat them on the field,” you chimed in. “Cersei is our only enemy and once the people see that, it’s all over for her.”

It was silent for a moment as Dany mulled over the options. You knew that she wanted to go all out and randomly attack the Capital, but she knew that doing that would cause more harm than good.

“Alright,” she said.

“Many of the men we have are exhausted and wounded,” Sansa said. “They’ll fight better if they have the time to rest and heal.”

“How long do you suggest?” Daenerys asked her.

“I can’t say for certain. Not without talking to the officers.”

“I have come to help you and your people at great cost to mine and me. Now is the time to pay back and you want to postpone.” Daenerys posed it like a question but by the severity of her tone it was a statement.

“It’s not just our people. It’s yours too,” you said, trying to diffuse the tension. “They’re not ready to fight again so soon. All of them.”

“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become.”

You sighed internally at the two hot-headed girls and rubbed your stomach absentmindedly, ignoring the conversation in front of you. You didn’t even really know why you were at the meeting in the first place. It wasn’t like you were going to fight and you technically weren’t a Stark anymore. You grimaced at that thought and started to lean on the table. In a flash, Varys was beside you.

“Are you alright, milady?” He said quietly.

“Yes, thank you. The baby was just kicking.”

“Do you need a chair, Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked you. You looked up and saw everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Yes. That would be helpful.” Daenerys gestured to Greyworm and he dutifully fetched a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He nodded in response and retook his place by the Queen. The conversation continued and you tried to pay attention.

“Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops along with the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor and sail from there to Dragonstone, with our Queen and her dragons accompanying us from above.” Tyrion paused for a second. “Ser Jaime has decided to stay here, as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell.”

“We have won the Great War,” Daenerys said. “Now we will win the Last War.”

She looked around the room and when no one said anything, walked out the door. Everyone else followed until it was only the Starks left. Jon started to leave as well, but Arya cut him off at the door.

“We need a word.”

---

“You understand they we’d all be dead if it she wasn’t here,” Jon said. “We’d be corpses marching down to King’s Landing.”

“Arya’s the one who killed the Night King!” Sansa said.

“Her men gave their lives for Winterfell—“

“And we will never forget them,” you said. “That doesn’t mean that I want to bend the knee to someone who can’t even respect me.”

“I swore myself and the North to her cause.”

“I respect that,” Arya voiced.

“You respect it?”

“We needed her. Her army and her dragons. You did the right thing. And we’re doing the right thing telling you that we don’t trust your Queen.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I do. And I still don’t trust her,” you said.

“We don’t know her. We never will. She’s not one of us,” Arya said.

“If you only trust the people you grew up around then you won’t make allies!”

“That’s alright. I don’t need many allies.”

“Arya—“

“We’re family. The five of us. The last of the Starks.”

“I’ve never been a Stark,” Jon said after a moment.

“You are. You’re just as much Ned Stark’s child as any of us,” Sansa said.

“You’re my brother. Not a half-brother or bastard brother.” Arya stepped forward.

“You’re our brother,” you said softly, putting your hand on his arm. Jon looked at the four of you and placed his hand on yours. He looked at Bran with a torn look on his face. You could see that he was fighting something inside of him and you got slightly confused. It only escalated when Bran spoke.

“It’s your choice,” Bran said. You and your sisters looked at Bran then back to Jon. Jon was nodding and it seemed as though he had come to a decision.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon said. “But you have to swear that you’ll never tell another soul.”

“What is it?” Arya asked.

“You have to swear before I tell you.”

“How can I promise to keep a secret before I even know what it is?” Sansa said.

“Because we’re family. Swear it. Please.”

“I swear it,” you said. The two youngest swore as well.

“Tell them,” Jon said to Bran. The three of you turned to Bran and he just looked at you for a moment.

“Jon isn’t Jon Snow. He is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He was born in Dorne where our father, his uncle, took him before he could be killed by the late King Robert.”

Your eyes were wide and you looked up to Jon.

“So this means that you have a claim to the Iron Throne,” you whispered.

“Yes, but I do not want it.”

“I know that. Have you told Daenerys?” The way Jon flinched told you what you needed to know.

“How did she take it?” Sansa asked.

“She was definitely not thrilled. She thinks that I want the throne, and no matter what I say it won’t leave her mind.”

“Fuck,” you muttered.

“And I take it she is the reason why we can’t breathe a word of this?” Arya said.

“I wasn’t even supposed to tell the four of you. Especially not you.”

“Because if we know then the knowledge is in powerful hands,” Sansa mused.

“Yes.”

“So what are we going to do?” You asked.

“We are going to do as our Queen says and you are not allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

---

It had been a few days since you and your siblings had that talk in the Godswood. You mostly kept to yourself and if you were around someone, it was Sansa or the Maester. The Maester had told you that in a few days he was going to put you on bedrest for the rest of your pregnancy. You weren’t looking forward to that so you tried to do whatever you could before that happened.

You had also moved rooms to be closer to Sansa and to get out of the place you once shared with Sandor. All of your things had been moved by someone else and you were reading by the fire when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, looking up from your book.

The door opened and Arya walked in.

“Arya! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to see you before I left,” she said.

“You’re leaving?” Your eyes widened. “You’re not going to fight, are you?”

“I’m going to be the one to kill Cersei.”

“Arya, love, don’t be too hasty. Bad things come to those who go looking for death. And I have a bad feeling about this battle. I do not think that Daenerys is going to keep her promise and spare the people of King’s Landing.” You struggled out of your chair and Arya was by your side quickly.

“Don’t push yourself, [y/n],” Arya said. “If you worry too much it will put stress on the baby.”

“How can I not worry when my sister is going off to a slaughter?” There were tears in your eyes and Arya brushed them away.

“How about this. If it gets too much and things start going too much out of hand, I will turn around and come straight back home. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffled. “I’ve already lost Sandor again. I can’t bear to lose you too.”

Arya’s eyes hardened just the slightest bit but you didn’t notice. She gathered you into a hug and rubbed your back gently.

“You won’t lose me.” You sniffed again and squeezed Arya as tightly as you possibly could.

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

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