banshee's lament - chapter 5.
aemond targaryen x stark ofc
minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc
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a/n: again, a little bit of a slow chapter. shera deserved some happiness and i'm giving it to her, dammit. also i lied, i dropped the chapter on monday oopsies.
wordcount: 4.5k
@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.
content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing
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Shera’s handwriting, in all accounts, was terrible. It was crude and wispy, all blending together like a child’s scrawl. As she sat at her desk, the ink dripping onto the paper from the length of her pauses, she wondered how to sign it.
Yours,
Shera
No, that was much too personal— she… she wasn’t his.
Best,
Shera Stark
That felt formal and detached. It simply wouldn’t do.
She went through a myriad of different closing statements, wroughting her brain over like wringing out a rag. She even considered not doing it at all.
No, no— she… she wanted to. She needed to try, atleast. Sulking and crying would only do so much for her. She needed to be proactive and offer an olive branch of sorts. She settled on a simple drawing of Moongeist— or mayhaps any wolf, but the point was there. He’d know.
With the note pinned to her cut dress fabric, she snuck from her chambers, flagging down a pageboy.
“Hello,” she murmured to the young lad, who couldn’t be any older than nine or ten. “May I ask a favor of you, ser?”
“Yes ma’am… my lady,” he corrected softly, eyes wondering to Moongeist, who was sitting patiently at Shera’s feet.
“May you take this fabric and note to Prince Aemond’s chambers and leave it upon his desk?”
“The prince doesn’t like people going through his things while he’s not there, miss,” he responded, blue eyes wide. “I do not wish to be flogged.”
Shera blinked slowly. Surely Aemond didn’t have servants flogged for an indiscretion. “Has… Prince Aemond had pageboys flogged before?”
“No, miss— but I delivered him a letter while he was eating his lunch once… he had his eyepatch off on the table and I did not knock,” the young boy looked at his hands. “He said if I didn’t knock next time, he would make me clean up Vhagar’s dung with a wheelbarrow.”
What the fuck, Aemond? Shera stifled a little laugh, trying not to embarrass the boy. “How about this,” she hummed. “Would you like to pet my wolf? He’s a real direwolf, all the way from the North.”
The lad eyed Moongeist with a curious gaze. “My mumma had a shaggy dog with a curly tail when I was young. He licked my face n’ smelled horrible but he was my bestest friend,” he said, bashful. “He died a while ago— no one’s got any more pups for me to pet.”
“He’d love a pet from you, ser,” Shera continued. “Will you deliver this to Prince Aemond’s chambers? If he gets cross with you, tell me and I’ll resolve it and sic my wolf upon him. No harm will befall you.”
Shyly, the boy smiled, offering his hand to the wolf. Moongeist sniffed his hand and licked his palm, causing the boy to giggle.
Shera showed him where Moongeist liked to be scratched the most, and the pageboy was quite pleased with himself when he had the giant wolf thumping his foot on the ground like a puppy at the most perfect of scratches.
He took her note and favor and tottered off.
—
Shera knocked on Helaena’s door. “Hela?” she called softly.
A handmaid opened the door and let her in, wide eyes upon Moongeist.
The solar was lovely, decorated in blue and purple silks upon the ceiling. There were framed pinnings of various bugs upon the walls, some of them being very rare if she remembered correctly.
Upon the floor were strewn children’s toys, like wooden dragons that Helaena had when she was little, along with soldier dolls and princess dolls. Some children’s books were left open, some neatly stacked near the settee.
Shera’s eye landed on Helaena, who was bobbing a toddler on her knee on the couch. A white haired child approached her, his violet eyes wide. He was the spitting image of Aegon as a child.
“Who’s you?” he asked, not afraid to stare— like all children do.
“Shera!” Helaena exclaimed, humming as she hoisted the smaller child onto her hip. “Jaehaerys, this is your auntie Shera.”
“Auntie… Shera…” the little boy echoed. “Is she married to uncle Aemond?”
Helaena’s face blanched slightly. “No, dearest,” she hummed. “She is very close to me, like a sister. Like Jaehaera is your sister.”
“Oh,” he murmured. “She doesn’t have white hair. And she has a dog.”
“He’s a wolf, Jaehaerys,” Shera chimed in. “Has your mumma read to you about direwolves and Winter Kings yet?”
“A woof,” the smallest child chimed in, bouncing happily upon Helaena’s hip. “A woof, a woof!”
“Well, I should introduce the children. You have already met Jaehaerys,” Helaena ruffed up his white curls as he continued to stare at Shera unabashedly. “He has a twin sister, Jaehaera. Who is…” Helaena swirled around. “She is hiding behind the settee,” she whispered, leading Shera to look at the pair of violet eyes peeking over the furniture at her. “And this is my youngest, Maelor. He is two years old. The twins are five.”
“They’re gorgeous Hela,” Shera mused. “Jaehaerys looks just like Aegon, I thought I had stepped into the past when I saw him. Maelor, however,” she added, smiling at the little cherubic face of the youngest prince, who was blushing and giggling, “looks just like his mumma.”
“Come sit, lovey,” Helaena said as she put Maelor down on the floor near the toys. “Lunch should be here soon. You look darling in that shade. You look like a jeweled beetle,” she hummed, offering her hand to Shera, which she took. Hela’s palm was warm, like a toasty fire, but not sweltering. It felt akin to being swaddled with a blanket. “Can I show you some of my bugs?”
“Of course,” Shera agreed, feeling genuinely at ease. The solar was lively and lived in, surely because of the children— it felt… homely and not sterile and lifeless like some others’ chambers.
Off to the far wall, Helaena led her to a bookshelf, carved in draconic designs and various Old Valyrian sigils that she couldn’t quite parse. It was stocked from top to bottom with various books, mostly pertaining to the taxonomy and biology of insects and arachnids— but there were some familiar titles snuck in as well.
‘The Winter Kings of Yore: An Account of the North’.
“Hela— you still have this?” Shera asked, her hand thumbing over the positively ancient book, prising it from the shelf. She remembered this was one of her favorite books as a child and would request Helaena to read it when they bathed.
“Of course! I still have this one, too. ‘Tis Maelor’s favorite.” she pointed to another book, nestled next to the other tome. It was much shorter, but its hard cover was more colorful with streams of blue and purple thread embroidered into a moon and an image of a wolf.
‘Moonpuppy’. It was a children’s book, the only one Shera had brought with her to King’s Landing when she arrived at age five.
“Oh Gods,” Shera breathed, her fingertips skimming over the embroidery. It wasn’t the original binding of the book— the book was well loved into bits, to where the inner pages only remained at one point. Shera and Helaena had worked tirelessly for a whole moon trying to prise it back together. The princess embroidered the cover, trying to make it as close to the original as possible.
Opening the book, she remembered they even made a title page, inked in their silly children’s handwriting.
‘Moonpuppy, edition II. By Helaena Targaryen and Shera Stark.’
Shera wanted to cry. She sniffed, carefully going through the pages. “Helaena, how have you managed to make me cry twice now?”
“Tears of happiness, my little wolf spider,” Hela whispered. “You should read it to Maelor. You were always better at the voices than I.”
“Oh, Hela— I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, heat coming to her ears. “It… hurts to speak for long and I cannot project… what if he cannot hear me?”
“Even at two, he is a very good listener. He is nothing like his father in that regard.”
Shera wiped away her tears and went to sit down. “Maelor, is this your favorite book?”
“Mwoonpubby!” the toddler exclaimed, jumping to attention right away.
“Do you know all the words? It’s been quite a while since I’ve read— I may need help remembering.”
“Mumma reads it every night— can I be the pubby and you be the mwoon?”
The strength of Shera’s smile almost hurt her face. “Of course.”
She began her reading, her fingertips buzzing with elation and a strange sense of anxiety.
Once, long ago, there was a puppy.
He lived in the bitter cold and was very small, but that was okay. He had a large family to keep him warm.
His mumma and papa talked to the moon each night, encouraging him to do the same.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ said the little pup.
‘Whatever is in your heart, dearest. The moon will listen. She will always listen.’ His mumma soothed him, fiddling over his fur with her big tongue.
One day, it was very dark. Usually, at night, they had the light of the moon. But it was gone this night, smothered in fog and clouds.
The little pup whined, trudging in the snow. He was lost! He was lost and he couldn’t find his way back to his mumma.
‘Mumma! Mumma!’ he howled to the sky, to the hidden stars, to the darkened moon. ‘Moon? Moon?’
Shera cleared her throat, feeling the pinch of her nerves creeping up on her. She wanted to finish it— she had to.
There was no answer. He was alone.
He cried and cried for hours, so alone and so cold without his family to warm him. He missed his mumma so badly, he missed the moon.
‘I don’t talk to you much,’ the pup said, muzzle to the sky. ‘I don’t have much to say usually. I am sorry.’
He shuffled his paws as he huddled under a low hanging ledge, out of the snow. It was still wet and he was cold, but it was better than nothing.
He felt cold still, cold in his bones—
A light shined down upon him, finally. The moon had broken through the fog.
Her voice was so hoarse now, that nary a sound came out. Moongeist nuzzled his snout under her hand in a gesture to tell her to take it easy.
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t, her voice catching within the brambles of her inflamed vocal cords.
“S’okay, auntie Shewa,” Maelor said, toddling up onto the couch and snuggling up to Shera without any reservation. “I can finish it, I know all the pawrts. Mumma gets tired too sometimes… so I finish the stowy.”
He could see, he could see. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ he howled and barked and yipped.
‘You should talk to me more, little pup,’ the moon cooed, bathing him in her silver light. ‘My sweet little moonpuppy.’
His pack found him quickly, all piling near him to keep him warm. He snuggled into their furs, looking up at the sky.
The moon was full that night, full and bright.
“Auntie Shewa?”
“Hm?”
“Can I pet your woof?”
Shera looked to Helaena and gave a nod.
“You have to be gentle, like with the bugs.” Helaena stepped in, saving Shera from further talking— to which she was grateful for.
“Uh huh…” Maelor mumbled, dragging his chubby little hand over Moongeist’s fur in a gentle manner so unlike a toddler. “Soft.”
Moongeist licked the boy’s head, cowlicking his white curls into one. He giggled with delight.
–
They all lunched together, Helaena insisting that they sit on the floor and eat with the children. They sat in a circle, the kids having their porridge. They each had different toppings, which felt so much like them.
Jaehaerys had cut up ham atop his, accompanied by a smattering of frizzled onions.
Jaehaera, on the other hand, had pieces of stewed pumpkin atop hers, glazed with cinnamon and maple syrup. It had some roasted pumpkin seeds atop for crunch. She had more of a sweet tooth than her brother, it seemed.
Maelor had a smaller bowl with plain porridge and melted butter– he glanced at Shera’s plate, to which her and Helaena were both eating parboiled quail eggs, dipping their toasted bread in the yolk.
“Mumma– want egg,” Maelor muttered, swirling his spoon in his porridge.
“What kind of egg, darling?” Helaena asked.
“I want what Auntie Shewa has,” he continued. “Dippy egg.”
“Maera,” Helaena called to her handmaiden. “Can you please have the cooks whip up some dippy eggs for Maelor– and mayhaps a bone for Moongeist, too?”
The thumping of a tail was heard as the wolf heard ‘bone’ and ‘Moongeist’ in the same sentence. He stayed near Shera, but also in close proximity to Maelor, who had become quite attached to the wolf very quickly. The toddler offered porridge from his spoon to him, who happily slurped up the food with a wagging tail.
Soon enough, Maelor was devouring his dippy eggs with toast. Helaena leaned forward now, tracing little circles on the plush rug they sat upon. “It was supposed to be different, you know.”
Shera blinked. “What was?”
“I was supposed to be betrothed to Jacaerys– before… Aegon,” she started, eyes glazed over and looking towards somewhere far away, somewhere not completely there. “It might have been nice. I don’t know.”
“... really? You and Jacaerys?” she raised a brow. She couldn’t imagine Alicent ever agreeing to such a thing.
“Mother wasn’t pleased. Father pushed and pushed but mother was stronger and pushed back. It was a flash in the pan, so to speak. I wish I knew where we would be now if she had agreed.”
“You would be upon Dragonstone, Hela– with… Jace’s children, presumably,” Shera cringed inwardly at the thought– that would be her some day.
Helaena wrinkled her nose at the thought, seemingly agreeing with Shera’s sentiment. “For all his faults–” she got up then, tugging Shera to her feet and leading her to the open window. “Aegon is… good with the children. When he is here. I don’t… he isn’t my husband in feeling– but he is my brother. What are we, any of us– but beholden to the mistakes of our families. All of us.”
Shera stayed silent as they sat on the windowsill together, letting Helaena talk. It seemed like something she didn’t talk about much– if ever.
“He got the worst of mother’s rage. It broke something in him. But I think there is something broken in all of us, even mother,” Helaena reached to the trellis, plucking a beetle that was hiding between two folded leaves. “All of her children are cursed in some way,” she lifted her periwinkle gaze to Shera then. “You are one of her children, too.”
“... cursed,” she echoed. Yes, that seems about right.
“Will you survive?” the princess turned the conversation then. “Upon Dragonstone?”
“I don’t know.” she answered truthfully, talking in honesty about the betrothal to someone for the first time. She tried before with Cregan, but he didn’t listen.
“You’ll have to take the reins, you know,” Helaena prattled on, staring at the beetle with her full, rapt attention. It was blue in color, gleaming like a sapphire jewel in the sunlight. “Take them and steer them. You’ll be the only one able to change it– the trees bleed, Shera– cut lip, punctured wood...”
Shera’s brow furrowed further. Helaena was known to descend into her ramblings– but something within her tingled at the words. She didn’t know what they meant, but it made her stomach churn. She felt the whoosh of air from outside the window, a cream colored blur in the edge of her vision. She didn’t hear it, only felt it and saw it, fleeting. It landed upon a spiked point of the keep, across the way from the window– but she couldn’t parse what it was. Shera blinked profusely, bringing her hands to her eyes and rubbing them. When she looked again, it was gone, mayhaps never even there.
“Hold the beetle, Shera,” Hela hummed, offering the jewel colored insect to her. “You remember how to hold them?”
“Gentle,” she responded, voice so quiet that it was hardly even a whisper. The beetle crawled eagerly onto her palm, roving around slowly.
“I need to clean up the children for naptime. Maera,” the princess called, hopping off of the window sill. She walked to the handmaiden, who was a head taller than Helaena. Her dark brown hair was braided in one long wisp, a few errant strands sticking to her forehead. She had tanned skin and dark eyes, with a curved nose. The handmaiden smiled to Helaena and they whispered to one another, clearly very familiar, before they disappeared toward the nursery.
Her surroundings blurred as she kept her attention on the beetle. It seemed so simple, so… calm, despite being in the palm of a would-be predator. The light reflected off of its blue colored carapice, the elytra buzzing ever so slightly. It wanted to stretch, the slight unfold of its wings captivating Shera. She wondered what it was like to fly– she had always refused Jacaerys when he asked her to join him atop Vermax. But if… if she were the one flying, she may not be so scared. Her shoulders rolled in tandem with the beetle, feeling a crack of her bones and the ghostly sensation of her own wings clawing out from them.
The beetle’s antenna wriggled, its little claws digging into her palm, pulling itself along. It wanted to go, it wanted to fly. Leaning towards the window, she saw the great expanse of the sky, littered now with clouds. There was a little breeze now, ruffling the gentle film of the wings as they extended– they looked and felt broken when coming from their sutures, but straightened out quickly. Crawling closer, closer to the breeze, flitting upon it. Hovering now, legs dangling ever expertly. Regarding the indoors one last time– pushing forward into the open air, flight, flight, wisping upon the breeze… was this freedom?
“Shera! Open your eyes!”
The breeze died upon her face as she turned to see Helaena at her side, a few maids behind her looking terrified– Moongeist was whining at her feet.
“Shera?” Helaena whispered now, her periwinkle eyes wide. “Are you alright?”
“... yes– um,” she glanced around nervously at the maids, who were now chittering amongst themselves.
“Thank you, ladies– you may go now. I will call the maester myself if Shera falls ill again.”
Ill? She was awake that entire time, she knew it– she was… focusing on the beetle… the beetle…
“Hela– where is the beetle?”
“The beetle…” she breathed, looking over to the table.
Shera looked to see an open lightbox, the beetle was in it. It was seized up, not moving.
“It fell. Its thorax got torn on the windowsill– I will fix it before I pin it,” the princess sighed. “The breeze was too strong.”
“Is it dead?”
“Yes.”
Shera felt cold, a chill creeping at her back. “I should… I should get some rest, I think. M-much excitement for me today, I think.”
Helaena nodded.
–
Shera laid in bed, taking her dinner in her chambers. She felt… utterly exhausted. The day had been tumultuous, even without her… disassociating spell in Helaena’s chambers.
Her fingers roved over a book– it was something that was just left in her room for decoration and no real substance. Her eye strained as she tried to focus on the words. It was already hard enough to read with only one working eye, but with the content of this book being so boring, she couldn’t parse any of it at all.
Knock, knock, knock. Three knocks rapt upon her door.
“I don’t need any tea,” she croaked out, unable to project her voice. She slipped out of her bed, adorned in her nightgown– it was fairly see-through, so she grabbed a blanket and slipped it over her head and body, snugging it close. She hated being caught without her veil on. “Please, come back in the morning.” she muttered as she opened the door, peeking her face out slightly.
“I’m afraid I cannot take no for an answer, Lady Stark,” Aemond hummed, standing before her in all his glory. He wasn’t dressed for bed– she wondered if he wore his riding and sparring leathers to bed, too. “I was tasked with delivering some… reading material to you.”
Shera perked a brow inquisitively. “Reading material?” She hadn’t requested anything specific from the library.
“Can I come in?”
Shera bit her lip. “Yes… I suppose…” she opened the door wider for him to come in as she scrambled to find a veil to wear.
“No need for that. I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable.” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. He had two books in his hands as he looked around the room.
“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable,” Shera grunted, a bit indignantly. His words from the dinner still echoed in her head. Mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there. She remembered him laughing at her earlier in the day when her veil had slipped slightly. Her cheeks burned as she pulled the blanket taut around her, facing away from him.
“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said flatly, putting the books down on the side table next to the chaise. “But, out of respect, I won’t look.”
She was sure he meant it as a way to soothe her worry, but she couldn’t help but feel tears start to form. Hastily, she wiped them away. “What was so important that this… delivery couldn’t wait until morn?” she glanced at him, her eyes stinging. “And why you?” she added, her punctuation of you a bit more harsh than she intended.
Aemond’s brow knit as he regarded her. He said he wouldn’t look, the liar.
She whipped in the opposite direction quickly.
“Helaena asked me to deliver you this… and I had one to give you as well. Think of it as a betrothal gift.” he muttered, beginning to walk the room as if he wasn’t an intruder. Well, she had invited him in.
Moongeist was snoozing on the bed, belly up. His legs twitched in the air as he whimpered softly from dreaming. Aemond stared at him. “This is your valiant protector? He is sleeping on the job.”
“He deserves rest— you aren’t a threat to me, Aemond. He senses that,” she replied. Not a threat physically, at least. You’re a predator to my mind.
“Hm,” he hummed, walking to the table where she still had two honey walnut cakes sitting out. “You enjoyed them, I take it?”
“What?”
“The cakes. I had a maid bring them to you this morn.”
“Oh– it was you,” she murmured, the tips of her ears flushing under the implication. “... thank you. It… helped.”
“You were… distressed– these always used to cheer you up.”
Shera let out a tentative breath. He had thought of her– and remembered her favorite sweet? And… cared enough to have them brought to her. Maybe… maybe he didn’t loathe her so. “They were… very good,” she continued, letting a smile come to her face. It felt strange to smile around Aemond after so long.
“Yes, the cook who made them still works in the kitchens,” he picked up one, taking a bite. He had liked them as well, but his favorite had always been blueberry scones. “She surprisingly hasn’t kicked the bucket yet– still working away down there, at seventy-five. Mother offered her retirement and a nice hole in the wall shack near the wharf. She refused, adamant to work until she died.” he made a noise of surprise at the taste. “Still good.”
“I’m surprised you remembered, Aemond,” she walked closer then, making sure to snatch the last one off of the plate before he decided to take it, too. She took a bite, the honey sticking to her fingers.
“I remember a lot, Shera,” he pulled out a chair and took a seat. Why was he staying?
Her heart stopped momentarily as he said her name. She buried herself further into the pastry to hide her red cheeks. “Memories are a plague,” she grumbled, pulling up her legs to her chest after she settled into the chair next to him.
“That they are, most of them are. A festering, decrepit reminder of… things best left forgotten. However,” he leaned forward then, his thumb cleaning off a drip of errant honey from the corner of her mouth. “I do remember, you were always a messy eater. Some things don’t change, do they?”
She shivered as he touched her with such… gentleness he hadn’t displayed at all since she’s been back. It was a glimpse into the boy he used to be– he was still there, deep down. She almost choked on the rest of her cake, putting it down on the plate as she quietly licked her fingers, trying to distract herself. “... no, some things don’t change.”
“The book weren’t the only reason I came– Helaena asked me to ask you if you would like to come on a picnic to the Kingswood tomorrow. With Aegon, the children, Helaena and I. She told me that… Maelor required you bring Moongeist.”
Shera stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and owlish. The blanket slipped from her head slightly as she leaned forward, snatching the remainder of Aemond’s honey walnut cake from his fingers. “I suppose– as long as there are more cakes,” she hummed, feeling a slightly giddy sensation tingle down her spine as she devoured the rest. “How on earth did you manage to get Aegon to agree?”
“I promised that there would be wine,” he watched, his violet eye roving her face unabashedly as she finished the pilfered sweet.
“And?”
“And… mayhaps I threatened to pay all the brothels off to not service him any longer if he did not attend.”
–
Aemond left soon after, bidding her goodnight in a very stiff and still… somewhat cold in manner. But he was trying– she could see that.
Before tucking back into bed, she looked to see the books he had left for her.
One was the copy of ‘Moonpuppy’ that she had read earlier that day.
The other, the supposed ‘gift’ from Aemond, was a well-worn, well-loved copy of the old folk hero ‘Symeon Star-Eyes’. Upon opening the cover and flitting through the pages, she saw many notes and footnotes on each page– it was Aemond’s handwriting. He had left his thoughts on each page– as she descended through the book, his handwriting changed and evolved. It started off very shaky and tenuous, but as she scanned through the end of the tome, it was confident and sophisticated. He had annotated this copy for years, his handwriting and views on the text changing with each year. Flipping back to the front, she looked at the date.
It was dated five moons after the Driftmark incident. Then, opening the back– it was dated a fortnight ago. He had written, noted, and journaled in this book for ten years.
Why did he give this to her?
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Why of all the Lil Starks Rickon has a black and green direwolf?
I don't know! The black and green thing, especially the comments about green fire, are concerning because of where else they appear. Quotes beneath the cut:
In the yard below, Rickon ran with the wolves.
Bran watched from his window seat. Wherever the boy went, Grey Wind was there first, loping ahead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight, and went pelting off in another direction. Shaggydog ran at his heels, spinning and snapping if the other wolves came too close. His fur had darkened until he was all black, and his eyes were green fire. Bran's Summer came last. He was silver and smoke, with eyes of yellow gold that saw all there was to see. Smaller than Grey Wind, and more wary. Bran thought he was the smartest of the litter. He could hear his brother's breathless laughter as Rickon dashed across the hard-packed earth on little baby legs. (AGOT, Bran IV)
From the first instance, it’s paired with aggression, and the pairing of those colors and violence continues through AGOT:
Robb had been holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh and called, "Grey Wind." His direwolf moved to him, swift and silent. Now there was only Shaggy dog, rumbling at the small man, his eyes burning like green fire. (AGOT, Bran IV)
it even pops up in relation to Cersei?
How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them all the time, written on the children's faces. Ned felt sick. "I remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king," he said quietly. "A thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?"
Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna." (AGOT, Eddard XII)
So, I think from early on, we know that the green flames description is bad news, and it comes up again in this passage which is disturbing to read for a few reasons:
Maester Luwin stepped toward the open sepulchre, torch in hand. "As you see, he's not here. Nor will he be, for many a year. Dreams are only dreams, child." He thrust his arm into the blackness inside the tomb, as into the mouth of some great beast. "Do you see? It's quite empt—"
The darkness sprang at him, snarling.
Bran saw eyes like green fire, a flash of teeth, fur as black as the pit around them. Maester Luwin yelled and threw up his hands. The torch went flying from his fingers, caromed off the stone face of Brandon Stark, and tumbled to the statue's feet, the flames licking up his legs. In the drunken shifting torchlight, they saw Luwin struggling with the direwolf, beating at his muzzle with one hand while the jaws closed on the other.
"Summer!" Bran screamed.
And Summer came, shooting from the dimness behind them, a leaping shadow. He slammed into Shaggydog and knocked him back, and the two direwolves rolled over and over in a tangle of grey and black fur, snapping and biting at each other, while Maester Luwin struggled to his knees, his arm torn and bloody. Osha propped Bran up against Lord Rickard's stone wolf as she hurried to assist the maester. In the light of the guttering torch, shadow wolves twenty feet tall fought on the wall and roof.
"Shaggy," a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side. "You let my father be," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be." (AGOT, Bran VII)
Describing Shaggy's eyes as green flame is just a blaring "not good," and then for him to attack an innocent man, and for a statue of Brandon to burn, for him to fight his littermate, and then the talk of the shadows of wolves... it feels like everything here is full of significance although I'm not sure what it is!
It’s pretty common for fans to assume that Rickon will be even wilder when he returns because of the way the direwolves convey so much about their human counterpart, but this feels much darker than that kind of spec and there is something very interesting about this line:
His baby brother had been wild as a winter storm since he learned Robb was riding off to war, weeping and angry by turns. He'd refused to eat, cried and screamed for most of a night, even punched Old Nan when she tried to sing him to sleep, and the next day he'd vanished. Robb had set half the castle searching for him, and when at last they'd found him down in the crypts, Rickon had slashed at them with a rusted iron sword he'd snatched from a dead king's hand, and Shaggydog had come slavering out of the darkness like a green-eyed demon. The wolf was near as wild as Rickon; he'd bitten Gage on the arm and torn a chunk of flesh from Mikken's thigh. It had taken Robb himself and Grey Wind to bring him to bay. Farlen had the black wolf chained up in the kennels now, and Rickon cried all the more for being without him. (AGOT, Bran VI)
I suppose leaping form behind a dead king could be about Rickon inheriting the North after Robb’s death, and I always did like that idea although I’m not sure I’ve ever read meta on it, but to me, the littermate fight and the coming Northern succession crisis made tension between brothers come to mind. It doesn’t work though, because of the age issue (Rickon is very young), but all the same, the brother v brother thing in ASOIAF is big, and Shaggydog being a threat is certainly emphasized past AGOT:
The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. If I had my legs, I'd knock all of them into the water, he thought bitterly. No one would ever be lord of the crossing but me.
Finally Rickon came running into the godswood, Shaggydog at his heels. He watched Turnip and Little Walder struggle for the stick until Turnip lost his footing and went in with a huge splash, arms waving. Rickon yelled, "Me! Me now! I want to play!" Little Walder beckoned him on, and Shaggydog started to follow. "No, Shaggy," his brother commanded. "Wolves can't play. You stay with Bran." And he did . . . . . . until Little Walder had smacked Rickon with the stick, square across his belly. Before Bran could blink, the black wolf was flying over the plank, there was blood in the water, the Walders were shrieking red murder, Rickon sat in the mud laughing, and Hodor came lumbering in shouting "Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!" (ACOK, Bran I)
Most fans believe the plans for the books evolved a lot over the years so that there is foreshadowing for things that will never happen, maybe we can chalk it up to that? It’s very strange to me though because the green flame is consistently used by Martin, so I have a hard time believing he didn’t include that for a specific purpose. It pops up with Cersei, Tyrion, and in Davos chapters, so for it to first be in Shaggydog’s eyes is very strange. When the green flame occurs in Tyrion and Cersei’s chapters in relation to wildfire, dragonfire comes up, so it is all definitely entwined in some form in Martin’s mind even if what he had been entertaining at one point was long since abandoned.
It’s interesting though, that of all the direwolves, it is Ghost and Shaggydog’s coloring that stands out and reads as particularly significant. Ghost being associated with the heart tree, and Shaggydog with flame feels potentially significant, but why they’re the ones who are so singled out, I don’t know.
I read those lines and think it’s odd, but I have nothing helpful to say on the subject. Sorry! 😂
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The Lone Wolf Dies
Chapter 1: But the Pack Play-Bite
Synopsis: What if the old gods decided to gift the Starks with their house symbol several years prior to Jon Arryn's death? Lots of chaos at Winterfell, that's what.
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Catelyn watched as her husband came back from his execution, followed by their first son and the Greyjoy hostage. But as they walked, she realized the beast Jon was riding wasn't his horse, but a Direwolf.
Of course, as soon as they weren't in public, she chewed him out. "Ned, WHAT do you think you are doing? Bran is FIVE, not of age to take care of a future giant wolf!" She criticized, having seen him give one of the tiny beasts to her youngest child.
"And I would rather worry about our new son." Eddard said, smiling. That perplexed her. "Who?" He grabbed her in joy. "Six pups, Cat. The She-beast has six pups, and I doubt the last boy is here for Theon. The old gods are sending a signal."
She didn't dare oppose her husbands. The men of the North were deep in their belief. And she didn't bleed for a few moons. She did wish for more childs, especially given the lack of a viable heir from any other person in her house, poor Lysa. She tried so much, but. "I hope you aren't using my womb as an argument for giving pets to our children, Husband. Now, I will leave and let you come with more sensical arguments."
By the time of dinner, all her children were asking to keep the pups, and the mother surprised the cooks by bringing a deer to be cooked. Catelyn stood impassively while seeing the She-wolf yawn at her husband's feet, tilting the table with her size and strength. "You win this time, old gods." She thought. "But I am faithful to the Sevens. I will be ready for the dark side of this so-called gift." Then, Ned started to play with her hair, and she tried to distract herself by eating this delicious meat the cooks prepared for their Lords.
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Accepting those direwolves was as bad a mistake as raising a Bastard in your own house.
They weren't always bad, and Lady was a perfect companion free of any blemish, a true sign of Sansa's elegance and grace. The pup, now the size of an adult dog after a few weeks only, was complimented by all but Arya. The Poole daughter had taken to the animal as well, and showed how docile, proper and well-mannered the girl was.
The black Direwolf that followed Catelyn around was a completely unruly creature of the Stranger. "No, I won't play with you, Shaggywolf." The massive direwolf, the biggest of them, simply rolled on his back and stuck its tongue out, clearly waiting for her to throw the stick he brought. "I am in a Solarium, it is too dangerous to throw a stick!" She reprimanded.
He whined, but she thought it enough, and she went back to reading the reports on the recolts. She screamed when the being howled, and Nymeria and Summer ran to roll with him. Did Direwolves even howled to indicate boredom? She wondered, thinking about how the beasts seemed to truly understand what the humans said, and the fact the name came to her, and she couldn't imagine the black canine named something else.
Later that day, she followed Shaggydog with Eddard when the big creature and his mom grew restless from watching their humans talk about Robb's education. Suddenly, Shaggy sprinted in the direction of a lone figure. It was: "Jon? What are you doing here, son?" That hurt a bit. Ned calling the child he had with someone else his son more often than his actual heir, as if to make sure nobody could doubt his younger copy was his.
"Oh, it's nothing, Lord Stark." Especially when Snow himself seemed dedicated to putting as much distance between them as possible. "I'm looking for Ghost. I think he is around." Ghost. Very silencious, unlike even Lady. Sansa's direwolf was never raising her voice, but she made sure you knew she was there. Jon's companion was hard to find on the best of days. She coldly noticed it was also becoming hard to hear Ned's son, even when walking on his namesake as right then.
Suddenly, Nymeria pounced on her unsuspecting mother. Or maybe Catelyn underestimated the older wolf, as she looked completely unfazed by the nibbing and the intrusion.
"Well, there's a wolf alright." Said Eddard, before he looked at his feet. They all saw as two red orbs looked up from the shoes it was nearing. At least the albino pup accepted to be grabbed without a fight. Arya's pet, on the other hand, fought as much as the little girl did when you threatened her with vegetables to be brought inside.
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Robb had the most difficulties ruling his wolf, for some reason no one understood. His Grey Wind wasn’t savage like Shaggydog or rebellious like Nymeria, but he wasn’t grim like the mother that Ned had named Winter, who always seemed to think before acting, constantly next to “his” human like Bran’s unnamed direwolf, proper like Lady or silent and often outside like Ghost.
No, instead, Grey Wind would run towards everyone he hadn’t seen in a few hour like they were friends he lost sight of, would always try to bring Jon towards his family, followed Theon as much as he did Robb, and would always bark when seeing Arya and Jon commit pranks on poor Sansa. Ned only cryptically stated that his son was better at hiding his emotions than he thought when his wife pointed it out. She pondered a lot at the meaning of those words, but came out empty-handed.
In any case, when she came to see Maester Luwin because of strange food cravings and morning sickness she was having since a few days, she wasn’t surprised Grey Wind was following her around like she was dying, howling everywhere to the shame of his owner and running around the Maester.
When she heard she was pregnant and the two direwolves, much bigger than any canine she ever heard of besides their mother, started to try sniffing her stomach, she tried to shoo them away, but Shaggydog was focused on her belly like he learned something about the world and Grey Wind’s barking of joy alerted Ned, who was way too smug for having known since he saw the 6 pups.
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