#let arya and theon be friends challenge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsmionet · 4 years

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Challenge accepted

Fake dating AU

Robert Baratheon is retiring from politics and the Lannisters throw a little retirement party. Out of courtesy and politeness, Eddard Stark forces his family to go. After a while, Joffrey starts poking fun at Sansa until Margaery sweeps in to save the night by pretending to date Sansa.

“So I’m standing there barefoot, my lasagne only mid-eaten, the car has caught on fire and my boyfriend is coming out of the portable toilet with a roll of toilette paper rolled up his torso-“

Sansa walked past Arya as fast as she could. She didn’t want to listen again to that unrefined story of hers. The first time she had to sit through that story had scarred her enough for life. She did not want to hear it ever again.

Sansa made her way over to the table where the drinks were being served. She hated the party. The only reason she was there is because her father had forced all Starks to go. ‘It’s important that we all attend. To show our gratitude to Robert for his services.’ Sansa could still hear Robb’s snort and Arya mumbling disgruntledly upon their father’s words.

This year Robert Baratheon retired from politics after nearly 40 years in the office. Everyone at the Stark household except for Ned had cheered upon the news, but their bliss had quickly faded away as soon as they learnt whose name was among the candidates running for the open position. The list was pretty dreadful as it were –with names like Baelish, Stannis and Euron Greyjoy– but when you added Joffrey to the bunch, it only made it that much worse. And because Eddard Stark had a place on the council, he had been invited to Robert’s retirement party, which the Lannisters pretty much singlehandedly organised, aided with the Tyrells’ money.

Sansa poured herself a double whiskey and downed it all in one go. The drink burnt her throat but in a pleasant way. She sighed contently whilst filling her glass up again.

“Thought I’d find you by the alcohol stand.” A voice called out from behind her. Sansa pursed her lips together and clutched her glass tightly in her hand. “You picked up that trait from your father, surely.” Cersei Lannister chuckled dryly as she stood alongside Sansa. She didn’t cast her even once glance before she grabbed the closest bottle of wine and emptied it all on her glass.

“Nice party.” The redhead forced a smile on her face but she knew Cersei could see right through her. Not that she particularly cared, but she still had to put on a façade for her father’s sake.

“Oh, is it? You’ve barely been here for 10 minutes, most of which you’ve spent drinking my alcohol.” Cersei had drank half glass by the time she turned to face Sansa. Once she did, she looked at Sansa up and down, as if searching for something in particular.

“You can scarcely call it ‘your alcohol’ when it’s meant for the guests, can’t you?” Sansa flashed the blonde woman her brightest smile, albeit it was a fake one. Both women knew. Still, they both had to keep up the appearances.

“Hmm, I see that, unlike your dress, your boldness has grown larger.” The redhead was wearing a navy blue cocktail dress, with a golden strip on both shoulders. She’d found the exact dress that combined perfectly sophistication with a hint of sexiness. It was cut right above her knees, which meant it was short enough to be considered seducing, but still long enough to be an appropriate option to wear among her father’s colleagues. She completed the look with a pair of black heels.

“What can I say?” Sansa titled her head to the side casually. Her tone was polite and even borderline playful. “Time does wonders to a person, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, it does.” Cersei tried to suppress the growl out of her voice, but she didn’t hide it quite as well as she would have wanted. “So” the woman scanned the room lazily when a thought popped into her head “is that uncivilised sister of yours around?” Cersei smirked, thinking she’d hit the nail on the head to get a rise out of the girl, but instead Sansa’s eyes lit up. She titled her head towards where Arya was standing.

“Hmm” she hummed “I believe she’s telling an uncivilised story to your kids.”

Cersei’s head couldn’t have spun faster. She looked across the room until her eyes landed on Arya. She was with Tommen and Myrcella and it seemed both kids were extremely enjoying themselves. Cersei didn’t like that one bit. Not only were her children getting along with a Stark, but by the hand gestures Arya was making Cersei knew that story was not for kids.

Before Sansa had the chance to add some witty remark, Cersei sprinted across the room to snatch Tommen and Myrcella away from Arya. The brunette blinked at the abruptness at which Cersei had taken the kids away, but she didn’t give it much thought and made her way to the alcohol stand instead.

Sansa grinned once Arya was by her side. “I take it Cersei didn’t like your story?”

Arya shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t see why not. That story had everything: action, drama, suspense...”

The redhead chuckled and shook her head “I’m sure once you think it through you’ll know why she didn’t find it so amusing.”

“What about you?” Arya redirected the conversation as she grabbed another beer. Sansa was not entirely certain, but she could’ve sworn that was Arya’s fourth. “Anything I missed?”

“Not really. I only made small chat with Cersei.”

“Nothing with Cersei is ever ‘small chat’.” Arya puffed. “How much longer must we stay here?”

“I don’t know.” Sansa scratched her chin. “I believe Father wants us to stay at least long enough to hear Robert’s speech.”

Arya growled audibly at that. “Well, that’s gonna take forever then.” Sansa agreed.

Both sisters turned their back to the stand and looked at the attendants. There was Robb chatting amicably with Theon Greyjoy, who hadn’t been previously invited but Robb had essentially begged their Father to let the boy come and so after much pleading he’d reluctantly agreed. If only for Robb’s sake. His son had said Theon would be the only thing that would keep him sane for the night. Sansa believed Greyjoy would have the contrary effect on her brother, but she didn’t say anything. At least he had a friend to keep him company.

Then there was Jon, standing awkwardly in a corner. He was talking with some other boy Sansa did not know but he seemed comfortable enough around him so she was happy for him. And because of their young age, Bran and Rickon had been left at home with Hodor, their sitter.

Lastly, the remaining Starks, Ned and Catelyn, were stood next to Robert Baratheon himself. The man laughed loudly at something her Father had said and Sansa was glad that, despite being surrounded by Lannisters, Ned had found somewhat of a friend.

There were more people than Sansa would have expected, still she only knew a handful of them, half of whom were her own family. As for the rest, Sansa either straight up didn’t like them or didn’t deem none of them interesting enough to strike a conversation with.

“I’m gonna go pee.” Arya said, ever so ladylike. “If I haven’t come back in 5 minutes, don’t come looking for me. Presume me dead.”

“Ugh, please do come back instead of sneaking off with Gendy again!” Sansa called out after Arya as the brunette walked away. She didn’t know if her sister had heard her or not. She supposed she had.

Sansa sighed and finished her drink. She turned to the table and started to pour herself another one, already planning on joining Robb and Theon when someone came up beside her. Sansa prayed to the Old Gods that it wasn’t Cersei again.

“That’s a bold choice for a dress.” It was not Cersei who spoke, but at that moment Sansa wished it had been. “That’s too slutty even for you.”

Sansa turned around slowly, whilst displaying the fakest smile she’d ever put on. “Joffrey” she said lightly. “How are you?”

“Better than you, that’s for sure.” He snickered. “What’s up with the whore attire? It’s not like you’ve got someone to impress. Unless” his eyes gleamed in a way that made Sansa shiver “you’ve dressed up like this for me”.

“I’m afraid that would not be the case.” Sansa pursed her lips together. Being around Joffrey always made her feel uneasy, even while they were dating. There just was something that was not right with the boy. After everything that happened, Sansa believed she’d grown stronger but being there, alone with him, she felt every hair at the back of her head stand up. Her whole body already tensing.

“Oh?” Joffrey furrowed his brow, his tone growing unkinder by the minute. “What then? Are you trying to rig the elections by showing off your cunt? So that dear ol’ daddy will win? I hate democracy.”

“My Father is not even running for the position.” Sansa’s hand closed around the glass tightly. She was determined not to lose her temper if only for her Father’s sake. Even so, Joffrey was making that task very challenging for her.

“You’re doing it for me then?” Joffrey took a step closer to Sansa. His breath reeked of cheap vodka and Sansa had to suppress a grimace. She noticed the glass on his left hand was full, which meant that was not his first drink of the night. “You know, tonight after this, I could come pay you a little visit-“ He grabbed her arm forcefully as he inched even closer.

“Joffrey, don’t-“

“Sans, darling!” Both heads turned around and were greeted by the sight of one Margaery Tyrell, who has approaching them with a beaming smile. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You had me worried.” She hugged Sansa tightly and planted a soundly kiss on her right cheek as she withdrew away. Her eyes never leaving Sansa’s face. “What a beautiful dress! You look absolutely stunning.”

The fact that she’d completely ignored Joffrey made the boy furious. “Margaery” he called, malice dripping off his voice, but he tried to disguise as courtesy. Only he didn’t fool anyone. “I was not aware you were coming.”

Finally, Margaery looked at the boy. She smiled easily at him, as if she was actually pleased to be talking to him. “Oh, I would’ve arrived sooner, but Grandmother ran into an old friend of hers by the entrance and we were held back a few minutes.”

“I see.” Joffrey nodded his head. He didn’t match Margaery’s smile, opting instead for a scowl. He had planned to have his fun with Sansa for a while longer, but it didn’t look like Margaery would be leaving them alone anytime soon. Instead, the brunette slipped her arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her flush against her.

Sansa for the life of her didn’t know what to make of it. Joffrey and Margaery were staring each other down, not saying a word, and the redhead felt as if the lion and the rose were silently trying to scare the other away.

“I’m sorry I had to make you wait for so long” Margaery told Sansa casually after some time, as if the latter had been actually waiting for her.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” Sansa smiled back at her. She realised Margaery’s smile seemed more sincere when it was directed at her, in contrast to the one’s she threw at Joffrey which –in Sansa’s opinion– appeared to be mocking the boy.

“I didn’t know you two were friends.” Joffrey spat at them. At that, Margaery actually threw her head back and so laughed loudly you’d think she’d just heard the greatest joke of all time. “Did I say something amusing?” He growled. Sansa could feel rather than see the tension between Joffrey and Margaery. She didn’t like it one bit and wanted so desperately to make it stop. But she didn’t know how to cut in. It looked like they were playing at a game Sansa did not know the rules of.

“Well, yes.” Margaery chuckled as her laughter died down. Then, she turned to Sansa right as Joffrey chose the worst possible time to try and end his drink in one go. “I thought you would’ve told him by now we’re dating.”

If Sansa hadn’t been so busy choking on air, she would’ve laughed at the way Joffrey accidentally spat out half of his drink on his clothes and his eyes bulged comically. Margaery noticed straight away Sansa’s confusion, so she took advantage of the fact that Joffrey was distracted drying the alcohol stains on his clothes and inched close to Sansa’s ear. “I can get rid of this little bastard in no time, just play along.”

Sansa nodded her approval and silently thanked her lucky stars for Margaery. She’d known the girl for a few years now, and ever since the beginning, she’d looked up at the older girl with such admiration. Everything about Margaery fascinated Sansa.

A couple of months into their friendship and Sansa was already enamoured with everything the brunette did. It wasn’t until Margaery casually told the redhead about her preference for women that Sansa’s mind began to wonder whether she had a shot with her. The thought scared her at first, back when she deemed herself to be as straight as an arrow, but as weeks and months passed, she realised she’d started to see Margaery in a different light. Or maybe it wasn’t a different light at all. Maybe her feeling had always been there but she had not realised it until then.

The thing is, ever since Sansa found out this new piece of information, she couldn’t help but notice every single little thing about Margaery. Like the way her nose would scrunch whenever she smelt something she didn’t like –like curry, smoke or gasoline– and the way she would close her eyes and breathe in contently when she smelt something she fancied –like roses, fresh pastries, the sea or Sansa’s perfume, although Sansa tried not to think too much about the last; lest she allowed herself to get her hopes up when she was certain a girl as stunning and perfect as Margaery wouldn’t notice a silly girl like herself.

Still, from time to time, she would let herself dream about what it would be like to be with Margaery, to be able to wake up next to her every day and be the reason behind her smiles and giggles, to be the first and last thing on her mind, to be the one Margaery wanted to spend her days and nights with.

It was Joffrey’s voice that brought Sansa out of her trance and back to reality. “You what?!” He was looking directly at Sansa as if she’d done him a great wrong. His face was bright red and his hand gripped too tightly on the glass. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be more disgusting, you do this.” He gestured at Sansa’s general direction, as if that would be explanation enough. “You dragged poor sweet Margaery into this fucking mess of yours. You perverted her with your deviating ways.”

Sansa had kept her cool this long and she had intended on doing so until Joffrey got bored and walked away on his own, but the very same moment he had demeaned Margaery like that was all it took for Sansa to snap at him. She took a daring step closer to him. “You talk to her again with such insolence and I promise you’ll regret it.”

“Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do?” Joffrey mocked.

“I’ll send Lady whilst you sleep to make sure you’re reminded of your place.” She gritted her teeth together.

“You, bitch.” Joffrey spat. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Of course I can” Sansa countered. Her blood was boiling and she felt like she was seconds away from doing something her Father would without a doubt chastise her later for. Still, she didn’t find it in herself to care. Not when Joffrey had insulted Margaery so blatantly. “If you knew what’s best for you, you’d walk the fuck away.”

Margaery widened her eyes and turned her head towards Sansa. It was the first time she’d ever heard the Northerner curse.

“Last time I saw you” the boy foolishly charged once more against the redhead, thinking he could still win the argument “you were dating that Bolton boy; so what happened that turned you into a dyke?” He snarled “Wasn’t his cock good enough?” Sansa didn’t know whether it was the remark or the laugh that came after that infuriated her most. She clenched her fists as her shoulders began to shake. It wouldn’t take long before she lost whatever remained of her composure. But Sansa had long lost interest in looking calm and collected, her sole attention being now focused on the boy.

“Pardon me” Margaery’s voice came out mellow and calm, but she was ready to throw hands. She let go of Sansa in order to stand between Joffrey and the redhead. She would’ve blocked Sansa’s view if it weren’t for Sansa’s height. Still, she intended on becoming some sort of human shield for the Northerner. “And who do you think you are to talk to my girl like that?” She took a defiantly step closer to the boy “she can dress however she pleases” another step “say whatever she pleases” another one “and date whomever she pleases.” Joffrey ended having to recoil a couple of steps back in order to maintain his balance. “Let this be the last time you disrespect Sansa, because so help me Gods, if I ever hear you say a single bad thing about her again I will hunt your ass down and beat you up so badly your own mother won’t recognise you.” Margaery was normally a very diplomatic and collected person, but Joffrey was managing to push every single one of her buttons.

“Come on, Margaery. You can’t possibly want to be around her.” He pronounced the last word as if it actually physically pained him to say it. “Let me take you out instead. I’ll show you what a real relationship looks like.”

“I’ll say this one more time and I swear it will be the last.” Margaery blinked almost flirtatiously. Her tone was soft but her eyes left no room for misinterpretation. She was furious. “Step the fuck away from my girl.”

Realising now Margaery had also turned on him, he decided to back down. “You know what? I have no use for her anyway.” Joffrey took a step closer to Margaery, which was compensated by Sansa stepping forward as well. The action resulted on Sansa being pressed firmly against Margaery’s back; the latter had to use some strength to hold the redhead back, lest she lost her nerves and pounced on the blonde. “You can keep your bitch.”

And that was that. It was then, right as the boy laughed cruelly at his own comment that she lost it. Even though Sansa’s anger was off the roof, it was Margaery’s punch that collided with his face. He threw some insults her way but Margaery couldn’t make out the words, given that his hands were cupping his bloody nose.

“You fucking dykes! You’ll regret this! You both will!” He yelled before storming off. As he ran to the bathroom, the brunette noticed the silence surrounding them and she casted her glance to the side in order to see the other attendant’s reaction.

The first person she saw was Cersei Lannister. The woman pursed her lips together but said nothing. She just stared at Margaery down for a few seconds before running after her son to aid him. Robert Baratheon cursed aloud and begrudgingly went to the bathroom as well. Margaery also noticed both Tommen and Myrcella offering her a tiny smile, displaying no kind of sympathy for their brother before Jaime Lannister was by their side. He calmly told them to go with him outside.

On the other end of the room was Theon, wearing a shit-eating grin and no doubt already planning on congratulating Margaery afterwards. Stood by his side was Robb, and although his face betrayed no emotion, he gave the brunette a subtle thumbs up.

“Wooooo!” Arya suddenly yelled, throwing both her hands up in the air, as if celebrating a touchdown. Her beer long gone. “Now this is a party!” Her smile matched Theon’s.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.” Came a voice from behind Margaery. “I mean, I would’ve, I definitely would’ve because that douchebag had it coming but” Sansa grabbed Margaery’s bruised hand with much delicacy “I’m not sure that’s gonna sit well with your Grandmother, and much less the Lannisters.”

“Well” Margaery chuckled despite what happened “someone had to shut him up. Let me worry about them later.”

“Thank you” Sansa relaxed now that Joffrey was out of sight; her smile was timid but sincere “really.”

“No need to thank me, sweet girl.” Margaery smiled brightly at the redhead. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages, if I’m being honest.” That earned her a chuckle from Sansa.

“Margaery.” The brunette’s smile faltered away as soon as the voice came. She turned around slowly.

“Grandmother.” Margaery pursed her lips together. She knew her act would have consequences and even though she was well aware Grandmother Olenna didn’t like the Lannister boy one bit, she knew she’d have to deal with the result of her actions.

“May we speak alone?” It was a question, but the tone of voice with which it was accompanied left no room for objections. Margaery nodded, muttered ‘Sorry’ to Sansa and started to walk behind her Grandmother.

Not a full ten seconds had passed that Arya was by her sister’s side. “So, you two banging?” Arya bluntly asked Sansa once Margaery was out of earshot. She grabbed a beer from the table and took a large sip. “I heard Joffrey muttering something about you two dating. Although” she added “he used a much crasser terminology.”

For the second time that night, Sansa choked on her spit. “Wha- we’re not- I mean” she corrected herself, remembering Margaery had indeed referred to herself as her girlfriend. Not wanting to blow the Highgardener’s cover she quickly said: “We started out as friends!”

“Your point?” Arya tilted her head to the side and watched her sister expectantly. She didn’t particularly care about who Sansa was or wasn’t shagging, but she figured watching the redhead ramble would be a close second to the most fun she’d have that night so she was determined to stretch this conversation as much as she possibly could.

“I mean, you know…” Sansa was visibly struggling to find the right words but given that Arya was in no rush she watched amusedly as the taller girl gesticulated ambiguously with her hand in the air. “We were friends, so we decided to take it slow.”

“How come none of us knew you two were a thing?” The shorter girl asked.

“It’s still pretty new. We didn’t want to jinx it.” Arya hummed, seemingly content with the answer.

“I have to say” she paused to take another sip of her beer “your girl does clean up pretty nice. She’s caught the attention of every single man –and some women– since the moment she entered the building.”

The jealousy that coursed through Sansa’s body then was both unexpected and foreign. She had definitely noticed how extremely beautiful Margaery looked that night. The dress she wore was a shade of deep forest green and whereas Sansa’s straps had been relatively thin, Margaery’s were fairly broad, to make up for the plunging neckline she was showing off. The top half of her back was bare but her hair cascaded down flawlessly and covered some skin.

Sansa couldn’t blame the attendants for staring, because the sight was truly mesmerizing, what she did disapprove of, however, was how most of those looks seemed to only be directed at her cleavage. When the realisation crossed her mind Sansa felt a sense of possessiveness and, although she wouldn’t admit it even to herself, the thought ‘mine’ did come to mind.

As Arya cleared her throat, it occurred to Sansa that her sister was still waiting for an answer. “No surprise here.” Sansa shrugged casually as her gaze was directed at Margaery. The older girl was at the far end of the room, speaking with Lady Olenna. “She’s beautiful.”

Arya followed Sansa’s eyes until she saw Margaery. It did not go unnoticed by her sister the fact Sansa’s expression softened upon seeing the older girl. Arya smiled softly –mostly to herself. She’d known from the very first instant that Margaery had lied about dating Sansa, but she also knew about her sister’s feelings for the Tyrell girl. The redhead was pretty good at disguising her emotions, so only a very observant person would notice it. And despite her many flaws, if Arya was one thing was observant.

“You’ll still want to be careful around Cersei, though.” The shorter girl warned after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence. “She’s gonna want to strangle you as soon as the bastard is okay. The Lannisters are going to take Joffrey’s ex-girlfriend dating a lesbian as a great insult. It hurts their pride or some shit.”

“I know” Sansa sighed. She turned around and poured herself another glass of whiskey. “Let’s worry about that later, okay?” Arya nodded. She was about to add something else when she spotted out of the corner of her eye Margaery and her Grandmother approaching them. Arya excused herself in order to give her sister some privacy.

“Sansa, I would like you to meet my Grandmother.” Margaery offered her Grandmother a glass of wine and poured herself another one.

“Olenna Tyrell, dear.” Sansa was expecting her to hold out her hand but the woman never did. “I take it you’ve heard about me.” She took a sip of her own drink which prompted Margaery to do the same.

“I have, ma’am.” Sansa nodded. “I apologise for causing such a scene tonight.” She lamented.

“Nonsense.” The woman shook her head, taking the heat out of it. “The only thing I’m sorry for is that you couldn’t take a swing at him yourself as well.” Sansa smiled timidly.

“Grandmother!” Margaery snickered. “What will Sansa think of us? You raised me to be well-mannered.”

“And so I’ve done, dear.” Lady Olenna solemnly said. “You did well by your girlfriend when you knocked the troubled boy off his high horse.” Sansa blushed as she noticed Lady Olenna had referred to her as her granddaughter’s ‘girlfriend’.

“I take it you’re not angry at Margaery, then?” The Northerner sheepishly asked.

“I would have preferred my granddaughter to have had the decency to wait to pull off something like away from so many prying eyes, but” Lady Olenna sighed “I know just how loyal the girl can be to the people she loves and if your honour was on the table, well then, there was nothing nobody could’ve done to stop her.”

Sansa glanced at Margaery and was surprised when the older girl blushed and refused to meet her gaze. “That’s very kind of you to say, ma’am.” The redhead thanked the woman.

Lady Olenna hummed. “Anyway, I’m spotting the cheese plate I was promised about 10 minutes ago” She looked over her shoulder. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to eat the food I paid for.” The woman bid her goodbyes, leaving the two girls alone.

“Sorry about her.” Margaery shook her head. “She can be a tad blunt sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” Sansa shrugged. “I like her.”

“I’m glad.” Margaery smiled easily at Sansa.

There was something at the back of her mind that was nagging Sansa. She didn’t know how to subtly approach the subject so she just dove right in. “Why did you say we were dating?” The question and the boldness with which Sansa said it took Margaery aback. “I mean, if you wanted to defend me” upon the lack of a direct response Sansa decided to clarify “you could’ve just done so without telling him we were a couple.” Sansa tilted her head to the side expectantly.

“And where’s the fun in that?” Margaery winked flirtatiously. The gesture made Sansa blush once again. “Besides, you look marvellous, darling. It would only be fit for you to have a date for the night.” Sansa tried not to think about the fact that her heart was beating faster with every word Margaery spoke. “Unless” she added on second thought “you wanted to be with someone else?”

“No!” It was almost embarrassing how quick Sansa declined the suggestion. She felt her face turn even redder, so she cleared her throat. “So, does this mean we have to keep up the charade all night long?” She chuckled to cover up her eagerness.

There was a gleam in Margaery’s eye that made Sansa shiver, but in a good way. “Wanna find out how many people we can scandalise by being extra affectionate in public?”

And if there was something Sansa was unable to do was deny Margaery anything. “Game on.”

Chapter 2

#sansaery #sansa stark #margaery tyrell #sapphic sansa fest #sansasource #sapphicsansafest

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nooneeverlookedforagirl · 3 years

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Let me give you the Game of Thrones we all wanted. Not just me and you, but D&D too. They wanted the unexpected and the thrill, we wanted the characters. These are not mutually exclusive.

Arya Stark kills the Night King, but not alone.

Jon makes it to his last little brother just in time to see a battered and bloody Theon cut down defending him. The Night King is injured, but not defeated. He has no interest in meeting Jon head on, so he sends the wights to do so while he advances on Bran.

Rhaegal, wounded but loyal, appears to burn the wights who would have stopped him. Jon has no time to be in awe of the dragonfire which saves his life, only time to charge straight at the Night King and fight. This is why he left his black brothers to die, after all, for Ned Stark's last son. He could not save Robb, could not fight beside him, but he will give his life for Bran if need be.

Yet the Night King cares nothing for honor. Wights gone, he summons his generals. Two White Walkers rush to his defense, preparing to kill Jon, but they do not make it across the courtyard before it is filled with wolves. The largest of them, a she-wolf as large as a pony, leads her pack in the charge. Nymeria cannot kill the White Walker, but she and her pack rip them limb from limb, the screams like nothing Jon has ever heard.

Cruel and careful, the Night King uses his distraction to knock him off his feet. As the killing blow comes down, Jon sees something behind the Night King. Silent as any shadowcat, Arya has snuck into the godswood, into the battle. She drags her blade across the White Walkers throat, and he turns into a rush of blood and a shattering of ice shards.

All of his wights fall with him, but there are other White Walkers yet remaining. Somewhere beyond the walls of Winterfell, Rhaegal and Drogon obey their mother, and turn their wights into nothing more than ash. Relieved of the great burden of the living dead, the men rally to kill the remaining White Walkers. Grey Worm kills one and Sandor another, while Brienne claims two. Under the watchful eyes of the ravens, none escape.

The Starks do not notice this. Jon hugs Arya tight, there in their father's godswood covered with the fallen dead, and cries for the first time since he woke from darkness. Arya, who might have been No One except that she could not forget Jon Snow's smile, pulls him back to Bran and holds him tight.

This is how the dawn is won.

Afterward, the Starks rally their men to march North. Cersei awaits them, enthroned in Kings Landing, and she has hurt them too much to forget. Sansa, afraid and angry, whispers in Tyrion's ear before he goes. She has known no benevolent monarchs and no merciful women once they have their power. Lysa, Margaery, Cersei, all of them turned against her. So she gives up the secret she has sworn to keep, for the offer of a crown on her brother's head. Arya and Jon head south with the army, but Sansa has sworn never to leave the North again.

As they march south, Daenerys frees Riverrun, naming Edmure and his new daughter her rightful rulers, and meet with the remaining 30,000 men from the Vale. Anya Waynewood remembers Queen Visenya's visit to the Eyrie; she does not need a reminder of why the Vale kings knelt to the Targaryens. When they reach Kings Landing, the Reach awaits them, some 10,000 men rallied from the shadow of Highgarden and Horn Hill.

Plans are formed and ravens sent, but when the armies are gathered the queen remains on Dragonstone. In her place are Jon and Rhaegal, landing before the city and calling the forces to attention. Sansa was not wrong. Tyrion and Varys would sooner a man sit the throne than a woman, birth and expulsion aside, and so would most of the realm. Their greatest challenge had been convincing Jon, reborn without purpose, conqueror of the White Walkers, King in the North, Jon, that he deserved his father's throne.

Tyrion presents an impassioned plea, including a warning of the threat the coldness between his sisters and the queen carried. Sam, crippled yet alive, gives him papers supporting his claim and his late father's writings, which name his son Aegon as the Prince Who Was Promised. Varys, the Mad King's most trusted advisor, is quick to support these claims. After all, why would a Stark bastard be brought back for nothing? He had won the Dawn. He had defeated the Army of the Dead. Now his throne awaited.

Aegon. What better name for a king?

So it is that Jon names himself Aegon VI Targaryen, recognizing Lyanna Stark as his mother, and takes Kings Landing in a bloody battle. When it is done, there is a new Sack of Kings Landing, the city half afire and the Red Keep in ruins, but there is a new king.

Ned Stark had tried to save Cersei's children, but she has no more of them. Jon condemns her for usurping the throne, destroying the sept, and the murder of his father. Rather than executing her, he sends her to the dungeons she had fostered to die as Unella and Tyene and Falyse Stokeworth had.`

Then he turns his gaze to the rest of the realm, demanding obedience. Both Targaryen and Stark had suffered too long under lesser houses. Under Tyrion's guidance, he uses Ellaria as leverage against Dorne and names Bronn the Lord of Highgarden. When the Reach rumbles with the Florent's threat of rebellion he burns Brightwater Keep to ash with her lord inside, and gives the land to Melessa Tarly for her son's service.

A king needs a queen, and Daenerys had been rejected by his advisors. Alys Waynwood and Jynna Mallister are called to the capitol to see the king, although Jon refuses to entertain any of Tyrion's cousins. Both of them are rejected, and Jon insists a Northern girl be summoned, one who worships the Old Gods. The Faith doesn't like that, but aren't in a position to protest yet.

Cersei's screams can be heard from the dungeons, and Tyrion can't bring himself to go down and see her. The sister that he had fought so hard to help would blame him for this fate, he knows. He bars Jaime from the capitol, shipping him back to Winterfell and his lady knight with a hundred men as guards.

House Yronwood, now wed to Oberyn's last daughter, have no interest in rejoining the realm. Jon threatens to kill Ellaria and send them her head, but what does Yronwood care about a bastard who had murdered Doran Martell, when compared to a man usurping the name and throne belonging to Elia's son? She is not Sarella's mother, and Jon will not wed their princess.

When Yara Greyjoy declares her independence behind their own, Jon prepares Rhaegal for a war. They fought against Robb and weakened him, what does Jon care for their houses or Daenerys' promises? The Iron Islands will belong to the Iron Throne or they will be dust and ash.

Daenerys isn't dead.

Varys poisoned her, but she is a Targaryen and they have always resisted poison and illness better than most. For many days she is too weak to get out of bed. When at last she can stand, Grey Worm admits to her that Rhaegal is gone and Jon Snow rules in Kings Landing. He sits on her throne, but she cannot fight against her son.

For some time she is forced to stay on Dragonstone to recover. It is during this time that a ship full of Dothraki arrives. It is largely young men eager to join her men, but two women are on the ship as well. Ornela, the khaleesi who had helped her in Vaes Dothraki, and Jhiqui, Irri's sister. Her bloodriders, Aggo and Kovarro, who had joined her after Drogo's dead, had called for them.

Together they support her while she recovers from near death. They bring her food and wash her hair, they find food testers and sleep next to her at night. Once she had led her people across the Red Waste and fought for their freedom, but now they are her strength. One night, Dany sits with Grey Worm and tells him he is free to go if he wishes to. Her stoic war commander had refused, promising to see her home first.

But where was her home?

The darkness that has encompassed her life is finally broken by the arrival of a Volantene galley arriving in her harbor. Jon is not brave enough to war against her, knowing that Rhaegal would lose a fight against his brother, but Volantis was not afraid. They had sided with Yunkai against her, sending ships and men to their aid.

It is not the soldiers of the Old Blood that have come to Dragonstone. It is an old woman. Her spine is bent and her white hair so thin Dany can see her scalp. Her face is covered in scars, but her eyes are bright and black. She has come not for Daenerys Targaryen, but for the Breaker of Chains, the woman those in the Bay of Dragons still call Mhysa.

She calls herself Vogarro's whore, but the slaves in Volantis call her the Widow of the Waterfront. Nothing she has can help Dany. Instead, she brings a plea from the slaves of Volantis. She says that they are waiting. She begs her to come soon. Slaver's Bay may be no more, but the Free Cities still thrive. Children are bought and sold every day.

And so Daenerys rises from Dragonstone and leaves the Iron Throne behind. If she is not to be a queen, then let her be a conqueror, a rescuer. Grey Worm and his men rally to her side.

Her fleet is reduced, but so are her men. She takes them all, refusing to leave any of her people where the Westerosi might find them, and she summons Drogon from his nest in the hills. With him comes Rhaegal, her son responding to her call despite his rider. When they sail east, two dragons go with her.

Volantis, as Slaver's Bay before her, falls to fire and blood. Daenerys frees the city and gives rule over to her people, the freedmen who fought for their own freedom when the dragons came to their aid.

Months later, a ship with the last Lannister sails into Volantis' bay.

Daenerys is not there. She has gone north, to Pentos, to an old friend and to strangers. The Unsullied who remain in the city are no friends to the Sunset Kingdoms, and least of all Tyrion Lannister.

#oh I wish Jon Snow was the one from the books #you will rule well #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #game of thrones #everyone goes #book jon snow is a madman #you think he's putting up with this?#he's threatening babies over here #he's killed because he breaks his oath #let me give you book jon snow #Varys you're lucky if he doesn't kill you first

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Bare My Soul {Jon Snow x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3865 Summary: You couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate time to tell Jon Snow how you feel.

The people of Winterfell were a lot like the place that they inhabited. They were tough, they were a bit weathered, they held strong against whatever came against them. It was a great place to be raised, in your opinion. There was nowhere better, and no one under whom you would want to be a ward of than Eddard Stark. Living under his rule was better than anything you could have imagined if you had stayed in King’s Landing with your mother, where your father Arthur Dayne had served the former King. You might have been raised a Princess, but you were not the petty sort. That was more so for the likes of the girl who was like a sister to you, Sansa. There was another reason why you liked to be here so much, and that reason had a name - Jon Snow.

He had been one of the first to comfort you when you had been exiled from your home and brought here to live in an entirely new environment. It had taken you a while to thrive under these new circumstances, and he had been with you through each step. You initially depended on Theon, a fellow ward, but he had an easier time coming to terms with everything, and instantly became like a brother to Robb Stark. For you, things were slower. Harder. But those first few years taught you to be thankful for what you had, to rise above any of the negative thoughts, to accept challenges head on because there were very often amazing rewards. Such as an amazing family full of brothers and sisters - and Jon, who you always set apart from the rest.

You’d had a crush on him since you first saw him, with his thick black curls always just a touch too long. He was rather shy, quiet, and was treated different from everyone else. Perhaps he saw the same thing in you and why you two became such kindred spirits. Being about the same age, you had the same lessons together in everything - horse back riding, reading, writing, self-defense. The latter of which only because Ned didn’t believe that you should be learning to sword fight as a lady. But that was fine, because you grew up believing that you would always have your big brothers and Ned there to protect you.

Becoming a teenager was not an easy thing, whether a male or a female. You were lucky to have Catelyn Stark to walk you through your feelings and your changes, but you weren’t expecting just how big these things were! The things that you felt when you looked upon Jon almost seemed ... sacrilegious. So you kept yourself busy as much as you can, employing your time with things like needlework and sewing. It was meticulous but dreary work, but at least it kept your mind off of Jon, and what he could be doing right now. Once in a while, you would sneak a peek out your window and see him and Robb working on their sword skills, clashing against one another without actually attempting to cause any pain. It was a surprisingly nice day for Winterfell, and they were just wearing tunics with arms exposed.

His biceps were all that you could think about for three days, which confused you because who gets all swoony over biceps? You couldn’t even ask Catelyn about it because she would disapprove immediately of any feelings for people within the castle. Curiously, the thoughts evolved to those of his leg muscles, which were quite toned as far as you could tell. You hadn’t seen him wear anything less than pants so you could only assume.

During dinner time, you gazed over in his direction more times than you had wanted to, only to be pulled out of it by Arya nudging you to get to the bread. At least she could always be counted on to bring you back to reality. You passed over the basket of bread, taking a small amount for yourself, then allowed your eyes to return to where you were looking before. To your surprise, you met his dark ones which were situated right on you. At the exact same moment, you both turned away, missing the blush that appeared on each other’s cheeks.

You thought that after being a teenager, you would get used to change, but now that you grew older, and were past the age that most women of your standing would be getting married, things were getting more and more confusing. You searched for something that would stay the same, and the only thing that appeared to be like that was Jon. Reliable, stoic, moody old Jon Snow.

He had the same routine for over a decade now, and you knew it off by heart. He would take walks at the same time, fight with Robb at the same time, eat at the same time, snack at the same time, visit the horses at the same time, even take his direwolf Ghost out at the same time each day. There were a few times when he deviated, and your paths crossed, which you hoped for each and every time you woke up in the morning.

Today, though, as you rose up from your bed, with the thin morning light coming in through your slotted window, you felt a change was coming. The King was coming to Winterfell, and with him, the Lannisters. You narrowly escaped being picked to be Joffrey’s betrothed and a future Queen, and you were forever grateful to Ned for that. He had pointed out to his friend, the King, that you were just the daughter of a knight, not one of a Lord or a high-ranking noble. This had lead to the decision that Sansa was to be a contender.

You dressed quickly into your best dress for the occasion. It wasn’t everyday that you were going to meet the King and his Queen. The gown that you had chosen was of a light blue color, high-necked with ruching all around. The fabric of the sleeves was lighter, just about see through to show off your shoulders. It was a special gift from Catelyn for your last birthday, as you needed a new gown to show off how you have become a woman. It was accentuated with a white belt that matched the snow that often fell on this place. Your hair was styled upwards, with many pins keeping it up. A couple of splashes of cold water on the face to bring out a natural flush was all that you needed, and you were ready to descend and wait with your family for the King to come.

As you left your chamber, you came face to face with Jon. His hair was pushed back out of his face and held with a bit of wax, styled nicely for the occasion. “Heading down?” He asked. You nodded, closing your door behind you, as a lady’s room should only be seen by her and her chambermaids.

“You look nice, Jon,” You said, taking in the fur coat, and his dark and sparkling eyes. It wasn’t the first time that you had complimented him and it was unlikely to be the last.

“You do too, y/n.” He said, a small smile playing at his lips. “Shall we go down together?”

“I’d like that,” You nodded. It would be improper for you to hold hands, or even to link arms, so you had to settle for walking by his side. Everyone else must already be lined up outside for there was not a soul to be seen inside of the castle. The staff must be working on the feast that would be served tonight, for even they could not be found. “I suppose we’re going to have to be kissing the rear of the King and Queen the whole time they’re here, aren’t we?” You said, making a joke. You were at least comfortable doing that, since you had been doing it since you were a child. Jon let out a surprised chuckle, clearly not expecting that.

“I suppose we are,” He said. “Just don’t let Dad hear you say that.”

“Or Catelyn.” You said with a shudder.

You might have been taken in as one of the Starks but you noticed that Jon had not. The word ‘Bastard’ had been thrown around a lot, and when you found out what it meant, you couldn’t understand how it was an insult. More than once you had witnessed Catelyn being rude to Jon, and had asked her why, but she never gave you a good answer. It just made Jon all the more endearing.

“Definitely not,” He agreed. “The dress - it’s very nice.”

“Thank you,” You said, smoothing down the front of it. You didn’t have any more time to talk, for you reached the front gates, and went to your respective positions. You were beside Theon as the Ward, while Jon hung even further back. You kept looking his way though, because he did look good today. And you could have sworn that he was looking right back at you. Your cheeks stayed pink, not because of the cold water from earlier, nor because of the chill in the air.

You had a bit too much wine during dinner. You felt the eyes of Cersei on you more than once, and felt an almost jealousy coming off of her. You had asked Catelyn about it when you had a moment alone, and your motherly figure assured you that it was because she took a dislike to any beautiful young woman who might catch her husband’s eye. You shuddered at the thought of the King thinking that you were beautiful, or trying to seduce you. “I may just go on a stroll before bed, I’m feeling a bit warm,” You told her. She nodded, and sent you on your way.

On one of the open walkways that looked out at the courtyard, you paused as you thought you saw some drunk nobles stumbling back home. It was hilarious to watch so you leaned against the short wall and watched.

“It’s getting a little cold,” Jon Snow’s voice said after a couple of minutes. He joined you, standing a short distance away and leaned over to watch as well.

“I’m still feeling a bit warm,” You admitted. “I might have had a little too much wine,” You finished this with a giggle, further proving your point.

“I was watching,” He said with a chuckle of his own. “You seemed to be uneasy. Are you alright?”

“You know what - I’m not great!” You announced, turning to face him. “I was hoping that this visit would be smooth sailing, but Joffrey seemed like a -”

“Keep your voice down,” Jon whispered, but you carried on.

“-a not very nice boy, the King does not act at all proper, and the Queen dearest was staring at me, no, more like, glaring at me! And do you know why she was staring at me? Because she saw me as a threat to her husband. How outrageous is that?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s outrageous,” Jon said, but you continued on before he could say too much more.

“As if I would ever want to sit on the lap of that man, like the loose women do. Oh yes My King, the smell of roasted mutton does suit you very well! Oh no my King, that tunic doesn’t make you look like a wild boar at all!”

Jon quickly put his hand over your mouth, and dragged you back to the stone wall, out of the ear shot of anyone who might be listening below. “Keep your voice down! You could be killed for saying some of those things!”

“Let them kill me then. Show them that I am owned by...” You noticed at that moment just how close to you Jon was, and that his hand was still lingering quite close to your mouth. It made you feel even warmer, having him near. Your eyes were on his, steam from both of your breaths meshing together in the small space between you two. “No one,” You said, a lot softer than before. “Jon? I - I might be a little drunk from the wine, but there’s something I want to tell you.”

“I have to tell you something too,” He said with a short sigh. But he didn’t move back. You were against the wall, feeling the cold stones against the thin fabric of your dress. Your hair was coming undone from the style that you had put it in, and thin tendrils were descending towards your shoulders.

“I want to say it first,” You said. Jon lowered his hand from where it was and nodded. But he was ready to cover your mouth once more if you said anything bad about the King and his family, no matter how warranted it was. “I’ll never belong to anyone, Jon Snow,” You breathed heavily. “Unless it is you who would have me.”

Jon studied you for a second. You couldn’t read his eyes. You were starting to grow light headed and rested even more against the back wall, nervous for his reaction.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, perhaps we should speak in the morrow.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” You said, pushing him away from you now. Being close to him didn’t seem like it was as good an idea as it had before. “I’ve been in love with you since I was a child. Since I can remember. And if you don’t feel the same way, then that is fine, I can accept that. I hope that you find someone who makes you happy. But don’t you dare tell me that I’m lying. Or that I’m only saying it because I had too much to drink. If anything, the wine gave me the courage!”

Jon took your push quite easily, barely taking two steps back. He still remained quiet, as stoic as ever. It was lucky that you had learned how to wait for him. He had to rub his two brain cells together before coming up with what to say. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Well? Either break my heart or make it whole, I do not much care wish, as long as you say something.”

That was a lie, you did care. You cared very much. But you needed an answer. Your heart was beating so quickly in your chest, you could feel it throughout your whole body.

“I love you, y/n Dayne,” Jon Snow told you. That was all that you needed. The alcohol did the rest. You closed the distance, throwing your arms around his fur-lined shoulders and kissed him with all of your might. It was a bit hard, a little messy, tasted like leftover dinner and wine but it was an amazing kiss nonetheless. One that you had dreamt about on more than one occasion. A warmth spread from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Jon’s arms went around your waist, hugging you close. When you finally had to breathe, you stepped back, your eyes wide and awestruck at what had just happened.

“You love me! Then we must tell your father, Jon. Perhaps he may let us wed! He tried to make matches for me in the past but I refused them all because the only person that I could picture being with is you. If he’s in a good mood, he may just say yes!”

“I cannot wed,” Jon said, the happiness that he had been feeling slid off of his face. You’ve never seen him look more sorrowful in all of your life. You took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

“If it’s because you’re a bastard, you know that I don’t care. And neither does your father. We might get some opposition from Catelyn but if it really all that bad, we can run away! Take different names! Live as if we are a married couple. The Gods would surely forgive us.”

“I didn’t come here to tell you that I love you,” Jon said, turning away. “I wish that you said nothing.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Now it was your turn to have your happiness disappear. “That’s the most heartless thing that I have heard you say. Were you just lying to me now? Mocking my feelings?”

“No!” Jon said, squeezing your hand. “I could never lie to you. You know me too well. You were always able to catch me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” You said, pointing your finger at him. You saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He felt the same way that you did. “So why can’t we get married? Why do you wish that I had said nothing?”

Jon let go of you, and ran his fingers through his hair, the wax melting away and the curls parting beneath his touch. He looked at you once more than looked away. He couldn’t say it to your face, which made you realize that whatever it was.. it was terrible. “Just tell me, Jon. Just tell me now,” You whispered.

“I’m going up north, to the wall. I’ve pledged myself to the Knight’s Watch. I’m leaving as soon as soon as I’m able.” Jon told you, still facing away.

You stared. And you stared. And you stared.

All of those good feelings that you had dissipated entirely. Now you felt cold. You felt raw. You felt as if you had been skinned and then salted.

“You were going to leave without telling me how you feel?” You asked, feeling glued to the floor. You couldn’t walk away from this conversation as much as you would like to. It had sobered you up quickly. “No - you have gotten better at lying, Jon Snow,” You whipped your hand away from his as quickly as possible, hiding it behind your back so he could not snatch it again. “Because I can’t see it in your eyes, but you cannot possibly love me. If you did, you wouldn’t bear the thought of leaving me, because that’s how I feel about you. I would have followed you anywhere, you know that, but you are going somewhere that I cannot go.”

Jon opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. The hallway was filled with a heavy silence until you broke it again. You shook your head at him, and walked backwards. “I wish I never cared for you, I wish I never met you.”

And with that, you tuned on your heel and went to your bedroom, locking the door behind you with a chair so that no one could possibly come in. You threw off your silly, frivilous gown and let it lie on the bed without you hanging it up properly. You crawled under the covers with it still there, and let your tears guide you to sleep.

Until the day that Jon left, you didn’t say a word to him. You refused to be in his presence unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part was - people had started to notice. Sansa had even left her ‘Joffrey’ mind-state to ask you if you and Jon had gotten into a fight, and if she should tell her mother.

“No - he’s leaving soon, and then things will get better,” You assured her, though you were not too sure of that yourself. Jon did sometimes linger near a doorway while you were in the room, such as in the library when you took your lessons with the maester, but otherwise, it was hard to spot him anywhere. He kept to himself, packing his things and preparing for his journey.

When he was about to set off, you were in your room, watching from the window. He was packing up the horse that he was taking, with the youngest Lannister going with him - Tyrion. He looked up and caught your eye, but you turned away and ducked against your wall so he could not see your tears. Despite the best efforts of the maids, your gown was in wrinkles on the bed. May Catelyn forgive you for this for you would never forgive yourself if you did not.

Using your sewing scissors, you cut the high neck off of the gown, knowing you could fix the hem later. With it flying between your fingers, you ran out of your room and descended down the stairs, nearly tripping over the stupid long skirt that you were wearing. You rushed out into the courtyard to see Jon getting onto the horse, slipping his feet into the stirrups.

“Wait!” You called out, hair flowing loose behind you since you had not intended to leave your bedchamber today. Jon steadied the horse but did not hop off. He had those sad eyes again, the look he’d had since you two had talked in the hallway. You approached slower this time, not wanting to startle the horse, and lifted up the fabric for him to take. “Please - don’t forget about me.”

Jon did take it, running the fabric through his fingers. He lifted it to his face and took a deep breath of it - it smelled of you still. “I never could, y/n,” He said your name tenderly.

The rest of his company grew restless to the point where he was tutted at. “If we want to make good time, we must leave now,” Tyrion said from inside of his carriage.

You pleaded with Jon through eyes alone, begging for him not to go. It wasn’t too late for him to change his mind, he could get off of his horse, he could stay here with you...

But he didn’t. Instead, he tied the piece of fabric around his wrist. “It’s for the best, y/n,” He said, turning his horse around so he could no longer see you. Evading you, more like.

“For whom?” You asked. You were given no answer in return, just the sound of the horse neighing as it trotted it’s way towards the gate and away from you. You stood there until he was out of sight, and then an hour more, willing it with all of your heart that he would turn back and you would see him galloping his way back towards you.

But nay. Night came along and the weather became frosty, forcing you inside, forcing you to change the way you thought of your life for if the man who claimed he loved you ran away ... well, you had a lot of thinking to do.

#Jon Snow #Jon Snow x reader #Jon Snow oneshot #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones oneshot #GOT #GOT oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #oneshots #one shots #jons

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themockingpoint · 4 years

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A million minutes late but here is my Sansa Appreciation Week day 5 submission. Takes place during the feast of 8x4. Shout out to @chryswatchesgot because I could not do that stupid cannon quote and their post from that episode gave me the perfect response.

“It’s alright to be enjoying yourself.” Jon said, to Sansa shaking her out of her somewhat drunken thoughts. “If only for a little bit.”

“Tell that to your queen.” Sansa said, before she could help herself. She showed off a grimace as she practically felt her brother’s annoyance bleed off him with a sigh.

Sansa knew that the conflict between her and her brother’s… paramour was causing him undue tension, but she could not help it. Jon told Sansa that she is just refusing to see the Targaryen queen as she truly is and is letting what her family did to the Starks get in the way of that. However, Sansa would argue that it was her brother that was not seeing clearly ever since the two monarchs slept together. She sighed and downed another cup of wine.

The way that she legitimized Gendry “Rivers” without thinking or consulting her advisors showed Sansa exactly what she needed to know. Putting aside the fact that she barely knew him enough to even know his actual name or the fact that he was her second cousin -and according to the great council of 101 AC that would probably make him, as a male, a stronger contender for the throne- his father was Robert Baratheon and her father was the Mad King.

As bad of a king that Robert was, the smallfolk did not see it. His era signified an era of peace. Meanwhile her father was Mad King Aerys. He… well he got the name for a reason. Jon may have bent the knee to her, but their lords will always remember their Uncle Brandon and their grandfather. Let alone what the smallfolk will think. Joffrey most publicly was the smallfolks woes, yet Tyrion was the one blamed since he happened to be there once they started. No way would they forget what the mad king put them through. They were slaves waiting to be freed, they were people who just wished to go on with their lives with Highborn war.

Another thing that Jon was forgetting but Sansa never would, was the fact that she spent years in King’s Landing, years. Joffrey, Cersei, Baelish, Ramsay, all of them taught her how to see a mask of benevolence. The Dragon queen may be projecting the air of the Good Queen Alysanne but Sansa likened her to the Young Dragon, Daeron I. The Dragon Queen may win the throne, but she would never be done conquering. She took over rulership in Meereen but was now looking to rule the Seven Kingdoms. The woman would never be done conquering, and Sansa did not plan on allowing the North and her people to be one of those Kingdoms to conquer that she will eventually become bored with.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa slightly slurred from drink. “I am a little on edge… Feasts… I do not have the greatest history with celebrations…”

“Here, here!” Tyrion said, walking behind them causing Sansa to roll her eyes.

Sansa looked at the man that she used to think was the smartest man alive. When she knew him, he was the sharpest man in the room, taking people’s number without much of a challenge. He, Jon, and Varys -although he seemed to flip-flop worse than the Tyrells- all trusted her, is her own prejudices not allowing her to see the woman truly?

Jon told her a little bit about the woman. The parallels between Sansa and Daenerys herself were strong, very strong. Sansa would not, could not, deny it and to be perfectly honest? It scared Sansa just how similar the two of them were. Abusive husbands, they were both raped on their wedding nights, both were used and passed around as bargaining chips, and both would do anything to get their countries back. Sansa almost crossed a line she never could have come back from.

As similar as they were, Sansa knew that the dragon queen was not her friend, and definitely not Jon’s friend. She would only ever see them as subjects, never allies. They would be expected to fight whatever wars she would want to fight at the drop of a hat; ironically not unlike how Robert Baratheon was like with Sansa’s own father. As Sansa said, she would never be done conquering and -like during the Baratheon regime- the North would be dragged into it. She could not let her people be killed by the petty southern wars. She would not fail them; not again.

“Why don’t you walk around?” Jon said, giving her a sympathetic smile. He knew how the last few feasts that she had turned out.

“I… don’t think that is a good idea… I think I may be a little drunk.” She said, with a slight giggle.

“Well I believe in you!” He said, slamming his hand down on the table in an ironic echo of her earlier statement.

She walked away and a few minutes later saw the queen walk off in a huff of jealousy. She must admit, she was no Joffrey. He never would have abided by someone singing praises that were not directed at him, especially if he thought it was at his expense. She was not her father either, who would have just burned someone alive had he gotten annoyed with them.

But it does not matter. The North was the North. They were not like the other seven kingdoms, even Dorne had more similarities to the southern kingdoms than the North did. The North just did things differently, they had different traditions, hell even their gods were different from the rest of the kingdoms. They were too detached from the rest of the Kingdoms to be part of such a kingdom that was practically united against them.

She needed to clear her head as she was depressing herself. As she walked amongst the lower tables she saw where Tormund got to. She froze as she saw who he was sitting next to. Sansa knew he was here. Jon and Arya both mentioned the fact, he apparently had saved Arya’s life during the siege. Sansa has not been avoiding him, but she had not been seeking him out either.

“Af’er all that he just comes North and takes ‘er from me.” Tormund said, weepily leaning on Sandor. “Just takes ‘er. Like that!”

“Her?” Sansa thought to herself before she remembered who Tormund had been obsessed with since she had met him. “He can’t… He can’t mean Brienne, can he?”

Thinking back to how her sworn shield starred at Jaime Lannister with starry eyes as they continued speaking, Sansa quickly realized what had happened when a quick look told her that she was not there. She felt happy for the woman despite her feelings about Jaime Lannister. She was more devoted to her duty than any other person than Sansa knew. She deserved this, she deserved to relax.

“I’m not ‘fraid of Wildlings.” The serving girl (whore? She know Tyrion hired many to spread into the waiting staff) said, raising an eyebrow as Sansa finished another glass of wine. She doubts that she has even been this drunk and she must say she thinks that she is handling it very well.

“Maybe you should be.” Tormund said, suggestively wagging his eyebrows.

As Sansa realized what was happening, she felt a tightening in her own belly. One she had not really ever felt before, except maybe with Loras Tyrell. She shook out of her distraction as Sandor growled at the woman, terrifying her so that she would make her escape. Thinking of the feeling in her belly she walked over.

“She could have made you happy…” She said, as she sat down. She wondered if his rejection of her was due to lack of interest or because of self-hatred and cynicism. Gods know that he has enough of that. Enough that he tried passing it onto her. “For a little while.”

He looked up in surprise, whether he was shocked she was there or that she decided to speak to him she did not know. When they finally broke eye contact, he said, “There’s only one thing that’ll make me happy.”

“And what’s that?” She said humoring him, trying to get him to lighten the hell up.

“That’s my business!” He growled trying to scare her away. Once, it might have worked. She drunkenly cocked an eyebrow to show that she was unamused. “Used to be you couldn’t look at me.”

“That was a long time ago…” She said sadly remembering the kiss from the Blackwater. One of the only two people she has ever kissed and the only one she somewhat wanted it from. Is that why he was not looking at her, trying to scare her away. “I’ve seen much worse that you.”

“Yes I’ve heard… Heard you were broken in… Heard you were broken in rough…” He said, almost smugly and she clenched her teeth. Why was he being so hostile? She was trying to extend an olive branch.

“Yes.” She said, she had already lost Theon today and her patience was quickly wearing thin. “He got what he deserved. I gave it to him.”

“How?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Hounds…” She said, causing a moment of laughter from him.

“You’ve changed, Little-Bird.” Sandor said, taking a drink. Once she had a sickening liking to the demeaning nickname. Now it just angered her. “None of it would have happened had you come with me.”

“And there it is.” Sansa thought to herself. Most of the men in her life tried taking credit for what she was or could have been. To be frank, she was sick of it. Sansa was the woman she was today because of two men and a woman, all of which were named Stark. She may not have gotten everything she has due to her own merits but the men who spit poison and abuses at her no longer could claim credit for it. She would not allow it. No longer.

“That’s the thing Sandor.” She said, grabbing his hand to his surprise. “I was never a little bird. I was a puppy. And Gods help those who think they can tame a Direwolf.”

She stood up and grabbed Tormund’s nearly full goblet. If he wanted to stew in his cynicism, hatred, and self-loathing than he was more than welcome to it. She was not going to allow him to infect her with it as well. That is all he tried to do even since they first met at the Crossroad Inn all those years ago. She was done trying to save someone who did not want to save themselves but drag her down to their level instead.

She would always be grateful for what he did for her sister, but she was done trying to save him. It was not her job. She looked down at her former would be protector and walked off, forgetting the reason that she came over in the first place.

#Sansa Stark #sansa stark defense squad #red wolf #queen in the north #anti sandor x sansa #anti sansan #sansa stark appreciation week 2020 #day 5 #cannon compliant #well sorta #anti daenerys targaryen

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mkstrigidae · 3 years

Note

hi!! in the APWH universe who is still not over vine and who is into tiktok? thanks in advance for your answer, and i just want to let you know what i love all of your fics! this answer will help me wait for ch 14 of APWH lol

Hi friend! This is a hard one to answer for two reasons:

1. I am fanatical about data privacy and so deliberately don’t keep certain apps like FB and tik tok on my phone, so I don’t actually know much about tik tok, and,

2. In-universe, the Starks are actually extremely mindful of their privacy- the next few chapters will get into some of the ramifications that arose from the type of press coverage Sansa’s case received, because it really shaped how they interact with the world, and how private most of them tend to be.

That being said, if there was a way to have customizable privacy preferences on vine or tik tok in the APWH cinematic universe, Robb is 100% the one who’s mourning vine the most, followed closely by Aegon. The rest of them have easily moved on to tik tok, especially Arya and Rickon, who would 100% post those dance tik tok challenges or whatever they’re called.

Jon misses vine, and probably has the same privacy concerns I do, and he doesn’t really understand how tik tok works yet, and Rhae thinks that all of them are a waste of time- she’s an instagram gal (as a result of spending waaaay too much time with Margaery). Theon was vine-famous for posting videos of himself or his family doing stupid shit (he has a lot of weird uncles), but can’t seem to make it on tik tok and is really put out about it and won’t shut up about how tik tok is the gentrified version of vine. Mya is definitely mourning the chaotic energy of vine, but Sansa’s kind of apathetic- like Rhae, she’s more into instagram stuff, but never posts pictures of herself, only her projects.

Bran was vine-famous and is now tik-tok famous for making ominous shitposting-esque videos about history, and anything he can goad rickon and arya into trying (Catelyn intervened after they tried that one internet challenge where you try to pour rubbing alcohol on your hand and then temporarily set it on fire, and no one’s eardrums have been the same since).

Thanks for the ask!!! 😊💕

#look guys i'm very old okay #i'm not good at social media trends #with the exception of tumblr i don't really exist online in many places #but i hope i answered this one adequately!#APWH #Anonymous #ask answers

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reidandweep · 5 years

Text

Little Doe

Jon Snow x Reader (female)

A/N- I was sent a request by @witch-of-letters around three weeks ago. Turned out it sent my brain into hyper drive and this was the outcome. I did not expect it to be this long. But I have never felt so proud than I have writing this. SO, @witch-of-letters , I am sorry for the wait and I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count- 19,891 words. Yes that is correct.

Warnings- death, angst, murder, spoilers (bit late now), fluff, and everything in between.

“I bet you can’t shoot an arrow through the middle of the target.”

“I bet I can.”

Y/N Baratheon was not a girl to be challenged. Especially by Jon Snow. Her closest and dearest friend from the North.

Ever since her father, King Robert Baratheon, and Ned Stark had formed an allegiance, Y/N had travelled with her father to Winterfell every month. Being the only true born Baratheon of her siblings, Y/N and her father was very close. Whilst Robert and Eddard Stark discussed important royal matters, Y/N and Jon were often causing trouble. From antagonising each other to cause mayhem, or choosing to do so on their own terms, the two together were a handful. With Robb added to the duo, the chaos greatly increased. For the trio showed no mercy with their mischief.

Robb smirked at the younger duo. Leaning against the pillar, he watched on as Y/N furiously grabbed her bow and arrows.

“If you shoot the arrow through the target, you can have my portion of shank at dinner tonight.”

Jon knew she would never back down the chance to have more food. Even though the Baratheon’s was one of the strongest families in all the kingdoms, the House of Stark produced the most glorious food in the kingdoms. Food that tasted like it was made with love and from the heart.

Squinting at the young bastard, Y/N nodded.

“Deal. And if I miss?”

Jon looked at Robb, a smirk forming on both of their faces.

“You have to wear a dress at dinner tonight. And we mean, a dress preserved for weddings and balls; not any sort of old tat.”

Y/N glared towards Robb as he spoke the conditions. Looking back at Jon, she waited to hear his opinion.

The young man winked at the young woman, shrugging his shoulders as though he did not know what Robb was going to say. He did. They had agreed on her punishment earlier that morning.

The young Baratheon loathed dresses. Refusing to wear them, unless for extravagant events; much to her mothers’ chagrin. She preferred to wear breeches and a tunic instead. They were more form fitting than that of a man’s; for her mother only appeased with the clothing if it could be altered to uphold some femininity.

The boys waited with baited breathes for her response.

“Deal.”

Cheers rang from the pair. Y/N shook Jon’s hand. Watching as the young bastard walked towards Robb, and away from the direction of the target. And any areas around it. They were all still learning to shoot, so It was no surprise that an arrow wold stray every now and then.

Taking a deep breath in, Y/N closed her eyes, slowing her breathing down. Opening her eyes, she raised her bow and arrow. Pulling the string back with necessary force, her vision zeroed in on the target. Moving her aim so that the arrow should fly straight through the centre. Taking one last inhale, she begins to release the string of the bow when-

“Y/N!”

The shout of her name caused Y/N to flinch, the arrow flying through the air. Embedding itself into the target. Just to the right of the bullseye.

Y/N groaned, throwing the bow to the floor, she swivelled to the direction of the shout. Looking towards the balcony, Y/N stared at her father.

“Father look what you did. You just cost me an extra shank you knob.”

Many would have been shocked to have heard how the princess spoke to the king, but it was normal. The two Baratheon’s were not the conventional pair.

King Robert chuckled heartily. With Eddard at his side, who raised an eyebrow in his son’s direction. The two boys bowering the heads, to hide their laughter.

“All of you get ready for the banquet tonight. Robb come with me and your father. We have matters to discuss.”

The three friends looked at each other in confusion. Robb shrugged his shoulders as he walked in the direction of your father and his.

“I wonder what they need him for.”

Y/N walked towards Jon. The pair watching as Robb and their fathers head into the castle.

“Well, you better start getting ready. Who knows how long it’ll take to get into your dress.”

Jon laughed as Y/N turned towards him, stepping so close that their breathes mingled. Leaning impossible closer to his face, Y/N glared into Jon’s eyes.

“I may have missed the bullseye, but if that was a real man, it would have gone straight through his heart.”

At the end of her words, Y/N moved back from their proximity and walked in the direction of her chambers. Jon staring at how her hips swayed as she aggressively walked further away.

Flittering his gaze between his chest and the target, he realised she was right. Shaking his head, Jon began his trek towards his own chambers. The only thought flittering through his mind was how he was one day going to marry Y/N Baratheon; bastard or not. He was going to make it a reality.

The banquet had begun 20 minutes before Y/N had arrived. Robb sitting next to his siblings and parents at the head of the hall. Even Theon was sat amongst the Starks. For once, Catelyn had allowed Jon to attend; to appease Y/N’s begs of her friend being present. Sitting away from all Baratheon’s and Starks, Jon conversed with his uncle Benjen, speaking of matters that could affect his future greatly.

Jon had been awaiting Y/N’s arrival. When she had walked through the door, he could not help but catch his breath. Neither could Robb, or any young man in close proximity. Whilst Jon could not tear his eyes away from Y/N, his uncle Benjen left Jon to ogle.

“Bloody hell. She should be bent over and ravished in that dress.”

Robb elbowed Theon in his stomach. Causing the ward to lose his breath; coughing on the lack of it.

Y/N looked at the table at the head of the room. Seeing her plate next to her fathers and her mothers. Walking towards it, she reached where it laid.

At the sight of their daughter, her parents ceased their conversation.

“You’re finally looking like a lady Y/N. What has caused this drastic change? Or should I ask whom?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her mother’s words.

Going to grab her plate, she hiked up her skirt to climb up the platform to the table.

Piling more vegetables and mashed potatoes on her sparsely filled plate (most likely her mother’s doing) she shoved her shank into her mouth, ripping off a large portion of the meat. With her plate in one hand, and her shank in the other, Y/N pointed at her father with the bone of meat. Amusement clear on his face. Whilst her mother and siblings held disgust. Laughter could be heard from the Stark children at her antics.

“Stupid bets with the stupid Stark boys. I would have had it if father had not called for me.”

Robert bellowed with laughter at his daughter’s frustration.

She turned to glare at him, however, she could not keep a smile from taking over.

“Because of that, I am going to sit with Jon. The poor bastard is probably bored out of his mind.”

Cersei shook her head at her daughter’s words.

“You will do no such thing.”

Y/N bore her eyes into her mother’s, taking another bite out of her shank.

Chewing the meat ever so slowly, she swallowed the chunk. Throwing the bone on her plate, she licked her fingers clean; angering her mother even more.

“Let her mother, she’s acting like a homeless harlot any way.”

Whipping her head towards Joffrey, she took in his words. Looking her younger brother up and down with a glare that could kill, the young Lannister swallowed harshly.

Heading to walk past the Starks and down the steps of the platform, she kept her eyes on Joffrey, stopping to stand in front of the young Stark girls.

“Sansa cover your ears.”

The girl did so.

Directing her words back to Joffrey, she smirked at her brother.

“You can call me a harlot. But at least I’m not an incestuous little bitch.”

Cersei’s head whipped in her daughter’s direction. Watching as she diverted her attention to the Starks.

Y/N smiled as Arya, Theon, and Robb chuckled at her words. Motioning for Sansa to uncover her ears, she knew the girl still heard. But she didn’t care.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. I have fulfilled my duties and my part of the bet. So, I am going to sit with Jon and enjoy my meal.”

As she continued her path across the platform, Y/N reached out her hand to quickly grab Theon’s leftover shank.

The ward standing in his seat.

“You fucking bitch! I didn’t finish that.”

The girl trotted down the steps, walking through the array of people backwards.

Much like she had done to her father, Y/N used the shank to point at Theon.

“Next time you talk about bending over a girl and ravishing her without consent, think about how you will go hungry for the rest of the night.”

Turning to face Jon, she walked towards the man; who had witnessed and heard mostly everything.

Robb sitting next to Theon, laughed as the ward fell back into his seat in a sulk.

“She’s right mate.”

Theon scoffed.

“At least I won’t be married to her and have her not love me back.”

Robb stared at the Greyjoy.

“What do you mean? She might learn to love me back.”

Theon scoffed, continuing to eat the food left on his plate.

“You really think her, and Jon only see each other as friends. Why do you think her father and yours are marrying her to you? Jon’s a bastard and not a Stark. If he were, they would be married by morning.”

Robb shifted in his seat. He knew Y/N did not see him the same as he saw her. But for others to see the obvious tension between Jon and Y/N, and he hadn’t, made it even more real for Robb.

Sitting back in his seat Robb looked forward.

“Remember, you aren’t a Stark either Greyjoy. So, stop pretending that you are.”

Theon paused his eating at Robb’s words. Rage bubbling deep inside as he began to drink his wine excessively.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dropping her plate in front of Jon, Y/N raised her skirt to sit comfortably on the chair. Shovelling Theon’s shank, unattractively, into her mouth. Using her sleeve as a makeshift napkin to wipe her face.

Jon could not help but watch in amusement.

Swallowing the food, Y/N looked into her friend’s eyes.

“Has Ned told you?”

Taking a swig of his wine, he placed the cup down.

“Told me what?”

Wiping her mouth once more, Y/N reached over to grasp Jon’s drink, gulping some down herself.

“My father and Ned have arranged for Robb and I to wed.”

In disbelief, all Jon could do was stare at Y/N.

Putting his cup back on the table, Y/N leaned her head on her hand, watching herself play with her food.

“They haven’t told me yet. Turns out Arya over heard them tell Robb. She came to me straight away. Telling me that Robb did not argue against it, the cunt.”

Jon licked his lips. Running his hands over his face. Looking back at the young woman in front of him, Jon analysed her expression.

“And you’re not happy with this?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his question.

Waving her hand in the air, she answered.

“Of course, I am not happy Jon. Robb is like a brother to me. I don’t view him in that way. And unlike some people in these kingdoms, I don’t want to fuck my family. I want to marry whomever I choose.”

Jon laughed at her words.

“Anyway, what did Benjen want? You seemed to be having a pretty serious conversation.”

It was Jon’s turn to stare at his own plate.

“He came to inform me that he was travelling to join the Nightswatch. And I told him that I want to join too.”

“Oh.”

Jon raised his gaze to the girl, seeing her expression fall.

“So, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya will be travelling to Kingslanding back with your family. I will follow Benjen to the wall-“

“And I will be here, marrying Robb, and helping your mother tend to Bran, whilst Theon does God knows what.”

All Jon did was nod his head.

“Well we better make the most of today and tomorrow.”

Raising her shank, she laughed as Jon cheered it with his own. The pair continuing to laugh throughout the feast.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As there last day together approached, Y/N and Jon never left each other’s side. Causing more mischief than ever before. King Robert and Eddard chose not to interfere, knowing that it was going to be a while before they would see each other again. Robb had also left the pair alone, for Y/N would be his wife soon, and they would be together for a long time coming.

The day went too quickly for the pair, and as morning came, Y/N could not help but feel the tears gather in her eyes at the thought of being left by her father and Jon.

Watching as Arya and Sansa left with her family in tow. She stood next to the Stark sisters as the clambered onto their horses.

“Keep Sansa safe Arya.”

“I will.” The younger Stark replied.

“And Sansa?”

The older Stark looked towards Y/N.

The Baratheon smiled.

“Help yourself to all my dresses and fabric. I’ve have never worn most of them.”

Sansa smiled in appreciation.

Y/N’s expression became more serious.

“And please be careful.”

“I will.”

The pair went to begin their journey to Kingslanding.

Y/N turned to the guard next to her; already mounted on his steed.

“Please watch over them Sandor. You and I both know how evil of a cunt Joffrey is.”

The Hound huffed at her words. Lifting the helmet, he placed it on his head.

“I’ll do my best. Don’t get yourself killed now little Doe.”

Y/N laughed at his nickname for her, watching as her family and the Starks set of on their journey.

She had already said goodbye to her father in privacy. Not wanting to cry even more than she knew she would when she would have to say goodbye to Jon.

Once the carriage and horses were a mere speck in the horizon, she allowed herself to face Jon. Examining the exchange between him and Robb, she could feel her heart hurt at the sight.

Strolling towards them, Y/N witnessed as the Stark brother’s let each other go. Quickly taking Robb’s position as he left the pair to say their goodbye’s.

Standing next to his steed, Jon watched as Y/N walked slowly towards him. Quickly gulping down the sobs in her throat, Y/N pulled Jon in too a tight embrace. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, the young pair stayed in that position for a long time, that ‘just friends’ would deem too long.

Jon was the first to pull away. Holding her face in his hands, Jon stroked her cheek with his thumb. Catching the tears that had escaped her eyes.

“I promise that we will see each other soon. You can tell me all about the married life with my brother.”

Y/N laughed. Clutching Jon’s furs with her fists. She pulled him closer, their heads resting against the others. A solemn look falling on her face.

“I don’t want to marry Robb.”

Jon let out a breath.

“I know. I wish you wasn’t.”

She replied.

“So, do I. I love him, but not in the way a man and wife love another.”

Pulling her head back, Y/N’s hand travelled to Jon’s neck. Her surprisingly warm fingers sending tingles down the man’s spine.

“Promise we will see each other again.”

Jon nodded his head.

“I promise.”

As he muttered his promise, Y/N leaned her face closer to his own. Placing her lips on his cheek, she slowly pulled them away. Detaching herself from the Stark bastard, Y/N sadly smiled at Jon.

“You better get going. By the time you get there, the snow would have melted.”

Jon chuckled. Mounting his horse, he positioned himself comfortable on the saddle.

Benjen began to follow the Nightswatch as they started their journey out of the gates of Winterfell.

Y/N stepped back as Jon trotted his horse to catch up with his uncle.

“Jon!”

Turning his head, he caught Y/N’s gaze.

“Remember. If you ever need to, aim to the right.”

Jon felt a large smile take over his face.

“Straight at the heart.”

Y/N smiled in return.

“Straight at the heart.”

Much like her father leaving, Y/N stood in her place. Refusing to move until Jon was a speck in the distance.

As she stood, watching Jon leave, Robb slowly approached. Standing to the side of the Baratheon princess.

The pair stood in silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Robb looked towards his soon to be wife.

“What for?”

She let a few tears fall.

“I love him.”

“I know.”

“I love you too.”

Robb turned his gaze back to the gates. The two watching as the guards shut them closed.

“But not in the same way.”

Y/N shook her head.

Placing a hand on Robb’s shoulder, their eyes connected.

“No. But I will be the best wife I can be.”

Robb smiled at her words. He had no doubt she wouldn’t.

Squeezing his shoulder, Y/N let her hand drop, walking away from Robb and away from the gates where she had said goodbye to her family and Jon. Walking into the castle that she now would call home. But nowhere would be home without her father. And nowhere would make her feel as happy as when she was with Jon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As the months passed, it became easier for Y/N to become more comfortable in her permanent residence at Winterfell. Coming to terms of her life with Robb. He was her friend, and he needed her help. Robb accepted the fact that she did not love him the same, but he knew she still cared for him deeply. And when word had come to Winterfell that King Robert Baratheon had sadly passed, Robb’s shoulder was there for Y/N to cry on. Y/N had reciprocated the compassion when news of Ned’s execution hit Winterfell. She hated Joffrey and her mother with a passion.

The young Baratheon was distraught. Being the closest to her father out of her siblings, she felt as though she had lost the only true family member she had. Heartbroken that she was not at his side when he sadly passed. Her tears of sorrow were soon replaced with tears of dread when she realised what would occur if anyone was to find out the true bloodline of her siblings. She had known for years of Cersei and Jaime’s relationship. How nobody else had realised why she looked so contrasting to her siblings, Y/N prayed for the day that the truth would be revealed to never come.

However, it did, and as Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, word had travelled around the kingdoms. Causing the War of the Five Kings to begin. With Joffrey, her uncle Stannis and Renly, Balon Greyjoy, and Robb, all fighting for the throne.

As the war surged forward, Y/N noticed that Robb’s attention had been caught by one of the young healers; Talisa. Watching the pair converse, Y/N smiled to herself. She was happy that he had finally found true love. And at that moment of thought, Jon entered her mind. She wondered where he was now. If he ever thought of her on his travels. If he was safe, or even still alive.

On a seemingly quiet night, Catelyn approached Y/N in the drawing room. As she pulled the girl into her embrace, she informed her of the nuptials that would occur that evening. “For Robb and I?”

Catelyn shook her head, a smile taking over her features.

“No. For Talisa and Robb.”

Y/N let out the breath she held. Robb was her “brother”, and he was finally going to get married. To someone who loved him back.

“Thank high heavens. No disrespect Catelyn. I love your son. But not in that way.”

The Stark woman laughed at the Baratheon’s exclamation; enveloping her in another hug.

“I know you mean no harm in your words. It’s not your fault that your heart belongs to Ned’s bastard.”

Y/N shook her head, pulling herself out of the woman’s grasp.

“Give the boy some slack Catelyn. He’s out there defending the wall for us.”

Catelyn dismissed the girl’s words with a wave of her hand.

“Now let’s get you in something more suitable for a wedding. No more breeches for the rest of the day.”

Y/N followed begrudgingly as Catelyn helped her get ready for Robb’s wedding.

Walking across the field, Y/N sauntered into Robb’s tent, watching as he finished getting ready.

“Well somebody looks like a king.”

Robb chuckled, turning to his friend.

“And somebody looks like a princess.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am one, you dickhead.”

“You don’t dress like one.”

Y/N punched Robb’s shoulder at his words.

Robb laughed.

“Come one. Let’s go get you married. This is going to be the best wedding in all the kingdoms.”

For soon after the ceremony occurred, blood flooded the floors of the room. Waldor Frey’s men killing everyone and anything. With Greywind at her side, and a bow in her hand, Y/N fought off many of the soldiers. Trying her best to protect Robb.

Out of nowhere, one of Frey’s soldiers jumped from behind, swinging his dagger in Y/N’s direction. Just as Y/N thought this would be her end, Greywind attacked the soldier’s arm, causing the sword to slice Y/N’s face; narrowly missing her eye. She was alive. She could deal with a cut face as long she was alive. Pulling her arrow back, she landed it perfectly into the heart of the solider; Greywind keeping him down with his grip on the man’s arm.

“Y/N!”

At the shout of her name, she turned to Robb.

“Get out of here. Take Greywind with you.”

Y/N shook her head.

“I am not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. Go find Jon at the wall. I am not going to lose both Talisa and you. Mother and I will be okay. Go.”

Y/N looked at Catelyn’s direction.

“Go.” The women whispered.

AS Catelyn held the knife to the throat of Frey’s wife, Y/N slipped out the room. Quickly mounting one of the horses, with Greywind at her side, and her bow on her back, she fled from the wedding and from Winterfell.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------She could feel in her bones the guilt of leaving Robb and his mother behind. Of not being able to help Talisa. Of not being able to do something more. The guilt and grief only grew more when on her way to the wall, as she stopped to eat in a small tavern, Y/N over-heard of the gruesome events that occurred after she left. Hearing men laugh as they spoke about how Waldor Frey’s soldiers cut off Robb’s head and paraded his body around. How Catelyn’s throat was slit open. How Talisa was murdered, and so was her and Robb’s unborn child.

She could not hear no more. Continuing to travel as she arrived closer and closer to the wall. Collecting weapons, furs, and food along her travels. Greywind never leaving her side. Y/N remembered the directions to the Nightswatch, having spoken to her father and Eddard about it in great deal; when she was younger. She was always fascinated by the stories of the wall, so it was no surprise that she would want to know more about the men who would be guarding it.

Y/N had been travelling for weeks when she finally arrived at the wall. Searching for a secluded space, she hopped off of her horse. Stroking the animal’s mane, Y/N grabbed out the necessary food from her satchel. Feeding both the horse and Greywind before devouring an apple herself. She could not risk lighting a fire and cooking. It could draw unwanted attention. But what she didn’t know was that she had already done so by being there. As she was finishing her apple, out of nowhere, Greywind began to snarl. Instantly dropping the core of her fruit, Y/N reached for her bow and arrows; standing in front of the horse with Geywind at her side.

Looking towards the area where Greywind gazed, she saw fur and lots of it, approaching where she stood at the wall. The figures moved closer and closer. Wildlings. Y/N had no time to run or hide. With the direwolf and horse by her side, she would not be able to escape quietly. Drawing her bow, Y/N made sure her weapons were secure on her body. She was not going to be killed by Wildlings. Not when she had survived this long.

As they approached, one by one, the Wildlings noticed the woman in front of them. She was dressed very similar to them. The only differences being that her furs were a mixture of red and black. Tormund stood near the front of the group with Ygritte by his side. So, it came as a very big surprise when they reached the wall to enter the watch, that a woman stood in front of it. With a bow in her hand and a huge fucking wolf snarling towards them.

Y/N pulled her bow to aim at the ginger Wildlings’ chest.

“Take another fucking step and I will shoot this arrow straight through your heart, Wildling.”

Tormund let out a boisterous laugh at her words.

“Will you kill me little fox? Will you kill us all? You don’t know who you are messing with.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N answered.

“No.”

Tormund continued to laugh.

“But he will help me.”

AT the sound of her words, Greywind began to growl louder, his body arching as he slowly strode closer to the Wildlings.

Tormund quickly became quiet.

“Now if you don’t let me go, I will paint this wall red with your blood and use your skulls as bowls to feed my direwolf. You hear?”

Silence encompassed them.

“I like her.”

Y/N shifted her arrow to the ginger woman at her words.

Tormund’s shocked expression moving to gaze at her as well.

Ygritte simply shrugged her shoulders.

“She has fire. You of all people should know how strong a person kissed by fire is.”

The Wildling’s murmured amongst each other, looking at Tormund to respond.

Tormund looked at Ygritte. The ginger girl giving a quick nod of her head. Their silent conversation coming to an agreement.

Turning back to the Baratheon, Tormund sheathed his dagger. Taking another step closer; to only take it back as the direwolf growled once more.

“Okay little fox. We do no harm.”

Y/N never let her eyes leave the group. Keeping herself on edge for any attack.

“Here me out little fox.”

“Do not call me fox. I am not a fox.”

Tormund could see Ygritte smirk in the corner of his eye. Yes. She would fit right in.

“If you have no place to stay, come with us Wildlings. You will be safe.”

“I don’t need your help. I am safer alone.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes at the girl’s words. She felt that way once too.

“You won’t be safe when the Whites arrive.”

Y/N shook her head. Not wanting to believe her words. She had heard stories, but it has been hundreds of years since White Walkers roamed around Westeroes. But her mind suddenly reeled back to all the warnings Eddard Stark had given before his death. Winter is Coming. That is what he meant.

Slowly lowering her bow, she kept the object in a type grip at her side. Clicking her tongue, she signalled for Greywind to heel at her feet. The direwolf still on high alert.

“If I was to come with you, you swear an oath to do me no harm.”

Tormund laughed once more. As did many of the other Wildlings.

“An oath? Were Wildlings. You’re lucky to even be offered shelter.”

Y/N continued to stare at the man, her eyes flickering to Ygritte’s, as the woman’s expression remained serious.

“We swear.”

At Ygritte’s words, the Wildlings bellowed disagreements.

Y/N, taking Ygritte’s word, began to lead her direwolf and horse towards the Wildlings. She trusted Ygritte. She even felt compelled to trust the big ginger one, but she still kept her eye out for any dirty bastard who would break their word.

“Fine. We will amuse this oath. But if you are to stay with us, you will live the Wildling way. They call me Tormund Giantsbane.”

As they began to head towards the Wildling’s keep, Y/N walked between Tormund and Ygritte. The rest of the Wildlings in front of them. Greywind stayed close behind Y/N for protection, as she led her horse by its reigns.

“Why Giantsbane?”

“I killed a giant when I was 10. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, she suckled me at her teat for three months. Thought I was her baby. That’s how I got so strong: giant’s milk.”

Y/N could not help but smile at the man’s story. Confusing Tormund as many of whom he had told the story to would either look deathly afraid, repelled, or even turned on. Not amused like Y/N was.

“Now what do they call you little fox.”

Y/N thought whether or not to reveal her true identity. To be trusting or to be safe. She chose the latter.

“They call me Doe.”

Tormund looked at the woman in confusion.

“Doe? A deer?”

Ygritte laughed at Tormund’s expression.

“A female deer.”

Tormund glared at his Wildling friend.

“I know what a doe is, you fucker.”

Ygritte smirked.

“It sounded like you didn’t.”

As the two bickered back and forth, walking either side of the Baratheon, Y/N could not help but reminisce of the funny quarrels between her, Robb, and Jon. She missed them both dearly. Whilst she may never be able to reunite with Robb, she knew she was so close to seeing Jon. She could feel it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Turns out, Y/N’s feelings were correct. For the bastard of Eddard Stark was a lot closer than she thought. She had been living with the Wildlings for nearly a year when Ygritte had travelled back from her duties at the wall. But Ygritte wasn’t alone. It seemed she had turned the tables on her capture; catching the crow herself.

As Ygritte travelled back to the Wildling den with the crow, Y/N and Tormund sat at the fire. The man watching as the woman hacked and carved the elks they and other Wildlings had caught earlier that day. She had come to take position of cook the minute she arrived. Being near the fire reminded her of life back home. She had also taken up cooking whilst living with Robb; wanting to become friendly with the servants and hand maidens that she thought would be with her for life. But how she was wrong.

During her months with the Wildlings, her skills in sword fighting had become a lot stronger. Adhering the techniques of the Wildlings, the Starks, and those her uncle Jaime had taught her, made Y/N’s fighting style unique. Untouchable. Her skills with an arrow had no match to anyone else either. She was a strong warrior. One the Wildlings had come to admire.

“You’ve grown strong Little Doe. Nearly as strong as I.”

Y/N smiled at Tormund’s words. The man reminded her of her father. His contagious laugh and rosy cheeks were similar to that of the Baratheon king. Cutting the elk into pieces, Y/N placed them onto the fire.

“And I did not need one drop of giant’s milk.”

Tormund bellowed with laughter at the girl’s sarcasm. She was still a spitfire. That aspect had not changed.

Y/N had come to adapt to the Wildling lifestyle very quickly. Most of it not being that different to her adventures with Jon and Robb. Hunting, sparring, and amongst other training activities. She was more comfortable here than she had ever been under the gaze of her mother. No dresses in sight. Just thick furs and weapons. Jon would have fit right in, she thought.

Wiping her hands on her trousers, Y/N stood up, handing some already cooked food to Tormund. The man began to devour the food instantly.

“I am going to give the rest of this food out to the ones who have yet to eat. So, don’t think about eating my plate or else the last words out of your mouth would have been about how strong I am. Got it Tor?”

The man held up a thumb, shoving the rest of his forkful into his mouth. He had learnt that the young woman did not kid when it meant food was involved.

Picking up the large box of prepared food, Y/N trudged out the camp and headed towards the groups of Wildlings she had left to feed. The women and children smiled at her arrival. The men nodding their heads in respect. She began to hand out the meals; blissfully unaware of Ygritte and many other Wildlings entering the camp with Jon Snow at their side.

“Hey Dongo?”

The giant stopped hammering the pole at the sound of his name. He smiled once he saw it was Little Doe. Even the giants had come to care for the Baratheon. Everyone treated her as though she was a born and raised Wildling.

As Y/N’s attention was aimed at feeding the giant, she failed to see the crow, behind the large beast, being ushered into the main tent. Grabbing a large slab of shank out of her box, she handed the meat to the giant.

“If you want anymore, Xera is also cooking in the tent over there. You’ve worked really hard today.”

The giant nodded in appreciation, watching as Y/N carried on weaving through the groups of Wildlings to feed the hungry.

“I smell a crow.”

Tormund had ceased eating once he felt the presence of a stranger in the tent. Ygritte stood to one side of Jon, as the Lord of Bones stood at the other. The man pulling of his mask as he spoke.

“We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one.”

Tormund kept his back to the trio.

“What do we want with a baby crow?”

“This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand. He wants to be one of us.”

At Ygritte’s words, Tormund stood from his seat; staring at Jon.

“That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine. Friends twice your size.”

Jon took deep breaths. Trying to not show his fear.

“My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”

“Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?”

“Jon Snow.”

Tormund’s face changed to one of confusion. Having remembered a time when the Little Doe had mentioned a man named Jon. No last name. But it had been one of the few times she had talked so openly of her past. Of a boy she had grown besides, who had to leave to protect the place he lived.

Jon kneeled before Tormund, mistaking him for Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.

“Your Grace.”

The wildlings laughed, Tormund ignoring his thoughts.

“Your Grace? Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart.”

With the Wildlings laughing, Mance Rayder appeared from the shadows, heading towards the crow.

“Stand, boy. We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall.”

Jon raised to his feet, watching the man before him.

“So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones. You can leave us.”

The lord of Bones left, Ygritte soon following in tow. As she exited the tent, Y/N approached the woman, food already in hand.

“Here you go Ygritte. Just heard you had arrived back. With company as well. Who’s the poor soul this time?”

Ygritte smirked at the girl’s words. Much like Tormund, the girl had spoken of a Jon. But had given no name. However, with the details she had told, Ygritte knew the man in the tent was the man Y/N had spoken about. Not wanting to give anything away, Ygritte took the food from the woman.

“You know, just some crow. We killed the rest. Thought this one could be useful, He’s in there with Mance and Tormund. Head in if you like.”

At the end of her words, Ygritte walked away, watching from her peripheral vision as Y/N began to walk into the tent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As she stood outside the tent, Y/N could hear Mance Rayder and Tormund tormenting the poor crow.

“The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?”

As she quietly stepped into the tent, Y/N body became rigid at the sight of dark black curls. It couldn’t be.

“Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls.”

Tormund came to stand at the entrance, his face turning to see Y/N frozen in the doorway. Concern taking over his features.

“This chicken eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane.”

Jon refused to turn to look at the man; only until he saw Mance Rayder’s expression change as well.

The leader of the Wildling’s had also seen Y/N stand in the door. Both men worried at her reaction to the sight of the crow.

“Little Doe is there something wrong?”

At the sound of the name, Jon’s head whipped to the direction of the door. Only one person other than Sansa that he knew was called Little Doe.

For the first time in two years, Y/N and Jon was in each other’s presence. Through loss, deceit, fear, they had gone through it all and were back together again.

“Y/N?”

Tears sprung to her eyes at the sound of her name. She never thought she would the sound of her name so much. But she missed the man that spoke them more.

“Jon.”

As she cried his name, the man strode towards the woman. Jon pulling her body flushed against his own. Clinging to each other with all their strength. Pulling the other tighter and tighter. Afraid to be ripped apart once more.

Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, Y/N spoke to Jon for the first time in a long while.

“I came to the wall after what had happened, and I stopped to rest. But then Tormund and the Wildlings came; warned me about the dangers beyond the wall. I’ve been here since. I’m sorry I didn’t save Robb and Catelyn. I’m so sorry Jon.”

The girl cried. The sound broke the hearts of all three men. None of the Wildlings had ever seen or heard the woman cry. They weren’t aware of the terrors she had fled when they had found her.

Jon wiped away the tears. His hand cupping Y/N’s face, as the other continued to hold her waist; keeping her body close.

“It’s not your fault. You are a Baratheon, not a Lannister. You did not kill them.”

The young woman hiccuped.

“But I didn’t save them either. I should have tried harder.”

Jon held her closer, trying to sooth the woman in his arms.

“Baratheon?”

Y/N ceased her sobbing at the sound of Tormund’s voice.

“Shit.”

Lifting her head from Jon’s chest, she kept a firm grip of the man’s furs, as she turned her head to where Tormund stood next to Mance Rayder. Tormund continuing to look confused, whilst Rayder’s showed no expression.

Y/N sits down with the men and begins to explain to them her story. Of how she was meant to marry Robb Stark, the events of the Red Wedding, of all the hatred she held towards her mother and siblings.

“I have felt more at home here and at Winterfell than I ever did in Kingslanding. The only reason I was still there was because I am the only pure born Baratheon and I was not going to leave my father. If you wish for me to leave, I will do so. But I never intended to harm you. In anyway, and I am sorry that I lied to you both, and the others.”

Mance Rayder looked at Tormund, the man staring back. Their silent conversation being recognised by Jon as he came to sit next to Y/N. His body gravitating to sit as close as he possibly could.

The two men nodded towards the other. Looking back at the girl.

Mance Rayder spoke clearly to the woman.

“You have shown through your words and actions that you are no Lannister. That you are no coward. That you are a Wildling. Through and through. The only way you could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed you himself.”

Y/N chuckled at his words.

“That is true.” Tormund agreed.

“You are one of us. That will never change.”

“Thank you Rayder.”

The man smiled at the young woman. Taking that as his leave, he stood from his seat and walked towards the entrance.

“Snow.”

Jon looked at the man standing at the door.

“We shall discuss matters of you being here at a later time.”

At the end of his words, Mance Rayder left the room, leaving the trio alone.

“You’re still our Little Doe. Still unstoppable with a bow and arrow and a fucking great cook.”

Jon smiled at Tormund’s words to Y/N. He was proud that she had been able to survive so long in the game that was being played. Away from most of the carnage, but still aware of the fight. That she had been able to gain respect from a group that many people in Westeros never dared to fight against.

“Thank you, Tormund. You are still my fire.”

“Aye. You better tell that to your friend.”

Tormund left the pair alone in the tent. His laughter becoming quieter and quieter the further he travelled away.

Turning to face Y/N, Jon threaded his fingers through her hair. Wanting to feel her presence as much as he could. Cupping his hands with her own, Y/N leant into his touch. Glad to feel the familiar touch of the man before her.

“So, tell me about the Watch? Have you finally made some friends, besides me and your family?”

Jon chortled at her words. Y/N had always teased Jon about his lack of companions when they were growing up. As Robb and Theon grew older, they had many friends and even some women at their sides. Whereas it seemed Jon was content with only having her.

“A young man called Samwell Tarly. He has become a great companion of mine. But all men of the Watch are brothers in arms. We have each other’s backs.”

A sullen look took over Y/N’s features as she pulled her face away from Jon’s caress. Worry instantly took over Jon at the sudden change in her demeanour.

“And what would they make of you here with us Wildlings?”

Jon huffed out a breath; unsure how to answer.

“But you are not a Wildling.”

Y/N took great offense to her friend’s statement.

“You heard Mance Rayder. I am a Wildling. Through and through. The only way I could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed me himself.”

“Y/N, you are a Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister. You are meant to be in a castle, safe and away from all of this.”

Y/N was hurt. Jon of all people should know how much she hated her life in Kingslanding.

“You know that I have never wished to be a princess. You know that one of the reasons I travelled with father to Winterfell so often was because the horrible torment I would have faced when he had gone.”

Y/N rose to her feet, as her anger began to take over her emotions. Jon regretting his words as soon as he said them. Y/N’s hands slammed on the table between them.

“You know that the place I felt safest was at Winterfell and that all went when Theon betrayed your brother. When your brother betrayed his vow. When my grandfather betrayed me. Sending men to kill us all. Your brother may have died. But I had to watch one of my best friends die at the hands of my uncle. I had to run as I knew that Cateyln, the only honest and caring woman in my life, be killed. Whilst you were in Castle Black. Having no idea of the atrocities I faced.”

Y/N wiped her nose, as tears pricked her eyes once more. Looking away at the man in front of her. His saddened expression making her wish she wasn’t so harsh. But she could not allow him to disrespect all she had been through. “These people took me in. They could have left me to die, whilst I searched for you, but they didn’t. They helped me grow as a warrior. If Ygritte and Tormund did not take me in, I would most likely be on the other side of that wall, with eyes as blue as the summer sky, and skin as cold as the ice.”

Jon flinched at her words, at the idea of her being part of the dead beyond the wall. Standing from his seat, Jon strode around the table, moving to stand in front of Y/N, forcing the woman to look at him.

“I am sorry. They were your family as much as they were mine. I cannot imagine the feelings you have felt. But I am here now, and I am going to make sure that you are safe.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/N searched to see any lies. She loved Jon. More than she cared to admit, but they were a part of a game much bigger than the both of them, and that meant having to question the actions of those they loved.

Stepping closer, toe to toe, Jon could feel Y/N’s breath on his face. His eyes momentarily closing at the feeling.

“Will I be safe in Castle Black? Among the Nightswatch? Because I don’t think I will.

Y/N left the room, allowing her words to linger in Jon’s heart. His chest feeling heavy at the thought of Y/N feeling unsafe with him. But he knew it wasn’t his presence that made her feel unsafe, but that of the Nightswatch. For as far as they, and everyone else in Westeros knew, Princess Y/N Baratheon was dead. And she was. For this new woman, sitting next to Wun Wun in the open camp, was not the same Baratheon that Jon had left in Winterfell. But Jon’s heart still thumped as hard.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days after Jon’s arrival at the camp, Mance Rayder ordered for Tormund to escort a group of Wildlings to attack Castle Black from the rear. Instructing Tormund to have Jon accompany him.

Tormund and the Wildlings had prepared to leave camp, when out of nowhere, Y/N appeared at Tormund’s side. Cloaked and ready for the journey ahead.

“You are not coming Little Doe.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, ignoring Tormund’s words.

“He’s right Y/N.”

Jon slightly flinched at the glare she through his way.

“I am still pissed off at you Snow. So, don’t tell me that I would be safe at Castle Black, then tell me I cannot come with you. Because you will be proving yourself to be a liar.”

Turning her head back forward, Y/N began to march forward with the Wildlings. Jon was frozen in his place. Staring as the woman walked at the front of the group, unafraid of what was out there. Turning his head, Jon realised that Tormund had ceased moving, much like Y/N, glaring at the man in question. Jon gulped.

“You better start walking crow. You’ve already pissed off one Wildling today. Don’t make it another.”

Jon instantly began to walk, he and Tormund quickly catching up the group; situating themselves at the front once more.

It did not take long for things to go South. With Ygritte and Jon’s near-death experience climbing the wall, to Jon refusing to kill the innocent man, Y/N had to step in. She may have been angry with Jon. But she was not going to watch him be killed.

“Tormund! Stop! You are not going to kill him.”

As Y/N runs to aid Jon, Ygritte grabs her arms from behind; restraining the young woman.

“Ygritte if you were my friend, you would let me go.”

Ygritte held on to Y/N’s arms tighter.

“I am not going to let you go because you are my friend, and you will make the wrong decision.”

Out of nowhere, Summer and Shaggydog arrive at Jon’s side. Greywind had been kept absent from the expedition due to the treacherous climbing and walking. They could not carry supplies for twenty plus Wildlings and a direwolf.

As Jon was fighting successfully against the Wildlings, with the help of the direwolves, Y/N fought excessively hard to get out of Ygritte’s grip. Successfully doing so and grabbing her bow and arrow as well. Holding the arrow in the direction of Tormund and Ygritte, Y/N stepped closer towards Jon.

“You are not going to kill him!”

“He’s a traitor. Still loyal to the Nightswatch.”

“He’s my family and so are you. I am not losing anymore family…”

As Y/N held back the Wildlings, with Summer at her side, Jon successfully killed Orrell. Suddenly, an eagle swooped down to attack the man, clawing him across the face. Y/N turned at the commotion, running towards Jon, she whistled, causing a horse to approach. Placing her bow onto her back she pulled out her sword, swinging it back and forth to keep away the eagle and any approaching Wildlings.

“Get on the horse now!”

Jon slowly climbs onto the horse. He holds out his hand for Y/N to take. Looking sadly at the man, she ignored his hand.

“One day Jon Snow, we will see each other again.”

Clapping the horse on the back leg, Y/N urged the stead to gallop away from the Wildlings. Jon watching as she was quickly restrained once more by the people she had called family. She had put herself in danger to save him. Jon would never forgive himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s arms were bound tightly together. Gagged to stop her screams as Tormund ordered for Ygritte and other Wildlings to chase after Jon. She fought and fought to free herself, but she could not fight no longer. Tormund carrying Y/N himself to their base to rest. Facing forward, he dared not to look down at the woman in his arms, hearing her soft broken cries caused his heart to replace the anger he felt at her actions to change to sadness at the sound of her tearful woes.

Jon cleaned his facial wounds in a small pool. His horse grazing nearby. He heard the sound of a bow being drawn, turning to see Ygritte, an arrow notched and aimed at him. Anger surges through her at the betrayal of the man. His betrayal to the Wildlings. To Y/N. Her friends.

“Ygritte, you know I didn't have a choice. She always knew what I was. What I am. I have to go home now. I know you won't hurt me. Y/N wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”

Ygritte’s hold on the bow began to loosen.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. You know nothing of what you and her family have put her through.”

“I do know some things. I know I love her.”

Ygritte grunted, drawing her bow harder in rage.

“I have loved her since we were children. I loved her when her father told her she was meant to marry my brother. I loved her when I left for the Watch. And I love her now. Through all she has been through. I love who she was and who she has become.”

“Then why did you betray her. Why did you betray us?”

Jon paused with his words. Staring deep into Ygritte’s eyes, seeing the blinding rage that she held towards him.

“I have to make things right. To make it better for her.”

Ygritte fought back tears at the thought of Jon taking away her friend. But also, for the fact he was leaving her once more. Jon turned around, unaware, as Ygritte loosened an arrow into his shoulder. Jon fell to the ground, grunting in pain. Notching another arrow, Ygritte watched as Jon lurched up and grabbed onto his horse. She hesitated. Not wanting to hurt him more than she had. He was right. Y/N would not want her to do this. But she had to.

Jon mounted his steed as Ygritte shot an arrow into his leg; crying out as he spurred on his horse. With her anger rising once more, Ygritte shot her third and final arrow, lodging it into the crow’s back. If he were a target, it would be right on the bullseye. Cursing as she let the man gallop away.

When Ygritte arrived back to camp, her quiver empty, but no Jon in sight, Y/N wasn’t sure if she had successfully killed the man and left him to other creatures beyond the wall, or if she had let him go.

Y/N sat next to Tormund, arms still secured behind her back. Her face void of any emotion. Ygritte went to walk past the woman but halted as words left the princess’ mouth.

“Did you kill him? If you were my friend, you could at least tell me that.”

Ygritte looked at her friend, bound and sat on the floor. Like a slave. Like a prisoner. Nothing like one of their own. She hated to see her like this. But they had to be careful.

“I did what I had to do.”

Ygritte walked away from the woman, ignoring as her hunched shoulders went slack. Y/N no longer had the will to fight. Jon had betrayed her, the Wildlings had betrayed her, and she had betrayed them as well.

Y/N was kept detained for the time that the Wildlings prepared to invade the Black. Even though she had fought against them, Tormund and the Wildlings still cared for her. Becoming increasingly worried as she refused to speak and eat. All day and all night, she sat shackled, watching them prepare with a blank stare. Tormund could not deal with it no more.

Moving to sit next to the distant woman, Tormund dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Bringing a canter to her lips, he forced her to swallow.

“You are not dying because of that traitor, Little Doe. I understand why you did what you did. We forgive you.”

Y/N shook her head at his words.

“You shouldn’t. I protected him. I haven’t seen him for years, but the moment he goes against him, I was by his side. I turned against you when I should have stopped him.”

Tormund drank from the canter, staring into the distant hills. The air was cold, but not as harsh as it had been before.

“But we do forgive you. People do all kinds of things for love.”

Y/N scoffed.

“I don’t love him. Not anymore.”

Tormund couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s malice filled words.

“Yes, you do Little Doe. You love him, and he loves you. Through all the changes and things that have done you wrong, you love each other. Between you, there is fire, scorching hot fire. It cannot be put out. But it can be made stronger.”

Y/N processed Tormund’s words.

Tormund left the woman to think. She knew of the raids that had occurred in the towns. Having been kept behind and guarded by a group of Wildlings as they had occurred. She knew that the siege of Castle Black was to occur that night. She had to prove to her Wildling family that she could be trusted. That she has always been and will be a Wildling.

Rolling onto her back, Y/N pushed herself forward, flipping onto her feet. Bending her knees to get used to the feeling of standing once more, Y/N casually strolled through the Wildlings and towards Mance Rayder and Tormund and they spoke with numerous wildlings about the battle that was about to commence.

Slowing to stand beside Tormund, she listens to the conversation. Hearing the plan of action, Y/N nods her head.

“Okay, if someone can untie me, I’ll grab my weapons and get prepared.” Tormund jumped at the new presence, unaware of the woman at his side.

“You are not coming.”

Y/N turned her gaze to Mance, the man’s steely eyes piercing her own.

Determined, Y/N easily pulled her hands free from her restraints.

Tormund looked between her hands and the girls face.

“You could have freed yourself? You could have escaped.”

Y/N kept her gaze on Mance Rayder.

“But I didn’t because I had to pay for what I did. I still do. Let me kill those bastards who changed the man I knew. The Jon I knew would never have lied of his word. He is probably dead now anyway. I will have to come to terms with that. So, Mance Rayder, please allow me to fight. To fight for the Wildlings.”

Y/N knew he was alive. She knew Ygritte had not successfully killed him. The woman had overheard her words to Tormund. Her shots were calculated to hurt no kill. But Y/N had to, for once in her life, fight for family.

The man stayed quiet, the Wildlings around them waited for his reply, Ygritte, who was amongst the crowd, watched in anticipation.

“No.”

Y/N’s determined look fell.

“You will not fight for the Wildlings. You will fight with the Wildlings. With your family.”

A cheer broke out amongst the camp. Y/N beamed with a smile. She was not going to disappoint them again. Not this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Castle Black, Jon and his men prepared for the battle. Jon hoped that Y/N would not be there. That she would not fight. But he knew, that if the Wildlings had forgiven her, that he would see her right at Tormund’s side. The battle could see the end of them both before they had even begun. A horn was blown. The crows stood their stance, ready to fight. But then another horn was blown, and Jon knew, that she was there, ready to fight as well.

Swords were swung, and arrows were flown. Blood from both sides was spilled and bodies of brave men and Wildling women fell. Jon was right, Y/N never left Tormund’s side, hacking and slashing all Nightsmen that came in their way. Taking a hit here and there, she entered the castle with Tormund, infiltrating from the inside.

Jon had just killed Styr when Ygritte had caught his attention. Her bow and arrow aimed at the Northern man. She slowly began to lower her bow.

“She’s inside with Tormund. Get to her.”

Jon nodded, going to thank Ygritte, when he felt the arrow fly past. Watching as it embedded into Ygritte’s chest. He ran to her, clutching her body as her breaths became shallow.

“Jon Snow. Look after her. You love her, and she loves you.”

Jon clutched Ygritte. He had made a friend in the sarcastic Wildling and he knew Y/N loved the woman as a sister.

“No Ygritte, she needs us both. She needs you.”

Ygritte struggled for one last breath.

“You know nothing Jon Snow. She needs you more.”

As the words left Ygritte’s lips, her body went limp in Jon’s arms. The man watched as Olly continued to fight. The bow still in his hands. Jon quickly carried Ygritte’s body to a safe space, covering her up. Taking a breath, he turned to the castle, heading in the direction he had briefly seen Tormund run.

Tormund and Y/N were back to back, fighting off the guards that crowded them. They had heard the cheers of the Nights watch. But they were not giving up. Y/ was not giving up. Tormund had two arrows embedded into his back, and Y/N’s left arm had taken a deep cut from one of the swords. Another scar to add to the rest. It was two Wildlings against many more crows.

“It’s over. Let it end.”

The pair looked to see Jon, deflated and broken.

“This is how a man ends.”

As Tormund raised his sword, clashing it with one of the men of the Watch, Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she saw Jon reach for the cross bow. Aiming for Tormund’s leg, Jon released the arrow. The arrow hit where Jon aimed. However, it was not embedded in Tormund’s leg, but in Y/N’s left leg.

Jon looks on, masking in horror, walking to kick Tormund to the ground.

Y/N’s own legs collapsed from underneath her. The pain and exhaustion taking over.

“Put him in chains, we will question him later.”

“You hurt her any fucking more than you have, I will slice your throat boy.”

Two crows did as Jon instructed. Tormund screaming as they dragged him away.

Jon turned to leave.

“What about the girl?”

Y/N glared at Jon. Her breaths heavy and long.

He could not risk her any harm. If he gave her leverage, then they could both be harmed.

“Patch her up and take her to the cells.”

Before they could grab a hold of her, Y/N pulled the arrow from her leg, throwing the object to the ground

She stood, allowing the soldiers to pull her hands behind her back.

“Lock me away, but I a not having your filthy feathered hands touch me. I would rather bleed out. You’ve changed Jon Snow. This game. This war. It changed all of us. Some for good and some for bad.”

Jon gulped down the tears. Hurt from her words.

“I SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM. BUT HE SENT ME TO FIND YOU. TO BE SAFE. AND LOOK WHAT FINDING YOU DID TO ME!

Jon knew she referred to his brother and Catelyn. Even though she was being locked away, she still kept her identity a secret; knowing it would harm his position. He would have been killed for hurting her. Hurting the Baratheon princess. But she would have rather died a Wildling than lived longer as a noble.

The crows held her tighter, escorting her the same way that Tormund had been led.

Jon did not move until he could see her no more. Only then did he leave for his chambers. Preparing for the next step. Though she hated him, he was doing this all for her. He hoped that it would work.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whilst laying in their cells, Tormund and Y/N had been made aware of Ygritte’s death. Screams and cries were heard from Tormund for days on end; for his fallen family. When men walked past Y/N’s cell, they heard silence. Only Tormund heard the quiet cries at night. His own tears erupting once more. Crying for Ygritte and for the pain they both felt. She apologised over and over, and Tormund reassured her over and over again. It was not her fault.

Jon was soon named the 998th Lord Commander. The wildlings below unaware of their leader’s death and to position Jon was going to take of asking for their help. During their time’s in the cells, Y/N had become dormant. Hardly eating, sleeping, talking, or doing anything at all. Detached from all that was surrounding her.

When Jon came to free Tormund and herself, to help travel and save the remaining Wildlings. Jon had unsuccessfully tried to speak to Y/N; the girl simply ignoring him as she had everyone else. They were all worried for her health.

“She is too ill to travel.”

Tormund glanced at the woman in the cell, debating Jon’s words.

“If she has to stay in this hell hole, at least get that large friend of yours to help her health.”

Jon nodded his head.

Walking to Y/N’s cell, Jon crouched at the gates. The woman stared blankly at the floor. She seemed lifeless, but the expanding of her chest proved otherwise.

“I know I have changed. We both have. But I am doing this all for you. So, you can have the life you deserve. Away from all this shit that has happened. You cannot die. You did not die then, and you won’t now. So, for once, you are staying here, and you are going to accept help. Samwell we come down to get you better and keep you company. I wish I could home you in proper chambers, but they would kill you if I did. We will be back soon.”

Y/N slowly lifted her head as Jon spoke. Taking in his words. The two stared at each other in silence. Her eyes flickered to Tormund’s figure.

“Keep him safe Torm. Keep yourself safe too.”

Tormund smiled, glad to hear his Little Doe speak again. He had missed her voice.

“Aye,I am a Giantsbane. We will be all right. Ain’t that right boy?”

Jon nodded, still holding his gaze on Y/N. Even as they left the dungeons, the man never wavered his look from her. He saw her lie on the floor as they left. Falling to sleep.

Jon informed Samwell of his commands, making sure that he kept it private between the two. He did not want anyone else to question why she was having assistance. Samwell took the orders with no hesitation or question. Instantly going into action, the minute that Jon and the other Wildlings left.

Everyday Sam would force Y/N to eat and drink. Checking her wounds, bringing her fresh furs and even cleaning her own. Doing all he could to make sure she became healthy again. For a while, it was only Sam talking to fill up the silence. He spoke of his life before the watch, to his opinions on pointless things, to information of the houses. Y/N hid her amusement when he recited the history of House Baratheon to the woman. Still unaware of who she was. To him, she was a Wildling with hardly a clue of the history of the houses. Of what had occurred within the kingdoms. Or so she thought. Samwell was a smart man. Smarter than he looked.

“Jon told me stories of when King Robert and Princess Y/N Baratheon would visit Winterfell. Of how close he was to the princess.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at Sam’s words. Clearing her throat, she spoke to the young man for the first time.

“What kind of stories?”

To say Sam was shocked was an understatement.

“Well, he spoke of how they met and all the trouble they caused with his brother, Robb. Of how devastated he was when he heard that King Robert and Eddard Stark had agreed for her to marry his brother. How it confirmed his reasoning of joining the watch.”

Y/N pulled the thin blanket around her tighter. Her frame had become similar to how it was before, but she still did not fit her furs as she did before.

“If the betrothal had not been agreed then he would have stayed in Winterfell?”

Sam nodded.

“Precisely.”

“That bastard. He left because of Robb and I. He knew I never loved him.”

“I knew it.”

Y/N froze at Sam’s explanation. All this time she had been able to hide who she was, and this oaf had reeled it out of her.

“You’re the princess.”

Y/N drank from the cup at her side. Placing it back down, she leaned her head on the concrete wall, turning to look at Sam, who sat on the other side of the bars. On a stool, holding his own drink.

“Well, you going to kill me? Sell me for ransom and bribery?”

Sam shook his head in a comical manner. The girl quirked an eyebrow. From the time he had spent tending to her, she had come to realise that Samwell’s actions were pure. But she could not help but pull up her guard.

“I wold never. I had my suspicions when Jon asked me to tend to you that you meant something to him. But it was not until you began to eat once more, and your face began to fill out, that I recognised your features. You look very different to your siblings yet so much like your mother and father. You have her beauty and his dark hair and eyes.”

It had been a long time since Y/N had heard of her father or had been compared to him. She ignored the comments of her siblings and Cersei. But to hear that someone could recognise her as her father’s child made her smile once more. “Jon asked me to look after you. And that I will. I will do anything to make Princess Y/N Baratheon better once more.”

Sam’s words brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. Not of sadness or pain like she had cried for the times that have passed. But tears of gratitude. She felt for the first time, in a long time, happy to hear her name. To hear her father’s house and her name together. Even through all she had fought, Y/N truly believed her father would have been proud.

By the time that Jon, Tormund and many of the Wildlings had returned, Y/N was better and nearly stronger than ever. Sam had successfully convinced to be placed on full time guard duty of the Wildling woman. Helping her repair and get better. Sam confided in Y/N of his desires to become a maester. The woman encouraged him to do so, reminding him to not forget about Gilly and the child he has come to love as his own.

Sam travelled to library, where Jon sat, waiting for the news of Y/N’s condition.

“She’s better. She eats well, sleeps well, talks quite a lot.”

Jon let out a small chuckle. Remembering of all the times she talked his ears off growing up.

Sam relied all of her improvements. Before mentioning his desires to leave. To become a maester. Remembering both Gilly and Y/N’s encouraging words.

Jon stared at Sam, saying nothing.

“I’ll be more use to you as a Maester. More use to everyone now that Maester Aemon’s gone. The Citadel has the world’s greatest library. I’ll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things. Things that will help when they come.”

“If Gilly stays here then she’ll die. And the baby that she named after me will die. And I’ll end up dying, too, trying to protect them. Which means that the last thing that I’ll see in this world will be the look in her eyes when I fail them. (pause) I’d rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that.”

Jon inhaled and exhaled. Nodding somberly, allowing Sam to go.

“Thank you.”

The men continued to discuss Sam’s relationship with Gilly and what it would mean for him to become a maester.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I’ll come back. You’re not my only friend anymore. I have you and Princess Y/N to visit.”

Jon’s head whipped up at Sam’s words.

“How do you know?”

Sam smiled faintly.

“All the times you spoke of her, `and how you were so adamant of a particular Wildlings safety rang bells in my mind. Then when she was getting better, she looked more Baratheon every day. I asked, and she replied. Told me all that had happened since she was reported dead. Well, since your brother passed.”

Jon looked towards the doors. Pondering on whether to leave to see her. He had been wanting to since he arrived. No doubt Tormund had already re-laid all that had happened, to her.

“Go. She may act like she does not want to see you. But she does. She spoke the most when your name was brought up in conversation.”

Jon stood from his seat, bringing his friend into a hug.

“To you return.”

“To my return.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jon travelled to the cells where Y/N still stayed. Without an explanation, he unlocked the door. If the rest of the Wildlings were roaming around Castle Black, so should she.

Startled at the sudden noise, Y/N sat up from her position on the ground. Watching with baited breath as Jon yanked open the metal bars. Her time in the cells, and with Samwell, had left her hours to think long and hard about how she felt. How she felt about the game. How she felt about friends. How she felt about Jon. And how she felt about herself. She did not want to become a bitter woman. Y/N knew that Jon was doing what he thought was right. He always had. The man may have caused her pain and sorrow. But he was her best friend. He was her Jon.

Jon bent down to sit near Y/N, leaning his back against the wall, he left space between them. Trying to show that he did not want to over step any boundaries.

Without a word, Y/N scooted closer to Jon, so that their arms touched. Neither moved their gazes from the wall in front of them. Slowly, Y/N laid her head on his shoulder.

The pair sat there in silence for a long period of time. Basking in the shared company. It had been the first time in years that Jon and Y/N had been able to sit together, without talking about what had happened to them or what was going to happen next.

Ever so gently, Jon placed his right hand over Y/N’s left. Interlocking their fingers, he stroked the back of the woman’s hand. Basking in the small pieces of affection.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Jon smiled at her words. He was not sure if Sam’s words were true. If she still cared for him.

“So am I. You can wonder freely around the castle now. You can share my chambers, if you would like. I know you don’t feel relatively safe amongst the other men of the Watch.”

Y/N pondered his invitation. Snuggling closer to Jon, she tightened her hold on his hand.

“Yeah. I would appreciate that a lot Jon. Thank you.”

“I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Y/N tilted her head to stare into Jon’s own eyes. Entranced by the other, their bodies moved closer together. Y/N laying practically on top of Jon.

“And so, would I.”

They stayed in the cells for the rest of the night. Enjoying the silence and each other’s company. Cuddled in an embrace, Y/N and Jon fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

What they had been unaware of was little Olly slowly creeping down the cellar during their moment. Seeing his Lord Commander spread across the Wildling woman made the lads blood boil. He had lost his family, his village, his home, all to those foul monsters. And now the watch had lost their leader. A traitor. That is what Jon Snow was.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------And a traitor’s death Jon was given. Sitting in his chambers, Y/N had left mere minutes earlier to speak to Tormund about increasing her training once more, now that she had been healed better. Jon’s face was still flushed from the surprising kiss on the cheek from the woman. The unexpected affection causing the colour to travel across his face.

It soon disappeared when Olly quickly knocked on his chamber door, breathlessly explaining to Jon how Y/N had fallen down the steps when rushing to find Tormund. How she had heard a crack and could not move her right leg. Jon quickly left his chambers, following Olly who told him that Thorne was with the woman, who had refused any help unless Jon was there.

But what Jon had arrived to was not Y/N on the ground in pain with Thorne at her side. But Y/N held captive by Thorne; surrounded by members of the watch. The woman was gagged and shackled. The same she had been when the Wildlings lost the Battle of Castle Black.

Jon sees the woman crying. Turning to ask Thorne what the meaning of this all was, before Jon’s words could leave his mouth, Thorne plunged a knife into his stomach. Y/N’s screams ringing loud, even with the gag in her mouth.

With a hand on his stomach, Jon quickly manouvered to reach the woman. The loss of blood causing him to stumble. Just before he could reach her, Yarwyck, Marsh and two other black brothers proceed to stab Jon. Each dedicating their action ‘For the Watch.’ Jon dropped to his knees, swaying as he watched Y/n thrash against the men who held her captive. Her gag falling loose.

“Stop. Stop it now!”

Thorne moved to stand behind Y/N, his dagger held tightly to her throat. When she gulped, she could feel the blade digging into her neck.

“Don’t hurt her. She did nothing wrong.”

Thorne sneered at Jon.

“She’s a Wildling. Everything she does is wrong.”

Blood soaked Jon’s armour.

“She is Princess Y/N Baratheon.”

“I am a Wildling. Born and bred.”

Jon looked into Y/N’s eyes. Tears falling from both his and her own.

If he was going to die, she was not going to let him save her. She was not going to allow the title she despised to kill the man she loved and save her life.

And as Olly laid down the final blow, stabbing Jon in the heart, the last thing he saw was was Thorne, a man he had come to respect and follow, slice the blade across Y/N’s neck.

Their bodies falling to the ground simultaneously. Neither breathing. Neither alive. The blood poring out their bodies, and down the small dips in the snow, connecting the two puddles together. Even in death, Y/N and Jon were connected.

With a sign above Jon’s head, labelling him a traitor, and a sign above Y/N’s labelling her a savage. The men of the watch dismembered, leaving the bodies to be found in the morning.

And as the pair lay dead, Greywind and Ghost howled to the air, alerting Davos, Edd and his men about the bodies that laid in the snow. The group quickly bringing them into their quarters, with Greywind and Ghost protecting the door.

“We don’t have the numbers.”

Edd looked at Davos in contemplation.

“We have two direwolves.”

“It’s not enough. I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t have wanted his friends to die for nothing. Speaking for Princess Y/N Baratheon, those men have killed an heir to the throne. Our Lord Commander’s partner. Our friend in arms. She will not die for nothing."

“If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go.”

Davos began to feel frustrated at Edd’s words.

“We need to fight, but we don’t need to die. Not if we have help.”

The men in the room murmured amongst them.

“Who’s gonna help us?” questioned one of the Nightswatch.

Davos looked across the faces in the room.

“You’re not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow. Once they find out one of their own has been killed, they will come fighting and swinging. For Y/N may have been a princess, but she has a wilder family that lay closer to her heart.”

Realisation swept over Edd. He turned to the Night’s Watchman at his side.

“Bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Edd exited the room. The man swiftly and quietly left the room, heading down the halls and out the castle to the man who could help them. For now, they needed the help of the Wildlings.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ash. All she could see was ash covering the grounds of Kingslanding. Of her home. The sound of screams and burning fire growing louder by the second. As the screams become louder, her vision started to blur. With the Red Keep in the distance falling to the ground; fire encompassing the building. Just before the darkness took over, Y/N heard a single word, over the screams and the terrifying sound of burning. As clear as day, a single word; Dracarys.

Y/N gasped as her eye’s shot open. Taking in the cold and chilly air around her, it quickly came to Y/N’s attention how exposed she was. Feeling a nudging of her hand, Y/N turned her head to see Greywind at the side of the pillar in which she laid. A blanket held softly between his teeth.

Slowly sitting up, Y/N took the blanket from the direwolf, wrapping it around herself securely. Her body felt extremely cold; like a corpse. How could she be alive? Jon’s men stabbed her. Looking down to her stomach, Y/N could see the angry red scars of where her stab wounds were. The last thing she remembered, before her dream, was Olly killing Jon.

Jon? Was he alive or dead? Y/N had no idea. As she began to panic, air leaving her lungs at a rapid pace, the door of the room creaked open. Twisting her head to look at the figure, she watched as Tormund stood in the doorway in shock.

“Tormund.”

“Little Doe!”

The man rushed into the room. Coming to help Y/N as she weakly stood from the pillar. Engulfing his arms around the small woman, she went to hug him back. Until she remembered her exposed state.

“I’m kind of naked Tormund, so I cannot really reciprocate.”

Tormund squeezed the Baratheon princess harder before letting go.

“It is only skin Little Doe. You are as naked as the day you were born. You should feel powerful.”

The woman laughed.

“I feel as though I was stabbed multiple times.”

“That’s because you were.”

At the sound of the new voice, Y/N watched as Melisandre entered through the doors. The dark red head gracefully walked through the doors and travelled to stand next to Tormund.

“She’s the witch that brought you and Jon back. I always say those kissed by fire had special powers.”

Tormund laughed at his own words.

Y/N could not help the shock in her body. She had died and been brought back to life. But so, had Jon.

“Where’s Jon? I want to see Jon.”

Tormund ceased his laughter at Y/N’s desperate pleas.

“I will get him for you.”

Tormund gave the woman another comforting hug.

“Don’t worry Little Doe. He’s okay.”

Releasing Y/N, Tormund headed to the door. Leaving the two women in the room alone.

Y/N felt the red witches gaze on her body. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she felt Greywind move closer; sensing his owner’s discomfort.

“You hold great power.”

Y/N looked towards the woman. Confusion written across her expression.

Melisandre stepped closer to the Baratheon.

“Power so pure that mystic creatures will fall at your feet in awe. That even the darkest of heart will not be able to hurt.”

The pair stared at each other in silence until the door opened once more. This time it was Jon who would walk through.

“Y/N.”

Hearing her name from his mouth brought tears to her eyes. The images of seeing him stabbed by the men of the watch tumbled through her mind.

“Jon.”

She sobbed as the man rushed through the doorway and encircled his arms around her body.

As Jon held Y/N, Melisandre exited the room. Her words hanging heavily in Y/N’s soul. She could not think of them now. Because Jon was alive. They were both alive.

Y/N rose her arms, to encircle them around Jon, when she suddenly realised again, she was exposed.

“Jon, I would love to reciprocate this hug, but I am naked.”

The man instantly let go. A blush covering his entire face and neck. He turned to see a set of clothes on the chair closest to the door. Quickly grabbing them, he handed them to the woman. Turning, once again, to face away as she began to dress.

Once she was fully dressed, Y/N walked towards the Stark bastard, wrapping her arms around his torso. Spinning in her hold, placed his arms onto her waist.

“How are you feeling?”

The girl winced at his question.

“Sore. Tired. Probably the same as you. How long have you been alive again for?”

Jon looked at the ceiling, thinking of all that had happened since he had awoken.

“A while. We thought you weren’t going to awaken. I’ve dealt with Olly and the men who did this to us.”

Y/N nodded her head, silently glad she was not present for the execution.

“And I have handed over Castle Black to Edd.”

Now that surprised her.

Looking up at the man, she could not formulate words.

“Why?”

“Because the Watch is not my home. We are going to take back Winterfell. Take back our home.”

“We?”

“You, I, and Sansa.”

Y/N placed her arms on Jon’s shoulders, staring her friend in the eyes.

“Sansa’s here?”

Jon grabbed onto Y/N’s hand, guiding her through the halls ever so slowly. The woman still getting used to the feeling of being alive once more. Her headache slowly dissipating and her legs becoming sturdier. Turning around the corner, Jon opened a door to a dining hall. The room full of many unfamiliar faces eating, and a few familiar ones.

Jon lead Y/N to the table which seated Sansa, Tormund, Edd, Brienne, and Podrick. All of their heads turning to the commotion of the pair entering the room. Murmurs becoming louder as many men of the watch saw Y/N alive. Much like their Lord Commander, brought back from the dead for a reason.

Sansa stood from her seat at the site of the Baratheon princess. All of them being informed of what had happened to her and Jon. For the more days had passed, the more they thought she would not return.

Letting go of Jon’s hand, Y/N embraced the young Stark woman; glad to see she had survived her tormented family.

“I am sorry for what that cunt Joffrey did to your father; and to you.”

Sansa grasped Y/N tighter.

“It’s okay. I survived. And the moment was splendid. But I had to leave as quickly as I could. Joffrey has been the smallest of my troubles thus far.”

Sansa pulled Y/N to sit down, with Jon moving to sit at her other side.

Y/N looked in front of her to the unfamiliar pair. However, one was more unfamiliar than the other.

“Podrick Payne?”

Startled, Podrick looked to the young woman.

“Yes, m’lady?”

Y/N let out a cheerful laugh.

“My god. You’re alive. And you’re no longer attached to my uncle’s side. What happened?”

“He was trailed for treason m’lady. For Joffrey’s murder. He did not do it. But he did not want me to be brought down with him, so he handed me to Brienne of Tarth.”

Y/N looked to the woman at his side. Amazement beaming in her eyes.

“You were sworn to the kingsguard of my uncle Renly.”

Brienne looked surprise at the amazement on the princess’ face and at her knowledge.

“That is right m’lady.”

Y/N smirked at the woman.

“There’s no need to be shocked. I made sure I knew everyone who was associated with my family. Even after I left Kingslanding and Winterfell. I still found my ways to know. The only reason I don’t know now is because I died.”

The table went awkwardly silent.

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Lighten up. I am alive aren’t I. You will need to tell me everything later. I need to know it all. I am just glad that everyone here is safe. I do hope Arya, Bran and Rickon have survived as well.”

Sansa looked towards Jon.

“The Bolton’s have Rickon.”

Anger surged through Y/N’s veins. It seemed that this war would never end.

“We will get him back, I promise. We will get back Winterfell, we will find Bran and Arya, and we will end this war.”

Determination laced the Baratheon’s tone. The group startled at the woman’s words. But slowly, one by one, they raised their glasses, ready to fight for this battle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A battle is what they fought victoriously against Ramsay Bolton and his men. Y/N refused to stand a side; fighting on the battle field. With Podrick and Brienne having travelled to Riverrun at the command of Sansa, Y/N made sure to protect Sansa with all her might. Even escorting her to the dungeons as she unleashed the hounds onto Ramsay. Watching from the side as the man who had defiled her friend, die at the paws of his hounds.

Y/N watched on as Jon named Sansa the Lady of Winterfell. She watched on as Jon was claimed King of the North. But she refused to watch on as Jon prepared to leave for Dragonstone to meet the Khaleesi.

“I am coming with you and that is final. My uncle is alive. He sent the letter. I want to see him, and I am not leaving you.”

Jon raised his head to the sky, becoming quickly frustrated with the woman in front of him.

“What happens if this goes south?”

Y/N huffed at the man in front of her, crossing her arms.

“We’re in the North, wherever we go will go South. Except for Castle Black, and we’ve only just come back from there.”

Jon was not in the mood for her smart mouth.

The pair continued to bicker, unaware of those that watched on.

“This sounds familiar.”

Sansa giggled at Tormund’s words, having heard a similar conversation occur multiple times between the pair.

“This was my life before we left. If they were not causing trouble for each other, they were causing trouble for everyone else. Usually with Robb beside them.”

Tormund nodded his head.

“And he still has not admitted his love for her.”

“No. Neither has she for him.”

Sansa could not help but scoff at the duo’s ideocracy.

“Jon I am not letting you leave again. We are both alive for a reason.”

Jon grasped the woman’s shoulder with his right hand. Bending his head slightly so that they were eye level.

“And I want to keep you alive. That is why you are not coming.”

“Watch me.”

Before she could even try to walk away, Y/N was yanked back by Jon. Being pulled flush against his chest as his lips slammed into her own.

Sansa and Tormund looked on in surprise.

“We spoke too soon.”

Y/N moved her hands to tangle into Jon’s hair. His own hand’s gravitating towards her lower waist. The lips locked in a passionate embrace; exerting years of pent up emotion. Love, frustration, desire, sadness, and more rolled into this one action between the pair. Their lungs begging for air as they simultaneously broke the kiss. The space between their bodies not moving an inch. Both their chests heaved for breath. Y/N biting her swollen lip as Jon’s lust filled gaze stared into her own.

“That was long overdue.”

Jon chuckled at Y/N’s words.

“I would say so.”

In her peripheral vision, Y/N could see Sansa smirking at the pair with Tormund at her side; a beaming smile on the man’s face.

Shaking her head, with a smile permanently fixed, Y/N gazed at the man in front of her.

“I am coming with you. A kiss like that gives me even more reasons to be at your side. Don’t want you falling in love with this Dragon Queen, now do I?”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back at the woman’s words; continuing to over react as it caused the woman he loved to laugh.

“Fine.”

With her hands still in his hair, Y/N pulled his head back to her own. Their foreheads leaning on one another.

“You’re not getting rid of me again Jon Snow.”

Jon smiled back at Y/N.

“I don’t intend to.”

Y/N simply smiled back.

Hopping aboard the boat with Jon and Davos, the trio prepared to set sail to Dragonstone. To meet the Queen of Dragons and to take the next step in the Game of Thrones.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trio sailed for weeks before they arrived. Y/N and Jon having become like their younger selves once more. Causing mischief for one another and for Davos. The man could not believe his eyes; seeing the Baratheon princess and the Stark bastard act so care free. He let them be, for once they would arrive to Dragonstone, all carefree antics would be out the window once more.

Looking into the crystal blue waters, Y/N breathed in the crisp see air. Jon moving to stand behind her, his hands encircling her waist as he laid his chin on her shoulder.

“We’ve survived this far. Do you think we will make it home?”

Y/N’s words were serious and deeply questioning. She wasn’t sure herself if they would make it home. If the Queen would comply with their plan.

Jon’s hands squeezed Y/N tighter to his chest. Her own hands raising to place over his, stroking her thumb across the rough, calloused skin. Bending his head down, Jon placed a kiss on her neck. Keeping his head in the crook of her neck as he breathed deeply in and out. He had taken accustom to doing so when he wanted to be reminded that she was here. Truly here with him. For he had imagined her touch so many times, that it took more than her hold to bring to reality that she was her; at his side.

“I will do anything I can for us to make it home. To make it back to Winterfell.”

“Whether its Winterfell, Castle Black, or even further North of this world, as long as you, Greywind and Tormund are by my side, I know I will be okay.”

The pair stared out into the ocean; allowing the silence to encompass them.

A mere few days later, the trio arrived at Dragonstone. Docking the ship at the harbour, Jon and Davos walked down the ramp of the ship to meet their awaiting company. Y/N staying on the ships a few minutes longer; making sure that all was secure for the journey home. Stood at the end of the dock was not only Y/N’s uncle Tyrion, but Missandei and Greyworm; ready to escort the guests to their queen.

“The bastard of Winterfell.”

“The dwarf of Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion and Jon both stared at each for a moment, quickly breaking into smiles. They stepped forward and shook hands.

“I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall.”

Jon chuckled, remembering the moment ever so clearly.

“You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right. You picked up some scars along the road.”

Tyrion nodded his head in agreement.

“It's been a long road. But we're both still here.”

Turning to address Davos, Tyrion introduced himself to the gentleman.

“I'm Tyrion Lannister.”

“Davos Seaworth.”

The pair shook hands in acknowledgement.

“Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”

Davos chortled.

“Unluckily for me.”

Moving a step backwards, Tyrion introduced Missandei to the two guests. The woman bowing her head in respect to the two men.

“Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons.”

Jon looked at Davos and his men.

“Of course.”

“I am not giving over my weapons. No fucking way. Not whilst we are on foreign land.”

The men and woman all turned to the sound of the new voice.

Y/N walked her way down the plank and to her accompanying men. Head held high, she situated herself to the right of Jon. Making it clear she was not letting go of her bow and arrow, or her sword. Her hand holding it tightly as it laid sheathed at her side.

Tyrion did not recognise his niece as she travelled closer to group. The face only becoming familiar once she ceased her steps, standing alongside the bastard of Winterfell. The last he had seen of her was before she and her family departed for Winterfell. Her dark brown hair long and luxurious like her mothers. She had been draped in the colours of both House Lannister and Baratheon. Now, as she stood before him, her hair laid half up and half down; slightly shorter than it had been before. Her body draped under fur upon fur; mixtures of browns, greys, and tans. She stood taller, stronger, more prepared for danger. Nothing like the innocent Baratheon he had last seen. Her face scarred from not only the Red Wedding but from the dangers she had faced whilst playing the Game of Thrones.

“You’re alive?”

Y/N could not help but chuckle at her uncle’s shock. She knew her family thought of her as dead. Her where about had not been recorded since the destruction of the Red Wedding. Not until now anyways.

“As are you uncle Tyrion. Seems we both took a hit to the face.”

The man touched his scarred cheek, staring directly at the one that laid across the right side of Y/N’s face. Slightly pink due to the rough wind and cold breeze.

“Whilst you were scarred in battle, I was scarred in a massacre. At the order of my own grandfather.”

Tyrion looked guiltily to the ground. Keeping his gaze fixed to the floor, he replied to his dearest niece.

“I took care of him.”

Y/N refused to drop her anger fuelled expression. She may have loved her uncle Tyrion, but to see a member of her family for the first time in so long, brought forward the repressed hatred she held towards her mother, grandfather, and other Lannister’s involved.

“I know. He deserved what he got. He should never have treated you the way that he did.”

Tyrion raised his head in surprise. Staring at the woman before him.

“He should have never called the order of the Red Wedding.”

As the group became silence over the woman’s malice filled words, Jon placed his hand on top of her own. Squeezing it ever so slightly; motioning that he was there for her. She squeezed back.

Missandei stepped forward, standing slightly behind Tyrion.

“The Khaleesi wishes to speak to you all at once of your arrival. But first, your weapons please.”

Y/N went to argue once more, only choosing not due to the look she gained from both Jon and her uncle. She felt like a teenager again. Huffing she pulled her bow and arrows from her back and unclipped her sword from her waist. Handing them over to the leader of the Unsullied.

“You better not damage them. Wildlings don’t have luxuries, like a Queen, to buy new weapons when one is broken.”

“Wildlings? I thought you were a princess?”

Y/N smiled at Missandei’s confusion.

“I was a princess. Not anymore.”

Missandei continued forward.

Davos, Y/N and Jon followed the woman on the path to where the Queen awaited. Tyrion and Greyworm trailing at the rear.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jon, Y/N and Davos approached the throne room as Dothraki guards opened the doors to allow them entrance. Coming to a halt, the group cannot help but stare at the sight of the Khaleesi, sitting highly on the intricate throne.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.”

At Missandei’s words, Jon turned and looked at Davos.

“This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North.”

Tyrion could not help but smirk. Neither could his niece.

“Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough. And who may this be accompanying you both? I was only made aware of the presence of male guests.”

Y/N resisted rolling her eyes at the Targaryen woman.

Before Davos could introduce her, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“This is Princess Y/N of House Baratheon, my Queen. Oldest and only pure blood child of the former King Robert Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N could not hold her tongue.

“I was Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, your Grace. But I am no longer.”

Daenerys was not sure how she felt about the woman before her. Deemed a princess but refused the title.

“Why so?”

“For the Houses in which my lineage belonged have hands soaked in blood. Mostly for the wrong reasons. I choose not to be associated with such terrors.”

Daenerys took in the woman’s words.

She continued to speak of the former support of House Stark to the Targaryen seat of the throne. Apologising for the actions of her father and more. Offering Jon Snow the position of Warden of the North if he swore to bend the knee.

Whilst the Khaleesi spoke to the trio, images flashed in Y/N’s mind. Segments of the dreams she had whilst Melisandre resurrected her those few months ago. The voice. The language. The destruction. It was her. The Khaleesi.

“You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crime. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows.”

Jon began to discuss with Daenerys about the dangers of the White Walkers and the threat the Night King held. Seeking help from the woman and her armies.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?

The torches of fire flew above them. Like in her dream. As the memories of her dreams began to take control of her attention, Y/N’s eyes misted over. It was as though a mystic force was forcing her to view these images of what may be the future. Throughout the sounds of fire and screams, Y/N heard the faint sound of a bird. Calling in the distance. The sounds of a crown.

“The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Knight King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves –"

He began to walk closer to the throne.

“We're finished.”

Turning away from the Khaleesi, he faced the Baratheon woman. Concerning taking over as he saw only the white of her eyes. Her Y/E/C completely gone.

Daenerys paused. Sensing the shift in atmosphere from the Northern man.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it.”

Standing from the throne, Daenerys began to walk towards Jon, unaware of the cause of his concern.

“We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea.”

She ceased her steps as she neared the man in question.

“They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Jon swivelled to face the woman.

Daenerys face fell as the colour drained from Jon’s. Following his gaze as everyone moved to stare at frozen stance of Y/N. Her face contorted in fear and anguish.

Y/N lip began to quiver as the sound of screams and fire became too much to handle. When all of the sudden, her breaths stopped. Her lips quivered no more. While Y/N eyes were still misty, her gaze was now transfixed on the Khaleesi. Her eyebrows furrowed, and terror was still apparent across her features.

Jon moved to stand closer to the woman, worried that she could collapse at any moment.

“Y/N?”

Her gaze did not waver. With her eyes on the Khaleesi, and the sound of screams and fire dissipating in her mind, Y/N uttered a warning. High Valyrian leaving her tongue as though it was her mother language. The words sending a shiver of fear down the Khaleesi’s spine.

“Ash kessa ropagon toliot se sīkuda Dārȳti. Syt lo se suvion won't ossēnagon īlva, perzys kessa.” (Ash will fall over the seven kingdoms. For if the ice won't kill us, fire will.)

Once the words left her mouth, Y/N breathed once more. The mist in her eyes slowly evaporated; coming back to her sense.

Shaking her head, Y/N looked around at the people in the room. Confused at why the Khaleesi and everyone else looked towards her in either worry or shock.

Locking her gaze on Jon, she grabbed his hand.

“Are we done? Is it time to rest now because I have a large headache.”

No one uttered any argument. Even the Khaleesi did not object, nodding to Tyrion as a sign that the conversations was over. For now.

“Missandei, may you please show our guests to their chambers. We will continue talks on the matter shortly.”

Tightening his hold on Y/N’s hand, Jon could not tear his eyes away from his woman as they were escorted to their temporary chambers.

“Y/N?”

Continuing to walk between Jon and Davos, Y/N turned her gaze to the Onion Knight.

“Yes, Davos?”

“Do you speak more than one language fluently?”

Instantly the girl replied.

“Yes. I speak three.”

The duo awaited her answer.

“I speak our mother tongue, sarcasm, and Tormund.The man makes up his own words. You get used to them.”

The two men looked towards one another. A silent conversation discussed between them. They would need to look into this matter further tomorrow. But as for then, they were all due a rest. For the weeks ahead in Dragonstone was to become some of the most active and challenging.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------During their stay in Dragonstone, Jon had convinced Daenerys to give her hand in support against the White Walkers. Gaining sufficient amounts of Dragon glass to help prepare the weaponry for the war. Since the meeting with Daenerys, Y/N’s words were not discussed. However, the Dragon Queen kept a close eye on the Baratheon. Stunned at the woman’s words and sudden eloquence of High Valyrian. For a woman who had denounced her title and lived amongst Wildlings, Daenerys could see she was powerful. And when Y/N interacted with the Queen’s dragons for the first time, Daenerys could see how strong that power truly was.

Whilst Jon and Davos assisted with the mining of Dragon glass, Y/N had found much time on her hands. Becoming acquainted with her uncle once more, and even learning more about the ruling of the Khaleesi. She was clearly loved by many. Especially her dragons.

Y/N had not meant to wander as far as where the dragons were held. But she was bored. And with Jon out of the castle, there was not much she could do. Walking across the grounds she whistled to herself, shuffling her feet as she walked. All of a sudden, the harsh sounds of flapping wings could be heard. Y/N looked up to the sky, to see Drogon descend to the ground, Y/N quickly stepped back. Keeping a safe distance from the creature. He was the child of the Khaleesi, and Y/N felt that the Queen was still not particularly fond of her.

Once Drogon reached the ground, the dragon roared loudly into the sky. Y/N covered her ears at the screech; instantly beginning to panic. The Khaleesi probably was already on her way. Accusing her of harming her dragon.

“No. No. Please stop screeching. I am not going to hurt you. Look I am really small. I have no weapons. I’ll even take off my furs if it makes you shut the fuck up.”

In her panic ridden words, Y/N pulled of her cloak, and carefully placed it onto the ground. The dragon sensed the woman’s panic; stopping his roars. Drogon’s eyes pierced into Y/N. Watching her as she stood a mere few feet away from the creature; her arms held up in surrender.

Elsewhere in the castle, Jon had arrived at the throne room, discussing with Tyrion and Daenerys about the next step in the plan; capturing a white beyond the wall. The roar from Drogon had startled them all, causing the trio to rush to the location of the noise. Greywind, Missandei, and Davos all hot on their trails as they emerged from their own locations.

But when they arrived at the heart of the noise, no one could believe their eyes. For Y/N no longer stood far away from the dragon; fear and panic taking over her features. But she stood next to the dragon’s enormous head, stroking the creature’s snout in a soothing matter. Rhaegal and Viserion had arrived between the time it took for the group to arrive. Each at either side of Drogon. All staring at Y/N in the same content and soothed manner.

“One night, I hold on you Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere A coat of gold, a coat of red A lion still has claws And mine are long and sharp, my Lord As long and sharp as yours.”

Daenerys slowly stepped forward. Y/N still blissfully unaware of the group.

“What is she singing?”

Tyrion came to stand by his Queen.

“It is the song of House Lannister, my Queen.”

Y/N never let her eyes drift from the dragon’s. Resting her own head on its snout as her hand travelled to stroke the dragon’s neck. She felt a connection with the creature.

“And so, I speak, and so I speak A girl of House of the Dear. And now I weep, and now I weep For the friends who are no longer here.”

Tyrion exhaled a deep breath.

“That my Queen… is not part of the song of House Lannister or Baratheon.”

“No.”

Everyone’s gaze locked on Y/N. Surprised that she had finally acknowledged their presence.

“It is part of me.”

Jon held his breath at her words. Watching in sorrow as a tear not only fell from Y/N’s eyes, but the three dragons as well.

Daenerys raged within. She was powerful indeed. If she had been able to connect with her children, moving them to tears, Daenerys would have to do all she can to keep the woman on her side. For even though Y/N did not wish for the seven kingdoms, Daenerys knew that she could still grasp it from the Targaryen’s hands.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When the night drew in, Y/N and Jon travelled to their chambers. Aware that their days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions and extreme conditions.

Even though the pair had shared chambers throughout their travels, they still ceased to have consummated their relationship. Both feared what the physical action could change between them. They knew of their love for one another. They had died for each other and would do so again. And yet neither had uttered those words. But in a world, such as their own, change was inevitable.

Once the duo had entered their chamber, Y/N discarded of her furs once more, pulling of her boots and untucking her shirt. Jon could see that she was still emotional. It seemed her emotions from her moment with the dragons had not dissipated.

Jon would usually leave Y/N to unchanged for bed, changing in one of the large bathrooms down the hall. However, he could not seem to have it in him to leave her alone at this moment.

Y/N began to get more frustrate with herself as she tried and failed to unbuckle her sword. Jon watched as she quickly gave up the task, holding her head in her hands in frustration. She had not felt this overwhelmed since the moment Jon arrived in the Wildling’s camp. Seeing her uncle again, the segments of dreams, her moment with the dragons, and the tension she felt from Daenerys, all became too much. Tears fell from her eyes and into her hands.

Jon’s heart broke at the sight of Y/N crying. He had only seen her cry few times of the years they spent together. Most of which had been the last few years. He missed when times were easier, brighter, happier. When all he thought about was marrying her. He still thought about it. But this game had clouded his brain; stealing time that he could have had with her. He did not want any more time to be lost.

Walking across the room, Jon lowered to his knee in front of Y/N. Pulling her hands away from her face, Jon wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Slowly placing his lips onto her own, gently caressing his mouth across hers. He wanted her to know he was there. That he had always been there. Y/N reciprocated the gesture. Allowing her arms to travel to the man’s hair, pulling his raven locks free from its confines. Enveloping her hands through the tresses. Jon could not help but moan at the feeling. Pulling back, he muttered the words that had always been there. But had never been said.

“I love you, Y/N Baratheon. I loved you from the moment you arrived with your father for your annual visit when I was 12 years old. I loved you then and I love you now.”

Jon waited for a reply. The room filled with silence. Y/N’s hands still in his hair as she stared at the man in disbelief. Jon began to regret his decision when suddenly, Y/N began to giggle. The giggle soon turned into a boisterous laugh as a large smile overtook her face.

Jon looked on in hurt and confusion.

Seeing his confused state, Y/N pulled Jon’s face down to her own, placing a chaste kiss onto his mouth.

“I love you too, Jon Snow. There was a reason I did not want to marry Robb. I had another Stark in mind.”

“Me?”

Y/N giggled, her right hand moving to hold Jon’s neck.

“No, Sansa. Yes, you. It has always been you Jon.”

To say he was elated would be an understatement. That moment, Jon knew however this game ended, if Y/N was by his side, he could withstand the most ruthless leaders and most horrendous torture, as long as she was alive.

With the confessions of their love, the moment elevated their relationship emotionally and physically. For that night Y/N and Jon became each other’s half. Consummating their relationship… more than once. Deep down, they had always known that they held love for each other, but they both had to grow as people; as their own individuals.

The cherished moment seemed to have sparked a light in the pair. For after that night, they refused to leave each other’s side. Words of love and encouragement shared in intimate moments. They still caused trouble for each other as much as they did when they were younger, but now all Y/N and Jon could feel was each other’s love. And they would both do anything to keep the other safe.

The duo and Davos soon saw their group expand. Heading to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to capture a White Walker, they had gathered Tormund, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, Sandor Clegane, Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, and a few others along the way. With the loss of Thoros, a few other men, as well as Viserion at the hand of the Night King. Jon and his group had travelled to Kings Landing, to ask for the assistance of Queen Cersei against the White Walkers. Y/N had refused to attend. Her mother and uncle Jaime still blissfully unaware of her livelihood. She could not face her mother, after everything she had done. Not yet.

Winterfell was their next adventure. Travelling by boat with the Khaleesi and her hands, Jon wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist. The same as he did all those months ago when they had voyaged to Dragonstone. She turned in his hold, running her hands over the man’s shoulders.

“Are you ready? Ready to be back in Winterfell. With your family. With me.” she questioned her partner.

Jon looked down at the woman in his arms.

“I have never been so ready for anything else.”

“Neither have I.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Laying in the chambers that had once been his brothers, Jon turned to his side to see Y/N still fast asleep. Tired from the journey they had taken to Winterfell with the Khaleesi and her army. She had been feeling more tired in the past few weeks, blaming it on the numerous exertions beyond the wall, having to deal with Jon and Tormund every day, and her body still getting used to being alive once more.

Jon admired his beloved, wrapping his arm around the woman, pulling her to lay as near to him as possible. He watched as Greywind slowly move closer to the bed, placing his head on top of Y/N’s stomach. Jon dismissed the action, not thinking anything of the creature’s behaviour.

A smile overtook the man’s face. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on Y/N’s forehead, smiling even wider when her own face broke out into a sleep filled smile. Still unconscious, Y/N reached out her hand in Jon’s direction. Jon instantly tangling it with his own. Laying his head down to rest, Jon shut his eyes. They would both need sleep to prepare themselves for the inevitable war.

However, what both of the wild spirits failed to realise that they no longer had to keep each other safe, but also the life that was growing as they slept. Greywind nuzzled Y/N’s stomach, hearing a small heart beat loud and clear.

For Jon may have thought to have been a bastard and Y/N a princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, but their child would be so much more. A child of the Houses Targaryen, Lannister, Baratheon, and Stark. A child of the Wildlings and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. A child of the North, South, East and West. A child that would create a new world.

A/N- Woah, three weeks of non-stop writing as well as exams. My next piece is either going to be Podrick or Sandor Clegane. So please, send your ideas. I hope you enjoyed this one.

#game of thrones #game thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #jon snow #jon snow imagine #jon snow x reader #jon snow x imagine #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #robb stark #Theon Greyjoy #sandor clegane #sansa stark #podrick payne #podrick #imagine

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tinytendril · 4 years

Text

Prompt: ‘Are we on a date right now?’ Pairing: Theonsa Words: 1319 Rating: T, for some offensive language AO3 Link

AN: Catch the Gossip Girl reference? Also, here’s another high school AU for Theonsa Challenge - August - Get Schooled.

‘Don’t,’ Sansa says through gritted teeth.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Theon scoffs, raising his hands up.

‘I can hear you judging me. It’s annoying.’

She looks like she’s unravelling. It’s a strange sight. Not just because Sansa epitomizes the typical upper-crust of high school society with her bon mot tossing, label whoring, vapid, girly habits, but also because she’s seldom caught being anything less than this. So, as Theon watches her nervously chew at her pink-lacquered, bottom lip and compulsively flit her eyes around her surroundings, he realizes that something must be wrong.

‘I—I don’t want to leave yet.’ She seems determined, not budging from her seat of the ice cream parlour’s booth table.

When he takes a seat across from her, she gives him a sideways glance. ‘At least, you’re here and not Robb.’

‘Ah,’ he snickers, vaguely connecting the dots to what could be upsetting her. ‘So, there is a reason why you called me instead of Robb.’

She heaves a sigh, ‘Yes. Now, will you leave it?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Leave it? I don’t even know what I’m doing here. How can I even start to tease you?’

He could tease her though. It’s what he’s used to. At least, that’s what he’s done for the better half of his childhood. He could only count one year of his decade-long friendship with Robb, some time during his sixth year and her fifth at school, when he was more hesitant to do so.

He still remembers the way she had dragged him to the center of their school’s PE hall. There was some languid song she was droning on and on about, her ‘absolute favourite’. And he still remembers the way his jumper smelled of her that night… right where she had placed her head as they swayed in time to the music.

He hadn’t danced with her since then (since Robb had given him a hard time about giving in to his little sister’s demands), but he always knew this side of her. She was always prone to a bit of romance or the idea of it anyway. So, wondering if what was troubling her had anything to do with this side her, he starts tentatively, ‘Sans... I have a question…’

‘Forget it, Theo—’

‘Banana Split or Cookie Dough Ice Cream Sandwich?’ He picks up the menu from the table and brandishes the options in front of her.

‘I—’ She looks as though she’s about to reject this offer, but then she relents, ‘Go on then. Order us the Banana Split.’

‘We’re getting two. I’m not sharing with someone with your appetite,’ he says as he flags down a nearby waitress.

‘No, you really shouldn’t,’ she tries to stop him as he makes their order.

‘Make sure this one gets extra cherries or she’ll hound you for them later,’ he calls after the waitress leaves, winking when she looks back. He feels rather than sees Sansa’s glaring.

By the time Theon leaves and comes back to their booth, with napkins and an extra spoon that was forgotten with their order, her mood is still palpably tense. And it’s not helped by the pair of vaguely familiar girls giggling at the back of the ice cream parlour. Nothing about their laughter seems innocent in the least, and the return of Sansa’s nervous tick of biting at her bottom lip is very telling of that.

‘Aren’t those your—’

‘I’m not friends with those cows,’ she seethes as the girls promptly stop giggling and turn their backs to them. ‘I might as well tell you that Joffrey stood me up today, just when I thought he’d ask me to... forget it.’

The prick. The prick with the entitlement of some sort of—a right royal prick. He only knew of Joffrey from Robb’s run-ins with him at school, making Robb’s absence here a legitimately good idea. But he didn’t know Joffrey had anything to do with Sansa until now.

He mentally takes a breath, reminding himself that he’s taken her brother’s place for a reason. Finally, he tells her, ‘It’s forgotten.’

She’s mildly surprised by this, wondering, ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he assures her while he starts scooping up a good portion of banana and ice cream from his dish. Then, ‘But it depends.’

‘On?’ She impatiently taps a fingernail against her own dish, watching him mouth a spoonful of his vanilla ice cream.

‘If you forget about dating him, everything will be as good as forgotten,’ he says this as if it settles the matter.

It does. For now. Even if she looks ready to protest, she doesn’t bring up any faults to this deal. Instead, humorously, she starts on his hair as if she were burning to tell him all along, calling it shaggy and unkempt. He tells her it’s rakish and extremely appealing according to the girls in her year. Her disgruntled silence settles this matter too.

At some point, he makes note of the fact that the girls who were causing her so much distress before have gone and she hasn’t even noticed this. She even changes subjects multiple times, probing him about his chances of interning with Robb and Jon at her father’s firm once he graduates in a few months or his prospects for university. It makes him wonder if this means he’s done a good job of cheering her up. He thinks to boast about this but, instead, he asks, ‘You want to get out of here? I assume you wanted me to take you home… I mean, I’d understand if you want to be with your family or ring up Jeyne or—’

She pulls a face then. ‘I am not leaving with you if you’ve got—you’ve got—’

‘What?’ He watches her gesture at the side of her mouth, and he eventually understands what she means for him to do.

‘No, no not there.’

He takes the napkin by his dish and starts to make a big show of wiping down every inch of his face but the spot she had pointed out.

To his delight, she laughs at him, ‘You are the worst.’

‘Here? Over here? Here?’ He persists with his antics, doubling his efforts to re-wipe the same spots, hoping to hear more of her laughter.

‘Stop,’ she says, lunging for his hand, grasping at the napkin as it lands by the very stop she intended for him to find. She has him in her grip and he doesn’t move an inch. Then, with the utmost care, she gently swipes the napkin by his mouth, cleaning the ice cream off of him.

The delicate way she handles him surprises him, so much so that he doesn’t think before he quips, ‘Are we on a date right now?’

‘Stop,’ she says, blushing and taking her hand back.

He doesn’t get her to laugh again but it seems like he’s effectively squashed any of her lingering thoughts about Joffrey and shifted her thinking into this...

He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit thinking about this. This happens to be about the quiet moments they share from time to time, accepting how awkward it is to touch each other. They let the moment happen but never speak about it. If it were Arya, he’d sooner invite a glare or a punch in the face to diffuse the tension. Somehow, it’s harder to tell what he’d expect from Sansa.

This was also the fact that sometimes, when he forgets that she’d be the death of him by either Robb’s hands or by the weight of how many differences there are between them, he thinks about the night they shared a dance. Sometimes, he thinks their differences are what makes him smile and laugh as much as he does whenever they’re together. Does she think about this too?

‘Are you coming?’ She calls him out of a daydream he didn’t realize he was dwelling on, paying for them at the counter.

When he reaches her, they’re at the door and he has to stop as she loops an arm around his. She’s huddled close, close enough so he can smell something faintly floral in her hair. ‘Are you having a laugh? Now, we really do look like we’re on a—’

‘Those vile girls haven’t left, they’re loitering outside like vultures vying for my social death. If you’re taking me home, I might as well leave here with some dignity. Maybe you can pretend…’

Without great difficulty, he tugs her close as they exit the parlour, making a comment about how lovely she looks today. And with even less effort, he gives the tittering girls a few offensive hand gestures to shut them up when Sansa isn’t looking. It takes every ounce of his self-control to not give himself away.

#theonsa #theon x sansa #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #theonsachallenge

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 4 years

Text

I’m posting a preview of the next chapter of Know The Love - Part II. This chapter is taking me longer to write than I anticipated, and I have a crazy busy week coming up at work, so it is looking less and less likely that I’ll have the full thing posed to Ao3 as soon as I would like.

So, I thought I’d share the WIP to anyone who follows me on Tumblr, below the cut:

Sansa relaxed into the hot, spring-fed bath, settling back until only her lips and nose breached the steamy surface. She closed her eyes, remembering.

Jon, what are you trying to tell me? That there's another secret Targaryen, vying for the Iron Throne?

(Not a trueborn Targaryen…)

Stars danced behind her lids.

(And he has no interest in ruling the Seven Kingdoms, I promise you.) What are you saying?

Slipping completely below the water, she let the weight of his secret pull her down.

(I keep telling you…I'm not a Stark. I'm not your brother, Sansa. Trueborn or half.) Stop, Jon. You're the very image of father. (It is not uncommon for a nephew to resemble his uncle.)

Days had passed since Jon's revelation, but her blood still pounded in her ears, hot and heady, like he'd only just told her. It had taken her a foolishly long time to understand what Jon was trying to say as she stared at him across his solar, her eyes flitting helplessly to Lord Reed, who only gazed back, stoic as ever.

(Lord Eddard was my uncle.) But you're too young to be Uncle Brandon's, and Uncle Benjen was too young to be a father…

Jon looked pained as understanding reached her at last. Her chest strained, painfully.

You're Lyanna's...Winter's rose. (Yes.) Stolen by the Dragon Prince. …and Rheagar Targaryen's… (Bastard.)

When he said it, she had been too thrown, too off balance to hear the loathing Jon bit into the word. The ground had shifted beneath her feet, the sky slanting so she was sliding down once more, drowning, and all she had the sense to ask, in a keening breathless voice, was, Who else knows?

"Sansa!" Her name came, muffled, through the water, but when hands disturbed the warm void, grasping at her arms, she woke from her reverie and resurfaced with a gasp. "For heavens sakes, Sansa! Are you trying to scare me witless! I'm already frantic over Theon's trial." She blinked into Jeyne's concerned, fire agate eyes, as rivulets raced down her brow and into her heavy lashes.

"Sorry Jeyne, I was only daydreaming," she sighed.

"I implore you, dream with your head above the water, please." Jeyne stood, shaking her head and frowning at her now soaking sleeves. "You're as bad as Arya used to be when we'd swim in the godswood. She'd challenge the other girls to try and hold their breath as long as she. Once, long after the others had given up, she floated to the surface, face down. When I turned her over, with tears burning my eyes, mind you, Ayra sprang to life, spouting water in my face, cackling like the Crone."

"I was just wetting my hair, not attempting a lark." Sansa squeezed her heavy locks, before twisting them together over the tub's edge, to dry.

"Be that as it may, you are not a fish, Sansa. You won't sprout gills beneath the surface if you stay down too long. You'll drown."

"Duly noted." She closed her eyes again, trying to recall her train of thought, but Jeyne continued prodding.

"Are you feeling well, my lady? You're flushed."

"Of course I'm flushed. I'm poaching in a steaming bath." Irritation seeped into her voice, and she glanced at her friend, contrite. Jeyne did not deserve her sullen mood. Theon's trial was only a few hours away, and Jeyne had stayed awake half the night, fretting over him. Now, she was fretting over Sansa.

"It's only, you haven't seemed entirely yourself, the past few days. You've been-" Spinning like a top into oblivion? "-distracted."

When Sansa rose, Jeyne and one of her maids came to either side, wrapping her in a robe and helping her step from the copper tub. She laced her fingers through Jeyne's, relaxing her face into an easy smile. "I suppose I'm just tired. In the songs, they always leave out the verses where Jonquil spends her days mediating the lords' petty disputes or counting sacks of grain." Jeyne squeezed back.

"Well, when your Florian returns, you must beseech the king to appoint someone else to those duties. You and your knight will need time to reacquaint yourselves." She winked, playfully, and Sansa's belly dropped. She had no Florian; only an over-eager, impatient heir with more ambition than advantage, and a trail of ruined women behind him…and ahead. He was due back to Winterfell any day, after a decisive victory at the Dreadfort. Her stomach roiled at the thought, but she mustered a smile, nonetheless.

"Alas, the king works harder than us all. He does not deserve a princess who eschews her duties for any knight, especially while she is still wed to another."

Jeyne pushed her to her vanity, where her maids began to dress her. "Where is the romance in that, princess? Think on it. This may be your only chance for a true love affair." Sansa gaped at her friend, scandalized. "And wouldn't it be sweet, to be lovers first, before you are man and wife?" It would not be sweet. She'd had a glimpse at what an affair with Harry would entail, and she saw no appeal, with him.

"I must stay a maid, to annul my marriage to Tyrion," she reminded her friend, who only pursed her lips a moment, before responding.

"There are ways to take a lover and still preserve your maidenhead." Jeyne whispered, and Sansa marveled at the young woman's coy suggestion. After all she had endured, Jeyne had a spirit as hardy and irrepressible as the yellow yarrow that spread across the North in the summer, sprouting wherever the sun kissed the earth, from barrow to marsh, ditch to crag, no matter the quality of the soil or the quantity of rain. It stirred something within Sansa, and her cheeks burned at Jeyne's bold words. She pressed her eyes shut, but it was not the Young Falcon she imagined, standing before her. Grey eyes caught her. A kiss, searing and too brief, whispered across her lips. See? What consumes you, devastates me too.

I'm not your brother, Sansa.

Her eyes snapped open. She was being foolish, to conflate the Jon she knew before with the Jon she knew now. The Jon who chased her smiling lips with his own down a dark corridor, and burned through her restraint over darker waters, was wooing a different woman. The Jon she knew now had only meant to convey essential information to the only family left to him.

Who else knows? (That lives? Myself. Howland. Now…you. Your father was the only other, as far as we know. Sansa, this is a dangerous secret. The kind that starts wars and kills thousands.)

As if she didn't understand. Only minutes before, the northern lords had packed Jon's solar, railing against two unknown Targaryens, half a world away. She knew how the North viewed the disgraced house. Madmen. Rapists. Inbred Dragonspawn. If they learned that their own king, already holding together a fragile kingdom, was the son of the man who had kidnapped and raped the beloved Lyanna Stark, sparking the flames that led to Brandon and Lord Rickard's deaths and a rebellion that changed the face of Westoros…why, they would turn on Jon like rabid dogs.

Then, why are you telling me? She had asked him, eyes flying again to Howland in desperation.

(No more secrets, remember? We promised.) He had looked at her with such intensity that she was forced to look away once more, imploring Lord Reed for assistance.

If anyone else finds out, you'll lose the North! She turned to Jon. You must remain Ned Stark's son. The lords will never back a Targaryen. The look in Jon's eyes was positively mutinous as his advisor nodded back at her, and she continued to shake her head, in horror.

(You think I don't know that! That's why I'm telling you. You, of all people should know whose claim you are actually backing. There is still time-) No! You are still a Stark. This changes nothing.

But it changed everything. She had fled Jon's solar a short time later, her thoughts too jumbled to handle more than an awkward pledge to keep his secret safe and a hasty word of gratitude that he had entrusted her with his true identity. Only now, after days of strained interactions, and painfully polite run-ins with the king, did she begin to understand. She had asked the wrong questions and offered only the weakest absolution. You are still a Stark. This changes nothing.

-----

Later, she observed him, from a distance, in the Great Hall, as the lords and ladies filtered in for the upcoming trials. The king stood apart, head bowed in discussion with Val, who had returned with the Ironmen held in Torrhen's Square. Though Sansa had never seen a Targaryen in the flesh, Jon had none of their oft-recited characteristics. In the dim light, his dark brown hair and grey eyes appeared as black as the cloak resting on his shoulders, his face as long and drawn as the stone kings of winter standing sentinel deep beneath their feet. It would be easier to believe Ned Dayne was a secret Targaryen, for whatever Prince Rheagar had left Jon, it was buried deep inside.

Now, questions burned at her lips. What really happened to Lyanna? How did Jon come to be raised by Howland Reed? And how long had he known the truth of his birth? And how did he feel about it? How did her father feel about it? And why had he not shared the secret with her mother? Perhaps, these were the questions she should have asked when Jon first told her the truth. Perhaps she should have asked them at any point in the past few days, when the revelation was new and her curiosity would be expected. But, whenever there was a moment where they found themselves alone, her body would rebel with unknowable emotion and her heart would beat in her like a caged bird in her chest, her tongue heavy and thick in her mouth, and she would flee the room before whatever was growing within her, had an opportunity to bloom.

"Princess, are you well?" She startled at Baelish's words, too close, before tilting her eyes away from Jon to the lord beside her.

"Quite, my lord. And you?"

"Quite. They make a stunning pair, do they not?"

"Hm?" She asked, distractedly as Baelish's lips twisted in a knowing smirk.

"Why the king and the wilding princess, of course. Were you not just watching them?" His eyes narrowed, and she flashed Jon and Val another glance, before smiling faintly back at the lord.

"I hadn't noticed where my eyes has settled. I was lost in thought, my lord."

"Hm. Well, still, my questions stands. Would not the wilding princess make a fine wife for your half-beast brother?"

"Half-beast?" She raised an eyebrow. "Be careful with your words, Lord Baelish. There are those that would take offence to you speaking of your king so." Her voice was mild, though, and his green eyes glinted slyly back at her.

"I meant no harm, my Princess. The north will need a fierce, beastly leader to keep its hard-fought independence. Eyes in King's Landing may be turned inward for now, but that cannot last forever…And you still evade my question. What do you think of my match?"

"Val is no princess and Jon has already more or less gained the wildings support. He needs a wife with more to offer."

"Ah. In that case, here comes another enticing option." Sansa followed Baelish's eyes to Lady Wynyfryd Manderly, gliding into the Great Hall in a gown of deep blue, offset by a string of rose pearls gracing her slender neck. She stopped before the king, falling into a graceful curtsy and Sansa watched Jon's eyes sweep down her form with a sour taste in her mouth. "As I understand it, the king in the North has still not fully won over his wealthiest, most well-connected lord. There can be no argument against the advantages in him marrying the Manderly maid."

Satin caught Sansa's eye across the hall, gesturing for her to take her place. "Excuse me, my lord, it looks like the trial will soon commence."

Before she could extricate herself, however, Baelish leaned close, whispering, "Careful little bird. He is your brother. Unnatural relations have toppled kingdoms more stable than his." She pulled away, her heart racing and legs weak.

I am not your brother, Sansa.

He should never have told her.

----

She barely registered the accusations against Asha Greyjoy, Theon's sister, and the leader of the Ironborn who invaded Deepwood Motte and were defeated by Alyssane Mormont. Beside her, the king sat, just as in the previous trial, but this time his hand did not bridge the distance between them, nor did she reach out for him. Instead, she sat, staring out at the accused, yet seeing nothing. She was frightened. Littlefinger already watched them with suspicious eyes, and now she suspected Jon's secret was writ across her face every time she looked at the king. He should never have told her. It was hard enough to see him as her brother when she believed it to be true. Now, she didn't know how to meet his eyes.

She was snapped to attention when Asha Greyjoy was given a chance to answer to the charges against her.

"I'll take the black." She called out, with a wry smirk.

Sansa felt Jon's eyes light on her, but she stared straight ahead, so he responded. "There are no women in the Night's Watch."

"Well then, I choose freedom." The crowd chittered, and once again Jon tried to catch Sansa's eye before Asha continued. "I heard you let the Frey men, men who aided in raping women and mutilating children, choose the black, yet I, who simply held a castle that had been abandoned by its lord, and kept my men from harming a single hair on an innocent's head, am not afforded the same opportunity? Because I don't have a cock between my legs?" Gasps from the crowd. "Where is the honor in that?"

"And if we banish you from the North, you'll only return one day to raid our lands again. It's a tired tale. The Ironborn's broken promises." Jon called.

"Well then. I suppose you'll have to take me as a thrall…though again, I thought the North was too honorable for an arrangement so close to slavery." Her tone was mocking, and Sansa looked closer at the Ironborn woman. She was lean and long legged, in black breeches, her short black hair, tied loosely at her neck, revealing a thin face and a hawkish nose, tempered by a wickedly impertinent grin. "I suppose you have only two options left, Wolf King. Take off my head or take me to bed."

Again, the crowd chittered, and Sansa burned. The Greyjoy captive was making a mockery of their justice.

"As fascinating as your offer is," Jon answered, "the wolf is not tempted by the squid." The crowd truly laughed this time, but he rose, cutting them off. "Asha Greyjoy, you are hereby fined five thousand gold dragons. Until which time the debt is paid in full, you are forbidden from leaving our lands. You are free to live and to earn your repayment by any lawful means, though if you should break our laws again, I will be taking your head."

The Hall stood silent now, and Sansa hazarded a glance in the king's direction. His face was calm but stern, and there was no uncertainty to find on his face. After a moment he nodded to Maege, who prodded her men-at-arms to action, cutting away the Greyjoy's wrist binds.

"And what of my men?" Asha asked, before she could be fully dismissed from the Hall.

"I suggest they choose the black," was all Jon offered before holding a hand out to Sansa. "Bring the other Greyjoy. We'll resume shortly." Sansa stood, and let herself be led into the privacy of the gallery.

"Are you well, my Princess?" He asked, as soon as the door closed behind them.

"What…yes, of course. Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She couldn't meet his eye. He was standing too close. She could feel herself flushing. Everything was flushing. She tried to step away, but his hand was at her elbow.

"You lie." He murmured, low, and why was she so warm? "It upsets you. That I'm not a Stark."

"You are a Stark." She snapped, still trying to pull away subtly, but he only led her closer to the checkered windows.

"Sansa," His words came out in an anguished flood. "My grandfather murdered your uncle and grandfather. My father raped your aunt. You have every right to be upset. I'll give up the crown. Just say the words and I'll make you queen. I'll leave the north. Just tell me what you want me to do." He didn't understand anything, and he was standing too close.

"Jon!" She hissed. "You are not my enemy. Your grandfather murdered your uncle and grandfather as well! Your father…" Why must he be so obtuse? "Lyanna Stark was your mother. You are a Stark, regardless of who your father was. I've already told you, this changes nothing. You are King in the North! I want you to be king." It felt like her veins were lifting from her body.

"Then why can't you look at me? Why do you flinch every time I draw near? You hate that I'm a Targaryen. Admit it. It is I who should be standing before you in the Great Hall, to answer for the crimes of my family." A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled away once more, trying to think of anything that wouldn't reveal her true thoughts.

"You are mistaken." She blinked up at him, trying to disprove his point, and it would be so much easier if he weren't looking at her like he was; like her words mattered, like her opinions mattered. And it would also be easier too, if he didn't have so much power over her, she admitted weakly to herself; if she didn't notice the breadth of his shoulders as he leaned closer, or the way his lashes seemed impossibly long around his smoky grey eyes.

#know the love #part ii #wip excerpt #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfiction

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gazpachoandbooks · 2 years

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Sansa: and what have we learnt today? When someone says you can't do something...

Theon and Arya, with three black eyes, an impressive amount of fractured ribs and one broken spleen between them, through gritted teeth: ... the answer isn't necessarily "watch me"

Bran, who recorded the whole thing, still holding Arya's beer: it's still a pretty good answer though

#jon *who left them on their own for exactly three (3) minutes* *racing through the ER door*: WHAT THE FUCK #i love them your honor #let arya and theon be friends challenge #arya stark #theon greyjoy #starklings #asoiaf

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flibbertigiblet · 5 years

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Jon x Sansa | Modern AU, Imi-taters need not apply

(Also on AO3)

“Sam! Put that down and come back here. No. Sam, you little brat, you need to go upstairs and change into…SAM!”

With an impish laugh, the little boy finally dashed upstairs to his room, and Jon collapsed onto the nearest chair in relief.

The thing is, when Samwell Tarly (senior) had called him two days ago, asking for a favor, Jon had agreed immediately without thinking too much about it. That’s what people do for their friends, right? And he’d known that poor Sam and his wife were both down with a nasty cold for nigh on two weeks now; agreeing to take their son trick-or-treating was no big deal. One might even say it was small potatoes.

Jon looked down at himself and winced. Okay, that phrase was maybe too on the nose.

Jon had never before had cause to wonder how difficult it would be to chaperone a child on Halloween. The last time he’d gone trick-or-treating was when he himself was a child, traipsing around the streets of Winter Town with Theon, Robb, and the rest of the Stark brood. The last time, he’d been dressed up as a knight, waving a cardboard sword around and vowing to save all the best chocolate for his redhaired fair princess.

This time, he’s dressed as a tuber.

With a face on it.

This…was a considerable downgrade.

Little Sam was a sweet kid, really. It’s just…look, he’s six-years old, and he’s hyperactive to begin with, and they haven’t even left the house yet and Jon’s already had to run around chasing him for fifteen minutes just to get him to go put on his costume, and oh gods, he’s going to be high on candy before the end of the night, isn’t he?

“Jon Snow, you are an angel and a saint,” said the hoarse voice drifting up from the bundle of blankets on the couch, under which his friend and his wife were huddled together in all their flu-ridden misery.

There was no denying that both Sam and Gilly both looked the worse for wear. Still, Jon expelled a breath so deep and melodramatic that the curls on his forehead fluttered in the draft. “No, Sam. What I am, thanks to you, is a walking, talking…potato.”

“Potato head,” said Sansa helpfully, as she came in from the Tarly’s kitchen with two large and steaming mugs of herbal tea. Her own potato - sorry, potato head - costume was as cumbersome as his, and yet Sansa managed to look graceful as always as she navigated her way around forgotten toys and discarded sneakers in order to deliver her bounty to the invalids.

“I’ve added a bit of lemon for the vitamin C and honey to soothe your throats,” she told them, smiling.

Jon felt his own face ease into a goofy smile as he watched Sansa fuss over their friends – fluffing cushions and making sure the box of tissues and waste bin were within easy reach – but he quickly schooled his expression when he caught Gilly smirking up at him.

Sam cupped both hands around his drink and took a careful sip. “Sansa Stark, you too are an angel and a saint,” he pronounced with a contented sigh. “Thank you both for agreeing to take Little Sam trick-or-treating.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I asked Sansa to join you, Jon,” Gilly piped up, her shrewd eyes still on Jon. “Little Sam can be quite a handful, and I thought you might want the company. Plus, we had the costumes already, and what’s a Mr. without his Mrs.?”

“Whose clever idea were the costumes?” grumbled Jon, even as his heart skipped a beat at her too-casual words.

“It was Little Sam’s idea, I’m afraid. Toy Story is his favorite movie, and he wanted to be Buzz Lightyear. But I wasn’t ‘allowed’ to be Woody, because his best friend is going to be Woody.” Sam looked so woebegone that Jon didn’t have it in him to continue sulking, so he nodded instead.

“Oh we don’t mind, do we Jon? We love Little Sam, and these costumes are adorable!” Looking at her reflection in the hallway mirror, Sansa adjusted the yellow bucket hat she was wearing to a jauntier tilt. “In fact,” she said, eyes sparkling as she turned to him now, “I thought your costume lacked one final piece, so I found something to complete the look.”

She reached into the bag that she’d brought with her, and with a flourish, she pulled out a bowler hat.

Jon stifled a groan.

“Now I know it’s an absolute crime to hide this gorgeous head of curls under a hat, but Mr. Potato Head needs his bowler, don’t you think?” Sansa ruffled the curls in question and Jon flushed slightly, embarrassed and pleased by the compliment. He stood still and allowed Sansa to position the hat on his head to her liking, basking as he always did in the warmth of her affection.

Theon and Robb would howl if they could see him now, but luckily that was never going to happen.

She patted his face when she finished, then turned them both towards the couch to seek their friends’ approval.

“An iconic pair,” proclaimed Gilly with a quirk of her lips.

“Hear, hear,” Sam agreed in a muffled voice as he blew his nose.

Behind them, pounding footsteps more suited to a stampeding elephant than a six-year old astronaut signaled Little Sam’s return.

“I’m ready, let’s go! I don’t want to miss all the good candy! Hurry up, let’s go!” Buzz Lightyear indeed. The kid was practically vibrating with excitement – and this was pre-sugar - but Jon was in a good mood all of a sudden, and so he smiled at him indulgently.

“Well, come on then, kiddo,” said Jon, making a move towards the door.

“Wait-” said Sansa, grabbing his hand.

He stopped.

“We need to take a picture! When he found out we were going trick-or-treating, Theon asked me to send one to the group! And Robb was the one who was nice enough to lend me the hat in the first place!”

Those rat bastards.

“I have a better idea. How about we don’t?”

But they did. Such were the extent of Sansa’s powers. She even got him to smile and wave to the camera, because of course she did.

Their phones buzzed immediately after the pic was sent.

Theon: OMG

Arya: what a spud

Robb: Sansa Starch and Jon Snowtato

Bran: You guys do look very a-peeling together

Robb: Truly a mash made in heaven!

Theon: HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Sansa: Very punny, you guys

Rickon: If you’re looking for potato puns, you can count on me to chip in

Gendry: Don’t mind me, I’m just a spec-tater

Sansa: Tuber honest, this is better than I expected from you lot

Theon: HA!

Theon: HAA!!!

Theon: HAAAAA!!!!!

Jon: Alright, that’s enough

Arya: don’t be salty, jon

Rickon: Taters gonna tate

Robb: I think we’re frying Jon’s patience

Bran: We’ve really made a hash of things

Jon: You know very well that Sansa and I are only doing this as a favor to Sam and Gilly

Sansa: He’s right.

Arya: …ok, fine

Rickon: Sorry, Sans. Sorry, Jon :(

Robb: Yeah, we’ll stop

Theon: But…I haven’t even gotten to make a potato pun yet :(

Robb: Jon, you have to admit that you guys look ridiculous though

Jon: Sansa looks beautiful even when dressed in a literal potato sack

Sansa: <3<3<3

Arya: gross. now i’m definitely out.

Theon: Damn Sansa, how’d you manage to land such a sweet potato?

Theon: (AW YIS!)

Jon: …

Jon: It’s just the way I yam.

Theon: …

Rickon: …

Robb: …I think we’re done here.

—–

Written for the Jonsa 100 Challenge. Was tagged by @zarahjoyce with the the prompt “run” (which I only used very loosely in the fic, sorry!)

Inspired by:

“The Potato Heads, Mr. and Mrs.! You’ve gotta keep ‘em together, ‘cause they’re madly in love…”

I know I could have gone with any number of options for a Jonsa couples costume edit, but this concept made me lol so I decided to roll with it! Longtime Jonsas will know why I have to give special credit to @riahchan - years of seeing her call Jon a potato means this idea was probably percolating in the back of my head for a good long while!

Tagging @amymel86 next with “tissue”

—–

Check out my other stuff here: @flibbertigiblet-edits

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jon snow #sansa stark #gotjonsnow #gotsansastark #gotedit #got fanart #got fanfic #jonsa fanfic #got au #modern au #my edit #flibbertigiblet

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janiedean · 5 years

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Hi. I haven’t read the books, but I’ve seen a lot of animosity between book!arya fans and Book!sansa fans. Arya’s fans claim that Sansa’s fans demonise Arya to make Sansa seem more moral, but that Sansa actually symbolises everything wrong with high borns (she’s shallow, doesn’t care about small folk, actually bullied Arya, etc). I was wondering what Sansa is actually like in the books? I know the books take place over a shorter period of time, so how much has she changed by the end of ADWD?

premise: I think that’s a discourse that has not much sense existing and that it’s born out of show-related bad readings/show-only stans being... what they are, but:

book!sansa is nowhere near the same as show!sansa and I wish I could find that post with receipts on it but basically she never went to winterell, she never had the QUEEN IN THE NOOORTHHH storyline, she didn’t go around telling theon anything (it’s her friend jeyne poole in her place in the books) and her journey has gone from ‘I’m a shallow 11yo girl same as all shallow 11yo girls are but I’m a good person deep down’ to ‘I suffered a lot because of the circumstances I was thrown in and now I’m in a pretty damn delicate position that challenges my morals but I stayed kind and empathetic and hopeful in spite of all the crap I got thrown at’ for now, and she’s... still courteous and kind and empathetic towards most people she meets, which is not how it went in the show;

also, there’s no way book!sansa goes the way show!sansa did;

that said: the point with book!sansa is that she changes. like, in the beginning of the books she’s more or less like in the show and okay sure she’s pretty shallow and only thinks about boys and getting married and shit, but... that’s like, regular 11 yo. everyone was insufferable at 11yo. and you can see through book one (esp. with her interactions with sandor) that she has a lot of empathy and is an extremely kind person, and she overcomes most of those damned issues throughout the books - she doesn’t care for the smallfolk in the beginning but later when she poses as lf’s bastard daughter she gets a taste of it and that’s after being abused to hell and back in king’s landing, etc. like, there’s an evolution of character there;

that doesn’t mean that she and arya didn’t have a difficult relationship in which they think they hate each other and in which arya feels like sansa hates her and wouldn’t want her (at some point in acok she thinks she’s only sure JON would want her if she showed up which... says all tbqh), and like sansa did call her names and arya did suffer from it greatly/it hurt her self-esteem a lot, but I mean that’s unfortunate regular sibling rivalry and when you read their povs it’s obvious they do love each other deep down as siblings and that if they reunited they’d only be overjoyed of it especially after a lot of time apart;

but I can’t fault a lot of arya stans on this site because there’s... hm... let’s say a certain tendency coming from some prominent sansa stans/the show!sansa stans side of fandom of a) demonizing arya and painting her as a cold hearted heartless killing machine, b) negating that she has love interests (I mean before S8 people legit shipped sansa and gendry and like...no judging but come on that’s arya’s love interest, sansa/gendry is crackship level and that’s it), c) taking all her good qualities and giving them to sansa at random when sansa doesn’t have them or didn’t have them in book canon or developed them later, d) painting sansa as 100% not criticizable and conceiving arya as basically her bodyguard, which... is... yikes.

like: the point is that people don’t... get that the point of those two is that they love each other for how different they are and for how specular they are (I mean... what did ned tell them, you two are like the sun and the moon but you need each other?? XD) and the point is also that grrm is exploring two opposite way of dealing with trauma same as he does with jaime and tyrion - specifically what I mean is that jaime and tyrion are on opposite scales because jaime doesn’t even know he fucking has 80% of his trauma and deals with it by selectively removing memories/dissociating/not wanting to deal with it, tyrion keeps on thinking about it all the time and dissects it instead, right? well, sansa and arya are both about being taken forcibly from their family and being thrown on their own having to deal with it - sansa deals by keeping on being kind (BOOK VERSION) and quietly watching and learning how to play the game at the best of her skills, arya has the child soldier trauma thing going on in which she reacts with violence to violence and risks losing her sense of self, but that’s like.... two shitty situation explored in opposites and they’re meant to be foils. not to hate each other. because the point is that they have to overcome it and find their way back to each other if you ask me. *shrug*

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #anti show sansa #ch: arya starks #ch: sansa stark #got negativity #whatthe show did to sansa was one of the worst consequences of it ffs #abuse cw #Anonymous #ask post

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

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If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch21

Ao3 link

The Bite

Sansa’s not overly fond of boats, but she enjoys the sight of the winter seas and the smell of the salty air. Catelyn holds up much the same, staying still and in their cabin as much as possible.The pair of guards that travel with them have both haven’t been at sea before, and their transition is not exactly smooth. Even well-behaved Lady whines and turns around constantly in the metal cage up on the dock she had to be coaxed into.

“It’s only a few days, girl,” Sansa had assured her, and you won’t have to stay in there any longer.”

The voyage is actually quite dull. None of the rest of the crew give the two of them any notice other than the occasional “milady”. And so after a day or two Sansa finally asks.

“Mother, what was Aunt Lysa like as a girl?”

Catelyn’s face is faraway, caught up in the past.

“Shy. Timid. If she was in trouble with our father, she would run and hide. Some part of me wonders if she’s still doing that, staying up here in the Vale all the time.”

She looks at Sansa’s face, seeing the pinch of her lips. She sighs.

“You can say what you’re thinking. I’ve listened to what you’ve said over the years. I know my sister isn’t well. I should have pushed more to understand her emotions when father betrothed her to Jon Arryn.”

“If you wrote to grandfather, he would probably tell you.”

Hoster Tully is still alive now, but letters have come periodically that his health is failing. Catelyn has longed to visit, but not felt she could leave Winterfell.

“Do you know?”

Sansa bites her lip before speaking.

“Petyr Baelish got her with child, and grandfather tricked her into drinking tea that bled the pregnancy. He married her off to Jon Arryn because he had no heirs and she was apparently proven fertile.”

Catelyn’s gasps don’t pause Sansa’s words. Her face is contemplative.

“I wonder if maybe that’s why she lost so many children over the years. And Robin’s so sickly...I pity Aunt Lysa, I really do, but it’s not the good kind of pity.”

“You told us…”

Sansa nods.

“She poisoned Jon Arryn on Littlefinger’s suggestion. She did it because all these years later, she was still...obsessed with him. Not that it would have mattered, he only ever had eyes for you.”

Catelyn opens her mouth as if to protest, but from all the years, she can’t fight Sansa’s take on any of her perspective. And try as she might, Sansa still can’t tell her anything. She can’t tell her mother that despite Littlefinger’s decade long obsession with her that after her death he still managed to almost immediately project his affections onto her daughter.

“And all of that, all of it caused so much of this whole damn mess. I wish Father had told you about Jon from the beginning, but I can’t even imagine the mess there would have been if you accidentally let something on to either Lysa or Petyr.”

And as so, their voyage continues in silence.

Getting off the ship in Gulltown is a relief, but as they approach the Eyrie Sansa feels her heart skip beats and catch in her throat. She remembers the last time she was here. Seeing the craggy mountains poking up out of the ground puts her right back into the young girl who was certain so recently that she was safe but was slowly coming to the realization that she was just as unsafe as before.

The snow is packed tightly enough that travel isn’t too difficult. It’s terribly cold, but the sky is quite clear.

The easiest way up is still by mule. It takes Sansa longer than she’s proud of to recognize the girl leading them up the path, to place the face of one of the friends she had made during her short stint as Alayne Stone.

“Mya,” she mutters. It must be a bit louder than she’d intended, because the guide turns her head back.

“Did you say something milady?”

Sansa quietly shakes her head.

She slows her mule so she’s beside her mother.

“I didn’t know her too well before, I knew she was a Stone, but I never saw….”

Catelyn’s face is confused. After a breath, Sansa explains.

“She looks just like Gendry.”

Maybe one of these days, she’ll be able to tell Mya how lucky she is to be out of King’s Landing. How lucky she is to be alive.

For now they have bigger fish to fry.

Winterfell

Bran’s chest clenches every time he thinks of Septima’s journey. He had labored over the note he had tied to her leg for so long, in hopes of delaying having to send her. She’s the strongest of them, with the most stamina, but when he set her off, he still feels his gut twist in fear for her.

He’s clearly still caught up in this when Robb has to swat his hand at dinner to get his attention. He’s still got half a piece of ham stuck with his fork. He glances around and all the others have left the table already.

“Sorry. Aren’t you usually gone by now?”

Robb sits beside him backwards on the bench, stretching out and resting his shoulders against the table.

“Father’s back to doing petitions as Lord, so I’m taking advantage of the chance to not do anything.”

Bran sticks his last bit of ham in his mouth, chews and swallows.

“You should come with me out to the training yard, Arya was going to challenge Brienne now that the weather’s clear.”

Robb smiles.

“Will that be a good show?”

Bran grins in return.

“Arya just wants someone who won’t hold back on her.”

This is the truth. Most of the Free Folk favor bows and melee weapons over swords, and Robb and Theon are never going to fight her with all their strength.

Watching her get to go toe to toe with Brienne is a joy. Bran seeing her smile like she is is a very rare chance.

Her and Brienne swing and parry and the steel of their swords sings out in the winter air. They don’t fight the same at all, Brienne with solid hits and an unmoveable stance and Arya with fluidity and misdirection. By the time Arya loses grip on her sword and yields, she’s sweating and panting, and grinning like a madman.

There’s a group gathered to watch. Even Ned has taken a break from petitions to watch his youngest in her element. Once the fight is over, most of them shift around, disappointed. Shireen bursts forward to congratulate Brienne, and Robb quietly takes up his sword to ask for comments.

Bran slowly makes his way up to where his father stands and watches. They haven’t had much time to talk, alone, since the group had returned to Winterfell. Bran still sometimes wondered if he was the Stark the most distanced from Ned. Even his memory of him before had faded some, having not seen him since before his fall, and having been so much younger than the others.

“How are you holding up?”

Ned’s face is a swirl of emotions. Joy at being home, uncertainty because of what he’s missed, confusion at what he does not understand.

“Every time I turn around there’s something else. I’ve never even seen Arya fight with a full sized sword before, only than skinny one Jon gave her.”

Bran smiles. Arya had mentioned to him once that she was very glad Ned was gone when she and Meera had come back in with Osha and she’d been covered with blood. She hadn’t wanted him to see her like that.

“She still uses it sometimes. It suits her, she knows she’s not going to be stronger than most opponents, so she compensates by being faster, harder to hit and less predictable. “

There’s a pause. Bran hoists himself up to sit on one of the posts of the low fence separating the training yard from the areas around it.

“I used to take pride in knowing every member of my household,” Ned admits, “Now everywhere I go I see faces I don’t recognize.”

“I recognize most of them,” Bran comments, “You can always just ask, you’ve been gone nearly four years and we’ve taken in so many of the free folk into service.”

Ned’s eyes become nearly frightened at this moment.

“I’m worried every time we get ravens that there will be something from King’s Landing. When I was Hand I was able to keep all word of the fleeing free folk we’re sheltering from Robert’s ears, and everything about what’s happening over the wall. If anything reaches Joffrey’s ears I can’t promise I can stop us inviting his and Tywin’s wrath for doing this without consent or knowledge of the crown, ignoring what might happen if Stannis finds out.”

Shit, Bran thought. That hadn’t occurred to him. So much of this had been so much easier before, when the North had declared its independence and hadn’t had to take into account the opinions of any King other than the King in the North.

Ned shakes his head suddenly.

“Never mind that right now though, I need to go and retrieve Robb. We need to go over plans before we set out for the Dreadfort before supper comes and it begins to get dark.”

Bran nods.

“I’m heading to the smithy. Do you have anything I need to pass on to Gendry?”

“What’s he working on now?”

“The next shipment of dragon glass isn’t due for a few more days. I know he said he wanted to work on our armor supplies as well.”

“Good. Tell him to keep on it.”

When Bran enters the smithy and is hit in the face by the blast of hot air, Gendry appears to already be on it. He’s punching out a sheet of chainmail at the moment. Bran nods in greeting, and Gendry returns it silently.

Meera’s sitting on one of the benches, a pile of cut ash and oak branches at her feet. Handles for spears, axes and arrows, slowly appeared from the wood working in her hands under her knife. Lots of arrows, as many as she could cut. Gendry, she had assured Bran before, did not have the patience for woodwork, it was a slow, careful process.

He is surprised, however, to see Shireen sitting on her right side. She had been spending most of her days in the library.

She too, waves in greeting, as Bran sits on the bench to Meera’s left, feet resting beside the pile of wood.

“I was asking Gendry if he’d met anyone else in my family,” Shireen explains, her voice cracking only a little.

Gendry pauses, to nod.

“Told her I met her father only once and he was fine with letting the red woman sacrifice me the same way she did her.“

Bran cringes. Gendry seems to agree, the haunted look in his eye telling. The first time he had seen Gendry at Winterfell, the raven had summoned his vision of that night at Dragonstone. It was one of the many he wished he could wipe from his memory.

“He also told me that Ser Davos saved his life then.”

Gendry nods, and Bran becomes very glad that Davos could still be counted among their numbers.

Meera fishes around trying to find him a spare knife, but then pauses and hands him hers and stands when Gendry asks her for a favor.

“What are you doing?”

Gendry’s holding a piece of string and making marks on a piece of parchment.

“Since I’m starting with the armor stores, I wanted to make Arya a hauberk. Plate armor is better in a joust, but unless you’re going up against clubs and solid blows chainmail works fine, especially over leather, and it won’t slow her down. Meera’s close enough to her size I can use her to make the measurements before I punch out the chain.”

Bran smiles.

“So I take it you’re not going to be foolish and try to convince her not to fight this time?”

Gendry snorts.

“I know her well enough to know that that would be a pointless exercise that would just make us both angry. But I won’t send her out ill-equipped, and I would feel much better knowing I made it.”

Good, Bran thinks. That is what this whole situation has been for. None of them will be going into this ill-equipped.

Meera finds a smaller knife, and so Bran joins her in cutting down the wood, and beneath them forms a thick pile of tinder to feed the forge. Gendry and Shireen continue chatting amiably. Watching them, Bran can note the family resemblance, though it’s more in mannerisms than in their facial features.

Quietly, Meera asks him.

“Is Septima getting close?”

Bran nods.

“I let her rest until dinner time. She should go over before supper. Once that happens, I’m going to stay in her for a while.”

Meera nods. She sets down her knife briefly, and reaches out to grasp his empty hand in hers.

“I’ll stay with you.”

He slips in and out of Septima a few times throughout the afternoon. When she finally reaches Eastwatch-By-the-Sea, Shireen has quietly slipped out to return to the library.

Bran takes a deep breath.

“This might take a while.”

Gendry nods.

“I’ll bring you some supper if you’re going to stay.”

And then he leaves Bran and Meera alone.

“You’re doing fine though? You don’t want to wait until after supper?”

Bran shakes his head.

“I’d rather just get this done.”

With a smile that’s only a little sad, she leans in and softly kisses the corner of his mouth. And with a stupid grin, he leans back to the wall, and lets himself drift off.

And with that, Meera is alone. She isn’t idle though. Once she finishes splitting up the branch she’d been working on, she fishes out a paper and quill.

She hasn’t even written a single line, when the door opens. Meera is surprised to see Ned enter, holding a plate of leftover bread and fried ham.

“Lord Stark,” she addresses, standing to take the plate from him.

“Gendry said the two of you were still out here, thought I should check up.”

Meera turns to look at Bran, his eyes still all white. Ned looks discomforted, and she completely understands.

“He’s over the wall, trying to find Jon.”

Ned doesn’t know quite what to say. Meera looks him straight in the eye for a moment.

“We think that if something had happened to him, the wolves would have known. Summer knew when something happened to Gray Wind before.”

Summer, who has been dutifully following up behind Bran wherever he goes, to catch him if he trips.

Meera sets the plate beside her on top of an empty crate.

“I’m writing to my father,” she tells Ned, “To see if he thinks we have the resources to take any non combatants. We did before.”

That was what the crannogmen had spent most of the Long Night doing, sheltering those who tried to flee south and became lost.

Ned nods,

“Good. tell me what he says. Tell him just to write to me, it would be nice to hear from an old friend.”

His eyes stay on Bran and her questioningly, Meera suddenly aware of how closely together they’re sitting. Maybe she ought be a little embarrassed, but she’s not. Touching Bran has become second nature again. She remembers back in the cave, the day he had realized his hair had started to get tangled among the leaves and branches, and sheepishly asked her to cut it. And that afterwards, she had realized it hadn't felt strange at all.

Quietly, she tells Ned,

“You don’t need to worry too much about the two of us. We’re not too great putting things into words. Feels like if we do, something will come by and break it.”

The feelings are old, she thinks to herself, even if the kissing is new.

Ned smiles, and Meera recognizes the same sad smile she must have had on her own face often.

“Perhaps I should write to your father too.”

Meera feels the corner of her mouth turn up involuntarily when she recognizes his intent.

“I think he would like that.”

And with a tilt of the head in Bran’s direction.

“And don’t worry about your son, I’ll make sure he comes back.”

The first time Bran wakes up, Meera’s covered her legs with a blanket Gendry keeps stashed in the little shed behind the smithy.

Bran starts to say something, but his stomach growls before he can speak.

Meera glances up, and then points at the platter

Bran takes a piece of ham.

“I just need a break.”

“See anything interesting?”

Bran chews his piece and swallows before responding.

“Septima’s flying northwest through the haunted forest. She’s passed where Craster’s Keep was and is near the Antler River. When she gets to the Fist of the First Men, I’ll have her turn East. If she gets all the way North…”

He trails off. All the way north she’ll have to pass back down through Thenn and far too close to the Land of Always Winter.

“I haven’t seen much of anything. Snow, trees. The villages I’ve seen are empty. A couple areas look like they’ve been burned, like a fire for corpses got out of control until it burned itself out.”

“Have you seen any….”

After a long moment, he says.

“Now so far...If I’m not back by midnight, shake me until I come out. Don’t let me forget I’m actually going to need to sleep tonight.”

It’s not midnight, but it’s close when Bran suddenly shudders back to life. Meera had been one inch away from dozing off herself when his sudden movement rouses her.

“Bran! Are you alright? What did you see?”

She places a hand on each side of his face in an attempt to steady him. When he finally opens his eyes, they’re red and wet with tears. He reaches out to grasp both of her arms.

“You’re not going to believe this.”

Over the Wall

Gilly sits with Jon and Rowan sometimes now. She makes many marks on her map now. Rowan some time ago claimed Jon knew most of the words she could teach him, and now all he could do was learn to speak them in his own voice. She seems pleased to have something useful to do, having been increasingly emotionally volatile since the revelation about the tree’s memory. Her son insists on being called Sam now, he won’t hear any different.

Once Gilly told Jon when the three of them were alone that, “Perhaps Aemon was never his name anyhow.”

Parts of Jon still desperately wants to ask Rowan what her ultimate plan for teaching him all of this is, but watching her, around the fire, beside him in the snow, he’s beginning to wonder if she even really knows.

He asks the trees about the Others now. There aren’t many wildlings left in the north, Jon discovers. Hundreds, thousands perhaps, have fled or tried to flee, and few remain. Not live ones anyway.

The villages along the far western edge of the Frostfangs have been devastated. Bodies, human and animal both, slaughtered and arranged in symbols even the trees don’t understand. Even Ygritte quakes when he tells her of what the trees have told him is happening outside, his stories of places she might have once known devastated.

And when the villages aren’t empty…

Sometimes it seems as though the white walkers appear out of the night itself, from the fog and snow. Sometimes when they appear the night seems to follow them like a perpetual cloud. Even if it’s just a few of them, they always seem a whole army. They’re ice blades cut down man and beast alike.

And as for the Night King, Jon is only somewhat to see him ride upon an undead steed. The stories that the others could raise bears and wolves and other beasts as well as men has turned out to be true. And no one mostly bothered to burn their corpses.

“Rowan,” Jon finally asks one day, “You’re so sure that the Night King is trying to lead his armies over the Wall...but nothing we are doing here seems to be something that could stop that.”

“I don’t think it is something that can be stopped.”

Jon is taken aback.

“Then what…”

Rowan’s smile is bitter.

“I am the last of my kind. All I am trying to do is pass on the knowledge I have, to try and mitigate some of the damage I know is coming. These things you are learning are very old, and I would hate to see them lost.”

Jon’s insides twist. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. But watching Rowan, he cannot find the words to rebuke her. She reaches out and touches his hands.

“I have given you what weapons I can. Knowledge, foresight understanding. The iron and dragonglass will prevent the long dead from rising. And that sword your girl found may be valuable as well. The tunnels will allow us to flee south with ease when the time comes.”

“Flee?” Jon asks, “How will we know when it’s time.”

Rowan reaches and tucks a bit of his hair behind his ear fondly. Her skin doesn’t feel like a human’s skin, but rather like something else Jon can’t put his finger on.

“I feel that is something that we will become aware of very quickly when the time comes.”

She pauses for a long moment, her ears drooping and disappearing into her hairline.

“I’m sorry if you feel I have misled you in anyway.”

Jon’s insides settle themselves. This has not been how he expected his life to go, before or after the great revelations his siblings had hoisted upon him. But…

“Thank you,” he tells Rowan quietly, “For never mentioning my name.”

It’s a short way of saying what he means. That she never spoke of him as something he couldn’t help. He wasn’t a bastard here, or a crow, or a Stark. Nothing, perhaps, except a human. The only standard Rowan held him to was her hopes for him, and she always thought he could achieve it. Maybe that’s what Ygritte meant by this place being good for him.

After supper, he sits at the mouth of the cave, watching the sky. Ygritte quietly joins him. He looks at her, and starts to say something, but is interrupted.

“Is that...a raven?” Ygritte asks.

The large bird isn’t flying straight, but weaving back and forth. It finally settles on a branch of the illusory weirwood tree, and Jon swears it looks at him.

And then flies straight towards him.

Jon only manages to steel himself for a moment, certain he is about to feel claws dig into his face, when the bird, instead, lands neatly on his wrist, and shakes it’s foot.

There’s a paper tied to it. Jon removes it, and unrolls the letter. This doesn’t make a lick of sense, that a raven could fly this far north, that it would.

“Come home brother, if you can. The long night is coming, and we’ll need you by our side.”

Jon exchanges an astonished, emotional expression with Ygritte when he reads the words.

“I’ll show Rowan in the morning. And we’ll go from there.”

That night, Jon has another dream. It’s not symbolic. He sees his uncle Benjen, cornered on the bank of the Milkwater, of a wight raising it’s ice blade to him.

And of another shaking its head. And the rest surrounding him.

He doesn’t see his uncle fall. But he sees him overwhelmed, and carried off.

The last Jon sees before he wakes is his uncle dropped on the frozen ground, at the feet of the Night King.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #breera #time travel fix it #fic

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