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cdragons · 1 month

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❄️ Imagine Being Luwin's Apprentice & Childhood Friends with Robb, Jon, and Theon ❄️

-> This will include headcanons about all Starks, but focus on these three dorks towards the end.

A/N: There's an utter lack of for our Kings of the North and Kraken, so this is my attempt to add to it. These might be a bit lengthy.

Here's the general dynamic of you, Robb, Jon, and Theon. I put in Hogwarts House Terms, but I in no way support JK Rowling.

Robb - Gryffindor

Jon - Hufflepuff

Theon - Slytherin

You - Ravenclaw

In the simplest terms, you hold the only brain cell.

-> Let's say you were a low-born girl on a trek to Winterfell so you could learn under Maester Luwin. You were a rare kind of low-born who knew how to read, and you wanted to learn more. Your parents didn't approve and tried to sell you off, so you ran away with a small travel sack of your journal, clothes, and some food. You cut your hair and wore breeches to look like a boy.

-> It took many days and nights, but you eventually made it to Winterfell and refused to leave until you met with Lord Eddard Stark. Needless to say, ol' Ned Stark was shocked to find the person demanding his presence was a four-foot-tall dirty child with feet caked in mud and steely eyes. He asked if something happened to your family and you immediately deeply bowed and asked if you could learn under Maester Luwin before fainting from a high fever.

-> While treating you and finding out that you were a girl, Luwin looked through your tiny journal and was shocked to find you knew your letters and could write better than his lord's children and ward. He read the passages you wrote while traveling. You drew pictures of different plants and animals and wrote your observations of them. Luwin decided right then and there that he would take you in as an apprentice. When you woke up, he told you the good news, and you were so happy you jumped in the air with a loud "WHOOP" before tackling the old man down with a hug.

-> Ned was a bit unsure, but he trusted Luwin's judgment. If his oldest advisor told him that he believed that you had great potential as a scholar, he believed him. When you were brought over to meet Lord and Lady Stark, you were shocked at how tall and imposing Ned looked. "ARE YOU A GIANT? DO YOU OWN THIS CASTLE?" were your first words to the man as a huge smile spread across your face. After being shocked for a few moments, Ned threw his head back and laughed harder than he had in ages. He patted your head and ruffled your hair. "No child, I'm no giant. But I am the lord of this castle, and your lord, too."

-> Catelyn was much more skeptical because what kind of low-born child learned how to read? When she led you to your new chambers, she asked you this, and you proudly answered her. "I taught myself! There was a traveler passing through my village one day, and I nicked his books and charcoal!" At her horrified expression, you made sure to clarify that he was already dead and you didn't take his money. That didn't really calm her down, but her husband already decided to let Luwin take you in as an apprentice, so you might as well learn how to dress and speak like a lady.

-> Jon was the first Stark child you befriended. Luwin ordered you to take a break from your lessons since you've been holed up reading and writing nonstop. You found him practicing alone in the courtyard, hitting a training dummy with a wooden sword. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" you shouted to him. Your voice startled him so much that he dropped his sword to the ground and jumped like three feet into the air. "I'm training," he answered, and when you asked if you could stay and watch, he agreed. He was shy at first, but you and he built a quick and strong friendship after a couple more times you watched him train. There would be times you convinced him to take a break from his training, and you two would explore Winterfell's nooks and crannies. Jon didn't expect to like you so quickly, but you made it too easy.

-> Strangely enough, Theon was the second boy of the trio you would meet and befriend. It didn't go as smoothly as you meeting Jon. Theon thought you were one of the new maids-in-training and decided to tease you by tugging your hair and trying to scare you with stories about his Ironborn family coming to raid and burn keeps and steal rude pretty little girls. You just shrugged and told him, "I'll just cut my hair and pretend to be a boy. I'll even not bathe to smell like one - not the first time I did that." You then asked him if he knew more stories about mermaids and if Nagga's bones really made up the Grey King's Hall on Old Wyk. From there on, it became very noticeable to everyone that although Theon was Robb's shadow, he was only really soft with you.

-> Robb was the last to meet you. His mother didn't like the idea of her son meeting and befriending a low-born girl. But one day, he got hurt and went to visit Luwin. Imagine his surprise to see a girl his age sitting with Luwin as she read from books too hard for him to read. Luwin introduced the two of you, and you asked if you could help treat Robb this time since you felt ready. Very quickly, you treated his wounds. From then on, Robb would see you before seeing Luwin. He liked how close you got when you told him what you've learned under Luwin. He liked being close enough to you that he could smell your hair. It upset him to know that Theon and Jon knew about you before he did, but his ire quickly went away when you agreed to be his friend.

-> Ever since you began your lessons under Septa Mordane, you learned the benefits of knowing your stitches since you could use this skill to treat wounds and lower the risk of infection. You didn't care so much as the other stuff, but you quickly learned the most complicated and intricate stitches, which got the septa's approval. Whenever you had time to play with the boys again, you would always carry some needle and thread with you. You'd also carry boiled vinegar if you needed a disinfectant and a balm for wound care. This proved to be EXTREMELY useful as you four continued to play and grow older.

-> Because you were learning lessons under Luwin and the septa, you had to learn how to stitch, dress, act, and talk like a lady. Lady Stark grew very fond of you, as you were surprisingly complacent and took to acting more ladylike very quickly. This was not going unnoticed by the boys, and soon, it was very quickly becoming apparent to everyone but you that the three eldest boys of Winterfell were utterly besotted with you. At this point, Luwin thought you were like a daughter and his family. He loved you very much and warned you to be careful around your friends. He encouraged you to spend more time with Sansa, Arya, and other girls your age.

-> It frustrated you, but you still listened. You didn't know what the fuss was all about. Theon, Robb, Jon, and you were friends. Yep. Just friends. No hormonal teenage feelings emerging.

-> When Bran and Rickon were old enough, you quickly became as involved in their lessons as Luwin had been for the boys. You made their lessons fun and memorable for the young boys. Luwin looks at you with so much love and pride when the boys tell him about your lessons and how happy and excited they always act whenever you teach them something new. You've even made sums and history seem fun! You were also very involved with Sansa and Arya's education. They had Septa Morgane, but they also wanted to learn under you, and before you knew it, you were teaching four children - all younger than you.

-> Rickon and Arya absolutely worshiped you. You always had time to play with Rickon and never sent him away if you were busy like his mother and father had to sometimes. For Arya, she loved how you never thought her strange and weird for being so different from Sansa. These two followed you like ducklings whenever they had free time. The sight greatly amused Ned and Catelyn, as they thought it was the funniest thing to see how two young wolves are so dedicated to following you. And you being close doesn't go unnoticed by the boys.

-> Robb and Jon would stare at you with so much longing whenever you carried Rickon in your arms and sang him lullabies. They'd grow stupidly jealous that you could kiss Rickon and Bran's cheeks and foreheads to wish them goodnight or ease their pains if they tripped or fell. They would fantasize what their lives would be like if they could court you and take you as their wife. But it could never be.

-> Robb must marry a highborn noble lady as his father's heir to continue House Stark's legacy and ensure the North's safety. He knew this fact his whole life, but knowing that you couldn't be the one he took as a wife hurt him so much. To him, you embodied all the necessary qualities to be a Lady Stark: your kindness, beauty, wit, and intellect—just to name a few. Robb would try to impress you by escorting you to feasts held in the Great Hall and remaining by your side to joke and dance with you. After every dance, he'd take your hand and lay a gentle kiss on it as you would laugh and playfully shove him. Sometimes, when the feasts got too noisy and loud, he and you would sneak to just hang out in the kitchens. He would always get a stern talking-to with his mother for not talking with other ladies, but he only wanted you. Besides, how could he regret spending the entire feast beside you with your body pressed so close to his?

-> Growing up with Jon, you obviously knew about his bastard status. But you always told him that his name "Snow" didn't matter because he was among the most wonderful and sweetest people you've ever met. Sometimes, you'd successfully manage to take his mind off it, but there were days when it felt like the entire world was staring at him for it. Either Lady Catelyn said something very cruel and hurtful to him, or Theon poked too much fun at him. On these days, you'd take a few pastries or fruits from the kitchens that you stole, grab his hand, and hide away in the Godswoods. You would share your treats and talk about everything you've learned under Luwin. Sometimes, you'd have a book with you and read him your favorite stories about magic and dragons until the sun goes down. Jon won't really have much to say. He'll nod and smile and laugh, and sometimes he'll sneak glances and wonder how could someone look so beautiful and perfect in the sunset?

-> Theon decided it was better to go about the Ironborn way and "steal" you from whatever you were doing or whomever you were with. He'd go get you whenever you were with Septa Mordane and say that Luwin had called for you or if one of the younger Starks was asking about you. He'd get you out, and two seconds later, he and you were taking walks in Winter Town and goofing off. He'd also pull some dumb teenage boy pranks to get your attention. He'd tease you by asking you questions when you're off guard and make you say embarrassing answers. When you finally realize what you said, you would get insanely flustered and whack him while he laughs. But unlike with others, he'll actually apologize to you and make it up to you by showing you how to shoot an arrow. But honestly, it's just an excuse for him to get close to you. He likes to "help" by positioning your arm and standing extra close.

A/N: I got tons more planned but I didn't want to make it too long! But please comment or reblog to let me know what you think or if you have ideas you want to drop in my ask box!

#robb stark x reader #jon snow x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagines #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #robb stark imagine #jon snow imagine #theon greyjoy imagine

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axelsagewrites · 4 months

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Love Languages*GoT Boys

Included: Robb, Jon, Theon, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Obryen

How they like to give and receive love

Word count: 553

Warnings: None

Masterlist here

Robb: his way of showing love is defiantly acts of service and words of affirmation. He will never stop telling you how much you mean to him and will ride into battle or search the castle for the last piece of cake for you. however, he loves to receive physical touch and words of affirmation back. Holding him in any capacity melts him. holding hands, linking arms, hugs, cuddles, head scratches. They all turn him into a puppy dog.

Jon: his main way of showing is acts of service. Jon can be very insecure at times which holds him back from expressing his love with words and touch at times since he fears rejection. However, these are also the ways he desperately craves love. Specifically, words of affirmation. Anything from small compliments about his sword work or how much you appreciate what he does for you fills his heart with joy.

Theon: physical touch is how he shows love. Whether it be hand holding or wrapping his arm around your waist he always wants to be in constant contact with you. however, I think this boy would melt if you gave him a gift. Whether that be a flower you picked or even a loaf of bread you made for him he would be so happy you thought of him.

Bran: he shows his love through gifts. It ranges from small things like an especially smooth stone he spotted on a walk or a button or broach he’d think would go with your cloak. sometimes he will also steal books from the library he knows you will enjoy. His favourite way to receive it though is quality time. you don’t have to say anything just be there, with him, side by side. He likes when you curl up in bed with him and just read to him, shutting out the rest of the world.

Tormund: he defiantly shows it through words. He is a massive flirt and will constantly tell you how much he adores you and how the way you speak mesmerises him. he also brags about you all the time. his favourite back however is physical touch. Its partly because when you wrap your arm around his or lean into his side everyone can see that you’re his, but he also enjoys sitting in front of you at night as you comb through his hair.

Podrick: he gives love through acts of service. He will run around the castle all day tyring to lighten your workload and dotes on you constantly. His favourite back however is words of affirmation. He loves to be told how much you appreciate him and how good he is. it might make him blush like crazy, but he loves to hear it.

Obreyn: he is the master of love languages. He will tell you constantly how much he loves you and is constantly touching you. he will go to the ends of the earth for you and is constantly giving you little trinkets. However, he absolutely melts when you give him quality time. your undivided dedicated attention is something he craves. He will lay with his head on your lap all day talking about anything and everything if you let him.

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h3llrac3r · 10 months

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˗ˏˋ For all eternity ´ˎ˗

Theon Greyjoy x stark!reader oneshot

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Warnings: angst, veeery briefly mentioned light smut, death, hurt no comfort, violence, lil bit of gore/ blood ? kinda cringe honestly, Horrible writing, 08x03 spoilers but I changed the episode's plot a little

Summary: I guess there’s nothing more romantic than dying in your lovers arms <3

Word count: ~ 2.6k

A/N: my first fanfic!! English is not my first language so excuse any mistakes. enjoyyy the angst babies <3

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The Godswood. Considerably the most beautiful place in all of Winterfell. It had an almost calming effect on you. The beautiful weirwood tree with its blood red leaves, surrounded by more trees and bushes. It’d look even more serene in winter. The painting worthy beauty of the snow silently falling from an endless gloomy sky, coating the world in a small layer of cold white. Sometimes you’d sit on one of the center tree’s branches with a paper and feather in hand, painting the snowflakes that landed on the back of your hand before they would melt away on your warm skin in a matter of seconds. You also loved the stillness of the forest. If you ever felt like you needed space from everything and everyone around you, you’d simply go out and sit with the trees. You’d see your younger self running, chasing your siblings around the tree in the center and laughing together when one of you would trip.

Theon would always know to find you there. If you’d let him, he’d sit with you and just listen. You knew he really cared. Theon was the only person, other than your siblings, you could trust with anything. He truly loved you with all his heart and you loved him. You tried hard to hide it in the beginning, knowing your Father would not be happy if you married Theon rather than a successful, rich king like the other noble girls did.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Robb and Jon knew the second they saw Theon and you talking together in the Godswood. They knew by the way he looked at you and how his eyes would linger on yours. They knew by the way his hand would brushed against yours or how he would blush every time your name came up. Jon especially knew when Theon stopped bedding every woman that stepped foot into the Winterfell castle. He only had eyes for you and he made sure you knew that every single day.

'The prettiest Stark' he would call you. Robb always acted dramatically offended every time he’d overhear Theon say it. It was no use trying to hide your feelings from another. So you didn’t.

You still vividly remember the first time you kissed him. It was the night of your 19th Name day. He took you back to your room and wanted to say goodnight as you leaned into him, lips meeting. His eyes widened in surprise for a few seconds but he melted into you right away. God, he’s been wanting that for a very long time. His hand cupped your cheek as the both of you stumbled into your chamber. He started messily taking off your clothes and gently laid you down on your bed, continuing to kiss you. Looking back, that night feels almost like a hazy dream. Like something you wanted for so long and then you finally got it.

Theon taught you how to fight, even though your father strictly forbid it, saying “it isn’t Lady like to wield swords and fight men”. Theon didn’t care about what other people thought of him, as long as he was yours.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Now everything seemed like a distant memory. What once was, can never be again. You knew you would die tonight. You knew and you were prepared. Your last night with your Ironborn lover was filled with nothing but love. You made sure every inch of his body knew you were grateful for him. Kissing him everywhere from his head down to his neck, hips and thighs. You didn’t want a single inch of him to not feel worshipped and longed for.

After hours and hours of fighting for not only your life but that of the people you loved, you were now standing back to back with Theon, trying everything to protect your brother Bran from the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, who you were completely surrounded by. They took small steps towards the two of you, slowly caging you in further. Frantically looking around, you swung your sword in a way of trying to tell them to stay away.

They all suddenly stopped.

Your wide eyes looked back at Theon confused, your brows furrowing.

“What are they doing?” He asked you with a two thousand yard stare,

You shrugged your shoulders at his question.

Then all of a sudden there was movement. Some of the Dead opened the circle they surrounded you in to show you who was leading the attack. The White Walkers. At least a dozen of them. This was it. This was the moment your entire life led up to… your death. It seemed almost ironic that it was in the Godswood. A place you've cherished ever since you were a little child. Oh how naïve you were then, you thought. Little Y/N would never understand what was about to happen but neither would you, probably.

You stared at the Knight King only a couple of feet away from you, him staring back at you. He didn’t speak, determination set deep in his cold, blue, piercing eyes. He wants to kill Bran and everything that stood in his way; to erase everything that had to do with the past. Everything that you were or ever will be. You couldn’t let him. You had to win this fight or die trying.

Theon was close by your side. You shared a look. It spoke more than thousand words or thousand languages. A look that said 'You know what’s coming next. Please, don’t be scared, I’m here with you.'

“Thank you.” You heard Bran say behind you, both Theon and you turning around.

“You are a good man, Theon. Take good care of my sister.” Theon nodded at him, his eyes welling up.

“In another lifetime.” You turned to look at Theon with teary eyes to see him already looking at you. “What a time it has been with you”

All you wanted to do now was crash your lips against Theon’s and give him a kiss that would last all eternity. A loud selfish voice in your head told you to just grab his hand and run far, far, far away from here. Leave everyone behind to be with Theon.

‘Run. Run now, before it’s too late. You’re not dead yet.‘

The voice spoke again and as much as you might’ve wanted to, you couldn’t. You couldn’t break now. Thousands of men gave their life to protect Bran. It wouldn’t be fair to either them, nor your beloved brother or your other siblings. Hell, you didn’t even know wether they were still alive. They might already all be part of the Dead, long forgotten and coming to tear you apart and make you join them. To say that you were scared was an underestimation. You thought you were prepared to give your life but now standing face to face with death, everything felt so helpless.

“My heart is yours forever, Theon Greyjoy” you said as you turned your face away from him and set your eyes on the White Walkers before you. You wondered if that right there was the last time you’d ever look at Theon. You didn’t want to think about it, it hurt too much.

Your grip around your dragon glass sword tightened, as you gritted your teeth and began to walk towards the Knight King with big strides. Time seemed to slow down as Theon watched you leap at the Leader of the Dead. He whispered silent prayers.

"Let her be okay and let them take me instead." He repeated it like a mantra.

You let out a scream as the blade of your sword came inches from piercing his icy blue skin. He looked deep into your eyes, as his hand found it’s way to your neck, before your weapon could ever come in contact with his skin. Your body was dangling in the air, your feet kicking wildly like a deer caught in a trap, desperate for an escape. A small smile of triumph appeared on the White Walkers lips when you dropped your sword. You let out a strangled choke as his second hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air. You tried clawing at his hands and face but no use. You were soon to join his Army of the Dead.

Theon watched frozen in horror as the Knight King slowly but surely started suffocating you. Without one more moment of hesitance he charged at the creature that was about to take you from him. Everything happened in the matter of seconds. You were roughly tossed aside and immediately took a deep breath as you felt the cold winter air enter your lungs again. A feeling you almost thought forgotten in the previous moments. Having hit your head while being tossed to the side, you were feeling disoriented and dizzy for a few short moments. The metallic taste in your mouth made you spit. The red seeping into the white of the snowy forest ground.

A loud squelch sound snapped you back into reality. Your head shot up as your eyes widen in horror. You watched as the Knight King plunged Theon’s broken spear into his abdomen. A place where your body rested on top of, only a few hours prior. You let out a gut wrenching scream as your tears spilled freely from your eyes. Theon’s eyes locked with yours. You could see his trembling lips parting, trying to tell you something before blood spilled from his mouth.

He started coughing and you didn’t waste a second in picking up a dragon glass dagger from one of the dead soldiers around you and running up to the King once more. This time you managed to catch him off guard and sinked the dagger deep into the left side of his neck. You twisted it, before pulling it out and ramming it back in his throat again. The Night King roared in pain, which almost sounded like a wounded animal. But no pain of his would ever compare to losing Theon. You, along with every soldier of the Army of the Dead fell to the ground. You watched as every single White Walker turned into icy shards, perishing completely.

You killed the Knight King, all the other White Walkers, the Army of the Dead and saved Bran. You did what you were supposed to. You saved the seven kingdoms. But you couldn't think about that right now. Not when Theon was bleeding out just a few feet from you. None of it will ever matter if he’s not by your side.

He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die.

You kept repeating those 3 words in your head over and over, trying hard to convince yourself that everything was just a cruel nightmare.

You called out his name as you ran to his side, gently picking up his head and placing it on your thighs.

"I'm here with you. Don't you worry, You'll be alright" You told him as you caressed his cheek. He looked up at you through teary eyes, knowing his end was near. His brows scrunched up in pain and he coughed up more of his blood. You started applying pressure to his stab wound, just like Brienne always taught you. Her words rang through your head 'Y/N, if you ever get hurt, you need to stop the bleeding, as best as you can. Stop the bleeding, stay awake and get help.'

"HELP ME PLEASE. SOMEONE, oh god- I NEED HELP!!" you screamed as loud as you could, hoping someone- anyone would hear your desperate cries.

"You need to stay awake for me, okay? We'll be alright, i just need you to hold on a little longer. I promise you will be okay, i promise you..." But your words rang hollow. You felt Theon's bloody hand on your cheek and you looked at him. Really looked at him. He is tired. His face pale, his eyes glassy and his hand shaking. He just smiled at you and gripped your face a bit tighter, fearing he would lose the feeling in his hands soon as they slightly began to tingle. Your face, now covered in his blood from his hand, leaned into his touch. You kissed his hand.

"I don't- I can't lose you, Theon. I can't."

"shhh. It's alright Y/N. I promise you I’ll find you in every lifetime…"

“No, you don’t need to. You have me in this lifetime-“

His smile never faltered.

“I love you, Theon.” You said, the world becoming a blur through teary eyes.

You leaned down to kiss him. You didn’t want it to be your last kiss. You thought about all the lasts you experienced in the past days without even knowing it. Yesterday was the last time you would fall asleep and wake up next to him. Two days ago was the last time you would ever draw him. Three days ago was the last time he would ever pick your favourite flowers for you. He would never attend another one of your Name days or train with you, sing, dance, laugh or cry with you. You noticed how short-lived your time with him was. If you wouldn’t have been so fucking stubborn, you could’ve told him how you felt sooner. You could’ve had him longer. You should’ve never allowed him to fight for Winterfell. He should’ve stayed on the Iron Islands with Yara. He should’ve left you to die here. You deserved it, not him.

He still held your face in his hands, tears falling down his cheeks.

“I love you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. I do not regret a thing- whe- when everything I did…led me into your arms.”

He was slowly choking on his own blood as he continued to cough violently, the red spilling from his lips.

You helplessly looked around, sobbing, screaming, waiting for a miracle to happen, but no god answered.

You cradled him in your arms, slowly rocking him back and fourth like a mother would with her child. You hand caressed his hair and his face and you forced yourself to smile at him

“It’s okay, it’s okay, my love. You can let go now. I’m safe.”

Every word broke you more than the last but that’s what he needed to hear. You are safe. You did it. You’ve won. Like Bran said, he’ll take care of you now, just not from here but rather from above.

You felt his body go limp in your arms. His eyes lost that little twinkle he always had, when looking at you. They were still open as he slowly grew colder in your arms. His usually rosy, warm skin turned into a soft blue beneath your fingertips. He no longer looked alive.

Your head sank into his chest as you sobbed your heart out. You screamed his name.

You faintly heard someone call out your name.

“Y/N? Y/N! Oh gods!” The voice turned into two voices. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around to see Jon and Arya.

“Jon?” Your voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Jon, he’s dead,” you said without any emotion. You felt numb. Jon took you into his arms. Sansa came running to you and stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

Jon apologized over and over, crying for the both of you. Sansa and Jon pulled you away from Theon’s body and hugged you again.

Theon Greyjoy was gone for all eternity and nothing could ever bring him back.

#game of thrones #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #GoT #theon greyjoy x you #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy oneshot #asoiaf fic #theon Greyjoy angst #game of thrones angst #game of thrones x reader #theon/reader

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perkqularkreashions · 6 months

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UNCONDITIONAL | SANDOR X READER

Part 2: Take the Black

Sandor X Reader

Mature Content Warning

Requested: YES

Requested: OPEN

WARNINGS: Please check your triggers; SMUT!!! (Always use protection) Mentions of Miscarriages, Homemade Abortions, and Slight mentions of depression. Word Count: 7k plus Slight Proofread :(

You gasped, taking his head in your hands. Pushing him further into your pussy, your hips slowly grinding against his flattened tongue and the bridge of his nose, which flicked against your aching clit. You mouthed oh’ed as you felt the euphoria blissfully wash over you, your heads, grabbing at the grass, digging your nails into the dirt as you quickly closed your legs. Pushing him away from you, you pleaded with him to stop as you felt overstimulated from his still kissing and softly licking at your clit. You moaned out in desperation, “Theon, please stop.” with weakened strength, you pushed him off you, yanking your body closer to yourself, as you moved to your bottom. Your eyes washed over the glistening boy as a smirk played on his lips.

“I can’t help myself,” he moans lowly, moving on all fours before crawling closer to you, his eyes taking you in from the disheveled state of your hair as it was muddled with leaves, twigs, and bits of grass. From your redding face, your cheeks warm and full of color, your eyes wide and sporadic. Your mouth opened slightly, as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. His finger crawled on top of your hands, waiting to feel your warmth, and despite the crisp coldness of the air, you radiated furnacing warmth. Theon enjoyed these little moments with you, holding you in his arms, letting his hands run down your breast and throbbing pussy. Kissing you on your neck as you moaned out for him. He craved you, simply intoxicating. You spoke again, this time more certain of yourself, “Father will be looking for you soon; I know you have a ceremony to attend.”

Finally, you started to notice how close Theon was and how the condensation of your breath mingled with the stillness of the cold air. You closed your eyes, sucking in the harsh atmosphere, and you felt his lips peck on yours. Something that he didn’t do often, you quickly cuffed his face, preventing him from turning away from you. Icy fingers caressed his skin for a moment; you dropped your gaze, removing your hand from his face. “Go,” you spoke in the stillness of the air, moving to feet and gathering your gloves.

It didn’t take long to voyage back to the Winterfell, your eyes taking hold of Jon and Bran, his hair falling against his pale skin. Nervously, he petted at his pony, tugging on his lips as his eyes flickered to Jon, taking hold of every word that came tumbling out of his mouth, yet he still didn’t remember much of what was said. Jon's grey eyes finally captured hold of you as he waved you over, his smile rising on his lips. His dark hair, moving in the chilled wind, he was taller than he was before. Excitedly, you waved to him. He often enjoyed speaking with you; you were kinder than your twin brother, Robb, Theon, and Caitlyn, who put up with him out of respect for Ned. Robb barely talked to him. The conversation only culminated when needed; for Theon he wishes to avoid him at any cost. He thought everything was funny, and it always came off as insensitive and crude. The Stark girls offered him the kindness and a love he craved, but you were different. When thinking of family and thinking of love, he saw you.

Jon’s first core memory of you was when he was 11; you were skin and bones then. Your eyes were as dark as iron as you protectively stood before Jon. You bore no front teeth, yet your words were certain and robust. Caitlyn was scolding him for something trivial. She was harsh to Jon, her finger jamming into his shoulder before waving back in front of his face. It was the only time that you have seen Caitlyn interact with Jon when she was lashing out for punishments or projecting anger to Jon. You grabbed Jon’s hand, stomping past Caitlyn, offering him a toothless smile. “Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll always protect you!”

He drifted back to you, watching you make your way down to them. You smiled upon arrival, pressing your cheek against Bran; he cringed away, swatting at you with embarrassment and giggles. You returned to Jon, bringing him in for a tight hug, taking the smell of his natural aroma; he always smelled of pine and the outdoors. “Are you ready?” you asked in curiosity. You always wanted to go, but Ned forbade it, scolding you for wanting to partake in such boyish pastimes. His fingers danced to Sansa, explaining that you needed to mirror her likeness. Gentle and soft, like her mother. You glanced at Sansa with a faint smile, taking in her stern Tully features. The auburn color of her hair is lighter than our mother’s, paired with high-cheek bones and deep oceanic eyes. She was soft-smelling. You glanced back at your father, his hands cuffing your cheeks, mushing them together before chuckling. In sadness, he spoke, “You remind me so much of her.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by Theon; you hadn’t realized you drifted off. You straighten your posture as he moves behind you. You never realized how lean and tall he was.

“I best be going.” You finally uttered a soft farewell to Bran, taking hold of him once more before passing one to Jon. You could see Theon’s gaze on you; you passed a glance over your shoulder, seeing the dark expression on his face. Quickly, you turn around, returning to your attention ahead of you.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed; you heard their voices first—muddled with each other, arguing over silly names. Bran's voice you heard first, dismissing the statements as he entered the kitchen. Sansa, Arya, and yourself had turned to meet them, eyes wide with wonder and exhilaration, watching Robb, Bran, Jon, and Theon bring pups into the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to the albino pup, nuzzled in Jon’s arms. With a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his ghostly white fur, his wet nose sniffing at your fingers as he yelped out a yawn.

“Where on earth did you find these Direwolfs? They do not travel this far up North,” You finally announced. Theon moved to you, a singular wolf in his arms, the color of a flaxen silver color, almost white blonde color. You gently ran your fingers through his dirty fur; you plunked out the crumbled soil, blood, and leaves. Slowly, your eyes moved to Theon, whose fingers had danced along yours, aiding you in removing the dirt and leaves. Jon hummed in dismay as Theon gawked over you, his teeth gritted in irritation. The color on your cheeks rose as you mumbled soft phrases to the pup in his arms. Unamused, he finally turned his full attention to the pair. He watched Theon brush his hand against yours, mumbling something that briefly caused you to look away. Jon’s eyes flickered to Robb, who seemed to have an unamused expression laced on his face. They knew Theon’s admiration for you has grown, significantly since you have grown into womanhood.

Intensely, he voiced, “You seem to have taken a liking to Direwolfs now, huh, Greyjoy.” Theon laughed loudly, and his chest shook as he threw his head back. His eyes fell on the bastard. Rolling his eyes, he watched him. Theon grew tired of Jon; he always felt that he wanted to fuck want belonged to him. You weren’t really blood anyway; what was stopping him from fucking you. He always finds his way into sacred moments, checking in on you before bed. You always calmed him, explaining that he was your brother, born from the same blood. Theon would scoff, shifting away from you in your bed. His back was facing you as he decided it was time to depart, leaving you alone.

Your eyes flickered between the two, along with everyone else. “Jon…” you hissed in frustration; his eyes glanced at you just briefly to catch the expression drawn on your face. Nothing else needed to be said; he could read everything about you; you were his best friend…his sister. The way your mouth twitched when you wanted him to shut up, your eyebrows would raise when you were confused or curious, and your eyes deadlocked on him when you grew angry with him. Jon mumbles an apology before turning his attention back to his albino pup. You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in your pups, their vermilion-brown eyes, and their fur color similarities. You huffed, taking hold of the trembling pup, the chilliness of his fur burning your skin as you cooed gently at the monster.

“Jon’s right; Theon seems quite interested in many new things lately,” Robb spoke out, eyes still trained on his wolf. Your cheeks burned as you continued to pike through the debris riddled through your pup’s coat.

***

In preparation for the King, your handmaidens tug at your hair. You grimaced, swatting them away, cursing them for their roughness and prudence. They were appointed by your mother, Caitlynn, whom you were not so fond of at the moment; in a slight urge of deviance, you snatched your head away from them. Your eyes burn into her, your lips tight as you hissed them out. Hesitant, the older crow had stepped in front, her eyes pale brown, her skin riddled with wrinkles and crevices. She opened her mouth and tried to find the right words to say, but much to her expectation, she did not. “Lady-”

“You are dismissed! Bring in the lanky girl; I love her hair! She has a head full of dark curls, maiden of Sansa; she’s gentle and easier to withstand on the eyes!” Your voice was strong, commanding the room just as your father’s. You stood tall, watching the woman cower in obedience, and with a nod, they rushed out. You wiggled out the attire, a dull and lifeless color your mother had decided was appropriate for the King. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him nor the Lannisters. Hundreds would soon gather in Winterfell and make it their home, muddling our paths and haven with their people. The door's opening captures your attention; the girl slowly walks in, her eyes filled with fear as she watches your nude form shyly.

She bows, longer than needed. “M’lady,” her drawl was different from the rest; she didn’t speak properly, nor did she try. She was burdened with discoloration and freckles, her arms extended and irregular at her side. Her teeth were askew and stained a yellowish color. Yet, there was something pure about her; she screamed, her body jolting to the door, as Luan slowly shifted to her, his nose hung low and his eyes stalking her. Your eyes shifted to the Direwolf, who lurked in the shadows. “Luan,” you hissed out. You turned my attention to her, slightly laughing as you waved my hand towards Luan.

“He’s harmless, tries to act Ghost, and slightly like Greywind.” You laughed, moving to the girl as you grabbed her hand; she stumbled behind you, and a soft smile played on her lips. You plopped down, hair flying about as you looked up at her. You began to speak, slow and calculated, “Please, may you do my hair. The wolf is no harm to you.” the maiden’s eyes widened at your request, her cheeks dusting slightly pink.

The maiden picked at her hair; insecurities flushed through her stomach as she tugged on the deep skin of her bottom lip. She was never complimented before by boys in her village and certainly not by the men or women in Winterfell. Her mother always complained of boyish looks, the irregularity of her nose and the harshness of her skin, the scabs, sunburn, and the bug bites that did not go away. Her hair was always hanging on her shoulders and in wild curls, which she tamed with a mixture her grandmother taught her. Her eyes returned to the Eldest Stark girl; she nodded excitedly.

A small, drawn on your face, “Then it is settled, you shall be my new lady in wait! I grow tired of the old hags my mother tries to force on me.” Your voice boomed as you stood up, your hands clasping her shoulders, tugging at her. Her cheeks burned as she watched the pup and the surroundings of her chambers, hands glued to her side as you were still nude. Time had slowly passed, her hand taking each strand and coating it with a strange concoction she brought into the room; it smelled sweet, and a soft aroma of honeydew filled the air. Staring at your reflection in the copper mirror, you finally felt beautiful; your hair framed the fullness of your face, contrasting against your grey eyes. You often were referred to as Jon’s twin despite being Robb’s; Caitlyn curses quietly to herself as she watches you and the bastard play. She would believe you were Jon's sibling if she hadn’t birthed and watched you milk her teat. Your grey eyes, which people often confuse with a dark obsidian, were that of Father’s and Jon’s. Your dark hairs framed your faces. Jon’s face was strong like Ned’s, while your look was subtle and kind. Yet, as she watched you two grow together, she saw no trace of Tully in you.

You arrived slightly late to the arrival of the King and Queen; you squeezed beside Robb and Sansa, out of breath and irritated from the festivities already. Robb stood tall next to Father and still mirrored Mother, his crystal blue eyes washing over the gathering visitors before landing on you; he was stocky. His hair was a soft auburn color, much like his mother’s. He smirked momentarily, his body leaning closer as he pushed his words against the winter’s air, “Mother is going to have your head.” Your eyes flickered to the visitors flooding through the gate’s castle, drawing us in their sparkling gold, illuminating silvers, and polished steel. Their banners and knight galloped on their steads, heads held high as they looked down on us.

Ser Jamie was the first to stand out, his blonde locks falling against his shoulder, bouncing occasionally. Father would often refer to it as “beaten gold.” Despite being on his stead, you could see that he towered over everyone, his cat-green eyes scanning through the ground, laying hold on Winterfell in disdain. Shifting through the knights, your eyes fell on a huskily built man, his nose long and hooked. His long, ravenous hair covered his scar that took hold of half of his face, his flesh black and pocketed with craters colored a deep red. You noticed that much of his face was gone; he had a stump for where his ear was meant to be and a protrusion of his jawbone. You saw the scars running down to his throat.

“Ah, Ned, seeing your frozen face again is great!” Robert proclaimed, his voice beating through the silence, echoing from the walls and settling in the nothingness. He grabbed him by the face, laughing intensely as he looked at Caitlyn, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Robert stopped when approaching you, his face sunken as he glanced at you; you examined him, taking in the redness of his face and nose and the darkness under his eyes. You recalled the tales your Father told you in your youth, the ones of a handsomely Robert Baratheon, “a handmaiden’s fantasy”; you would giggle feverishly at the thought. Now, beholding him, his thick black hair falling against his burly shoulders, you now see that it was all just a fantasy. If you were to ever ponder deeply on what a King would look like, Robert Baratheon fit the criteria.

Robert's heart burned in his chest, and his fingers danced with anxiety as he closed his hands. He reframed from reaching out to you, grasping your hair and chin, and wanting to kiss your lips gently– wanting you. He hadn’t seen you in ages, and you were but a child when he did. Lanky with a boyish smile much like Ned, and now you were wildly beautiful, much like Lyanna in her youth. The fullness of your lips, the cheekiness in your smile. He fondly grabbed your hand, nodding gently as he pressed a subtle kiss against the clothed glove. He spoke with a gentleness Ned hadn’t heard in years, “You remind me so much of her, Lyanna; you’re growing to be such a beautiful young lady.” Once completing his introduction to all the Stark children, Robert inquired about her grave sight, eyes flickering to Ned, wasting no more time on other formalities. His heart yearned for her touch and yearned for her kiss. He needed to see her, and Ned admired that of his old friend.

***

You found yourself isolated with Luan, and his head nuzzled against your leg, your eyes watching the river flow and the grass dance in the chilled wind that kissed over Winterfell. Night soon fell upon Winterfell, and your mother would soon search for you. To scold you for arriving late to the arrival of the King and Queen and for having my hair in such a wildling state. You wanted her to cool down as much as possible, praying to the old Gods and the new that she would only give you a chastising look. Without moving your head, your eyes cut to the left as you heard the soft rustle of the overgrowth and crunch of leaves. Luan’s ears perked, his eyes shifting about. You thought it’d be Theon, and he always finds you no matter where you hid. He stalked you, slowly walking behind you, towering over you. But the footsteps were heavier; the sound of steel filled your ears. Finally, you found your voice, lowly you said, “Whose there?”

His voice was firm as he spoke, “You should be out here alone, M’lady.” You didn’t turn to face him right away; your heart slammed against your chest as you tried to recognize the voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw the scarred soldier, his face tight with irritation as he moved through the brush. You offered a meek smile, taking his appearance in more. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he began to speak, “It’s not safe,” was all he managed to voice out.

You chuckled, returning your attention to the rushing water; the puddles formed as the fish rushed to the surface, causing ripples to spread until they touched land. You could feel him; his presence was looming and dark, and his eyes ran across your body, wondering how a petite girl could survive the harsh weather. Once again, you peeked at the unfamiliar knight, “Sit.” It sounded more like a question than a command. You waited for a moment, and he didn’t move from his spot. Sighing, you lay back against the icy grass, letting the sun slightly warm you. “My name is-”

“I know your name,” The knight roughly hisses; he watched you in curiosity, taking in the fullness of your lips, the way your hair fell wildly around the fur that covered your shoulders. Your laugh kisses the air; he never a simple sound could hold much beauty.

“Well, Ser, you have me at a disadvantage,” he watched how your mouth moved when you spoke; he watched you lick your lips, your tongue quickly out to coat your bottom lip. He suddenly felt nervous, an odd trait; his fingers tingled as he clenched them against his side. He was self-conscious, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you would surely be in disgust, like every woman does, like the whores do, just like everyone does.

“The Hound,” he finally pronounces; your eyes open slowly, body twisting to stand up, Luan following in her footsteps. You look at him with a softness he has yet to experience. Finally, a smile captures your lips, filling up your entire face.

“Sandor Clegane, my father has taught me some things.” He watched you, not understanding your disposition; he was a monster and has always been treated as such. Now, this girl is treating him as if they are equals. “Come, why don’t you walk me back to Winterfell? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You spoke through your boisterous laugh that shocked Sandor; it was solid and full of life. His mouth twitched into a smile as he followed behind you. You talk about simple things, nothing that holds any particular interest to Sandor. Still, he listens, soaking in your words, the way you speak so furiously when passionate about something, the pauses in your speech to ensure that he wasn’t growing tired of your rambles. Every time you looked back to catch his eyes, they were focused on you. All you did was smile in contentment, turning back to the path. Silence soon fell over you both; it was tense, yet it was calm; the only sound that could be heard was your footsteps crunching on the earth and the sound of his sword slightly clanging against his armor.

“Tell me about yourself,” Sandor pauses, halting in his footsteps, noticing you stopped before him. Your head is slightly positioned up to look up at him. You noticed that he was extremely tall, possibly taller than Ser Jamie but definitely taller than Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark.

His voice was harsh and raspy when he spoke, “Let’s get you back to Winterfell, Little Wolf.” You let out a laugh, pressing your hand against his armor to prevent him from moving forward. Sandor quickly grabbed your wrist; you winced at his aggressiveness, slightly tugging away from him. Sandor loosened his hold on you but still held your hand against his chest. He repeated his statement, his hand letting go of her wrist as you nodded slowly. You watched him before turning around and returning to your trek back to Winterfell.

You arrived a few moments later, thanking him for his company. You bid him farewell before parting to your chambers.

Caitlyn's voice oozed with frustration; she thudded through the halls, grabbing your upper arm. “Where were you? Are you okay?” her face churning into one of concern; you nodded gently, tugging your arm away from her. She swallowed thickly. You noticed her eyes were a deep red, her face drained of color. Something was wrong. You could see the anxiety moving through her, her hand's shakiness and her lips tremble. Luan whined at your side, brushing himself against your thigh. His whine increased as they churned into a soft growl.

“Mom?” you managed, “What happened?” She turned away from you, shutting her eyes as their tears flew down her collarbone. She choked back a sob.

“I told him to stop climbing, I told him-”

“Mom! Is it Bran? What the hell happened!” You screamed; you pushed passed her, rushing through the handmaidens, screaming out your brother’s name. You stumbled upon Jon and Robb; you frantically searched their eyes. You heard the howls of his unnamed pup, Luan, stir with anxiety as he began to howl. Jon stalked towards you. You shook your head, punching at his arms as they reached for you. “He’s dead? Is he dead!”

“No” was all Jon managed to let out, his eyes fluttering to Caitlyn as she watched him comfort you. She hated him. You hugged him, and you cried in his chest as your legs abruptly gave out. Robb rushed to your side, gently placing his hand on your back and whispering comforting words to you. “Let’s go see him,” your words were getting caught in your throat, burning as they tried rising to the surface. All you could do was nod at his command.

***

The crisp morning burned your lungs, and the unnamed Pup howled all night. You were irritated with him; you tried silencing him and even tried to pry him away from Bran, but he wouldn’t leave his side, rightfully so. Now, you walked through the Winterfell with Luan in search of quietness and stillness. You hissed in frustration as Luan rammed his head against your leg, his whines falling from him. He grew more irritable and anxious as the days passed. The constant whine of the unnamed pup sent him on edge. He sat, looking at you through his vermillion eyes. He huffed in disobedience before lying down in the middle of the street. “Luan,” you hissed, pushing at his body. He huffed once more, shutting his eyes and letting out soft yelps and whines. “Luan, get up!”

Outside, Tyrion stood, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he descended the library's stairs. Sandor Clegane’s voice, raspy in nature, kissed his ears –he spoke, “The boy is taking a long time to die. I wish he would be quicker about it.”

“At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”

“I could silence the creature if it pleased you,” he spoke; his eyes shifted to you, and he instantly regretted his words. He watched you move to your knees, hands tugging him to his feet as he fell limp against you. His squire placed a longsword in his hand, and he sliced through the morning air, testing the weight of it. He returned it to the boy, shaking his head gently. His eyes fell back to you, hearing you beg the pup to get up. “Luan, please stop acting like a brat!” Luan, that was his name, an odd name for a Pup. Luan bared his teeth at you, growling loudly as he captured everyone’s attention; it was a deep guttural sound. As he followed you, you rose to your feet in anger, his head tilted low. Yet, you stood firm, watching the pup testing his dominance against you.

“Luan!” you shouted. Sandor hated to admit the heaviness and authority in your voice sent chills down him, prickling at his skin; it was harsher than the frigid winds. Your voice reminded him of your father’s, stern and full of strength; it was so different from Sansa's and similar to Arya’s. Sandor watched you sigh, kneeling back down as you cuffed his cheeks. Joffrey flinched as his eyes turned to you; they all watched you in bewilderment.

“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, and the Starks would never miss one… maybe two.” Joffrey snorted as his gaze fell to his Imp Uncle, who was hopping off the last steps in the yard.

“The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name,” Joffrey scoffed as blush dusted across his cheeks, and he became irritated with the drabble of his Uncle. His eyes flickered to his dog, who seemed infatuated with the Stark girl. You watched the expression change in the dog’s face. He admitted that the Stark held more beauty than the younger one.

Joffrey let out a cackle, “Go speak to her!” his voice whined in a command; Sandor looked at him, face burning with frustration and embarrassment. “Go on, dog; maybe your presence might calm the mutt.” They watched as he approached you, nervously tapping his fingertips. You could feel his presence behind you, his long shadow casting over you and Luan. His presence was looming and heavy; you didn’t tear your graze away from Luan.

“Sandor, what a pleasure,” you finally spoke; you turned to look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you moved to your feet. The rush of air sucked into his nose, and you smelt soft and warm. His head rolled toward Luan, his words failing him as he stood there aloof. “Everyone’s going through a rough time, even the Pups. Luan took it a bit harder. He enjoyed Bran's company. Probably more than Jon’s and Ghost.” You stop, looking away as the mention of his name sends a frenzy of emotions through you.

“Everything will be alright, Little Wolf,” he huffed as he felt you wrap your arms around him. His freezing armor pierced your skin to the touch, numbing you as you dug deeper into his rigidness. His hands gripped at your shoulders in shock, unable to do anything but hold them there. His eyes moved to her overgrown Pup; he stalked around them, his head brushing against the back of his leg affectionately. Pulling away, he noticed the red mark forming on her, her eyes swelling with emotions, and her lip trembled. His gloved finger brushed against her face in slight desperation and wonder; quickly, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it closer to her face, and soon his hand was cuffing her cold skin. She nuzzled into his touch as a dog would, tears soaking her skin and his glove.

Softly, you mumbled a thank you. Sandor was cold again, the air chilling around him as he watched you walk away with Luan. He forced the emotions down as he hissed to himself; he knew this was one of Joffrey’s games; a woman as delicate and beautiful as yourself would never want him. His teeth gritted as he turned back around, seeing that Joffrey held onto his cheeks and the tiny Lord scolded him. In a hurry, Joffrey rushed off, leaving Tyrion and himself for just a moment.

You headed to your chambers, allowing Luan to lay by Bran’s side with his unnamed Pup; you thought the gesture was sweet. Moving into your chambers, you began to undress, asking one of the maidens preparing your bed to get Lilly for you. They nodded, bowing before scurrying to fetch your Lady.

Confused, you slowly watched the tall figure move into your chambers. You began to recognize the presence of Sandor; he towered over every object that cluttered your chambers. You were expecting your handmaiden. Gasping, you pulled the robe tighter against your body as you watched him in surprise. “Sandor,” you breathlessly called out, “What are you doing in here?”

He shook his head, “You’re tricking me!” his voice bellowed; in a hurry, you rushed to him, shushing him gently. You noticed his attire was different, a dull red-colored tunic with a hound emblem stitched to his right breast. You could smell the stale wine; it radiated off him.

“I know not what you speak of; please keep your voice down. My mother and father would kill me if they saw a man in my chambers.” Your hand reached up their face, wanting to calm him. You gasped as you felt him yank at your arm. “Sandor, what is the matter?”

“Is this one of insipid Prince’s jokes? Or what, you mocking me girl?” his voice low as he brought his face closer to yours; you could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath flushed against his face. Hesitantly, you let your other hand move to his face; he flinched at your touch, never feeling a warmth like this. You parted lips softly, trying to find some words to say. Your thumb traced against his scarred face, feeling the grooves and imperfections. “Don’t,” his voice laced with desperation as he shut his eyes. Anger washed over him, as he continued to glare at you.

Your lips parted again, as you tried searching for the right words, but how could you even explain it? Explain your fast-growing feelings for him. “I–I” your voice shaking as Sandor brought his eyes to you. You gasped as you felt his lips clashing with yours, his hands wrapping around your lower back, tugging you closer to him and bringing you to the tips of your toes. You gasped as you felt, grabbing his hand, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up, letting your hands rest against your ass. You gasped, as he tugged at your bottom lip. You yelp as you feel yourself connect to the bed; he towers over you; lust fills his eyes as he tugs at your leg, pulling you closer to him. He climbs on top of you, his lips pressing against your neck and chest. You could see him fumbling with his trousers, as he pauses.

“Can I?” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze momentarily. In awe, you nodded, fumbling to remove your sleeping garment. Hastily, he grabs your breasts, allowing them to fill up in his hands before letting them go. You sucked in a deep breath as he flipped over, placing you on his stomach. His hand reaches your hips, forcing you to push your ass out, revealing your wet and dripping cunt. Rubbing his hand on his aching cock, he shoves it inside you without warning. Your hand clutches your blankets as you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. He wiggled you slightly, letting your wetting spread through his cock. His hand grips your thighs as he begins to grind deeper inside you slowly, your body twisting in pleasure. You stifle a moan as you slap your hand against your lips. You struggled to breathe as he pounded himself inside you, the aggressive slaps filling the silence of the air. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer with each thrust into your tight pussy. Sandor groans in bliss, as he feels you clenching around his cock, the feeling of your hand clawing at his hands for some sort of release.

Your whole body at his disposal, twitching from euphoria as he continued to pound his cock into your pussy. Your face contorts in pleasure, as his fingers move to your clit. You feel the heat building up to your face, gasping; you moan silently, stuffing your face in the pillows that decorated your bed. Pathetically, you moaned out his name, “Sandor,” a shudder traveled down his spine at the sound of his name being released from your lips. He finally opened his eyes, taking hold of the perfect ass bouncing against his cock and how you tried to contain yourself from being too loud. He never had a whore moan his name, nor did he like hearing it. But, it was something about the neediness in your voice, The way your hands tangled in his. He didn’t mind all too much; he didn’t mind your index finger and thumb tried wrapping itself around the palm of his hand. He didn’t mind the soft coos of his name falling from your lips.

All mine, He thought.

Sandor snapped back from his thoughts as he felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching as he felt himself becoming sloppy and desperate to cum. His breaths are heavy and shaky. His body twitches as he spills his seed into you, spewing against his cock and your pussy. He pulls you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continues to fuck you, his grunts filling your ear, as his hand travels to your nipple. Sandor didn’t want the bliss to end; he didn’t want to be outside you—outside this room. You lay your arms on him, feeling the heat radiating from his dewy skin. Your breast bounced harshly, slapping against each other as he mercilessly fucks you. Your pussy clenched against him, your head falling into the crock of his neck, as you moaned out his name once more. Desperately, trying to find more words. Your head moved to his face, gently stroking his cheek in admiration and passion. He shrugs you off, moving his head back to avoid your touch.

He felt himself climaxing; he couldn’t contain his moans, as they fell through the room's silence. He filled you up, jutting as he thrusted weakly into you. You fell to the bed, your arms weak as you pushed yourself to watch Sandor. He was fixing himself, avoiding your gaze. In a daze, you called out his name. He continued to dress himself, his back facing you. Now confused, you moved off your bed, stumbling towards and touching his back. He left the room; the cold air breezed against your naked body as you stood in the middle of the floor. You open to mouth to call his name, but nothing comes of it.

“M’lady!” Your handmaiden spoke, slamming the door as she wrapped you in your robe. “Everything alright?”

Still in a daze, you nod. The emotions were building in your throat as you choked them down. “You reek of sex, M’Lady… let’s clean you up before people notice!” Lilly whispers, her hand gently pressing against your back as she tugs you further into your chambers.

It has been months since you last felt his touch; you knew he was avoiding you. His eyes never met yours when you were trapped in some isolated corner in Winterfell. His voice was harsh when he spoke to you, and his eyes were dull and emotionless. You tried grabbing his hand, but he pulled it away, huffing in annoyance before moving around you. You couldn’t breathe, your eyes swelling with tears as you sucked in a slow breath. Theon noticed the sudden change in your behavior, how you curled away from his touch and avoided his kiss and sexual advances.

You watched as Lilly packed your chest. “It’s gonna be lovely! You’ll certainly find a suitor in Kings Landing!”

“I’m not searching for any suitors.” You responded shortly; she nodded, understanding that she might have upset you. Shaking your head, you mumbled out an apology. “I instead want to stay here with Bran, not travel with my father and sisters to watch my sister marry that little boy,” Lilly laughs, rolling her eyes at your stubbornness. You two had become close, and she would often teach the ways of the “wild,” as she would like to put it simply. The burning of herbs masked the smell of sex and other odors—the concoctions she made when you felt ill. Lilly first noticed when you became increasingly irate at the same things, screaming and fussing at her as the months passed. She would hurry and remove the sheet, swapping them with that of her own. She then noticed that you weren’t bleeding, the sheets stained with a slight pinkish hue but nothing deep enough to be considered. She undressed you one night, letting the smoke engulf you as you lazily let her. Your mind was gone, and your happiness drained. She knew you weren’t the same after your night with Sandor…much less any of the following nights with Theon.

Lilly bathed you, your head against the tub as she watched you. She knew; she sensed it. She scrubbed your leg, sighing as she pleaded you wouldn’t think less of her. “I can help you, M’Lady, but you must trust me.” You nodded, closing your eyes and opening yourself to her. You hissed as you felt her insert something into you. It was hard, and you felt as you clenched and adjusted yourself. Lilly let you lay there, unmoving in the bath, as she gently combed your hair. The following days, you gruesomely bleed.

Lilly whispers a response as she is brought back to reality. “Mm, maybe it’ll do’ya some good to get away from ‘ere”

It did not; you traveled with your sisters and father back to Kings Landing, the carriage jolting at any little divet in the road. Ayra’s head rested on your lap as she tried to lull herself to sleep for the majority of the voyage, but she always failed in her efforts. “We need to stop!” You finally shouted, your voice carrying throughout, your eyes shut in irritation. “I need to breathe; I am suffocated!” Ned laughed, his head waving to the coachman, signaling us to stop. Arya rose gently, her dark grey eyes watching you intently; she was always suspicious after confiding in Jon that you would cut off your and join the black. Jon laughed, tossing his hand against your shoulder, saying that you were too beautiful ever to be considered a man.

You tugged on the inside of your cheek. “I need a moment’s peace.” Hurriedly you removed yourself from the carriage, sucking in the fresh air- you coughed slightly. It was nothing like the frigid crisp air in the North; it burned at your throat and nose, leaving you numb. You moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stumbling over stumps and shallow holes. You pressed your head against a tree, shutting your eyes tightly. No matter how far you ventured, you could still feel the carriage walls surrounding you, beating closer and closer. You licked your dry lips, gasping as you felt a hand wrap around your shoulders. With wide eyes, you were now facing Sandor.

“What?” You grumbled out, snatching your body away from him and finally getting a good look at him after weeks. You wanted to hold him… no, slice his throat open and beat him until he lay bloody on the ground. He used you.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Rolling your eyes, you snatch your dress into your face, moving deeper into the forest, your exposed skin snatching on thorn-ridden branches. You could hear the branches cracking under his weight, and he called out your name low and needy. He hated seeing you upset, the way your round eyes scanned his face, searching for something. He was behind you in one stride, grabbing at your arm and tugging you against him. You kept your gaze ahead, watching the leaves swirl in the wind, the branches dancing briefly. It was eerily quiet, and you loved it. It was filled with silence and not with Sansa mentioning for the hundredth time her plans for the future, Arya not needlessly picking at your dress, and Father not snoring. It was peaceful. Sandor dipped his head down, taking in your scent, his lips nipped at your escaped next.

“Don’t,” you whispered, unmoving. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to create some friction. Your breaths are uneven and heavy, your fingers twitching to hold his unto his. His other hand shifted slightly, fiddling with his armor. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fuck me when you’re feeling needy” Your back still faces him.

Sandor never knew the right words, so he didn’t speak much. “Mm,” The silence of the forest grew; it engulfed you and burned your ears. You spun around.

“Leave me. Tell my father I will return soon.” Your voice barely above a whisper, Sandor reached out for you, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, snatching you closer to him. You felt his lips against yours, and he kissed you harshly. Lips molded against each other as your arms snaked around his neck, pushing yourself closer. He ran his fingers over your waist as gently as he tried to be, dancing back to your ass.

Your lips unexpectedly separated with a smack, “If I wanted to be in some cunt, I would get some.” You stood there, flustered and confused. The words did not yet make sense to you as he watched him through a daze. He pulled away slowly, letting your hands fall against his armored chest before smacking to your side.

Getting to Kings Landing took a few more weeks; you were not excited about it. You hated how the people dressed and looked at you, gawking at the Starks. On the other hand, Sansa was rather excited; with wide eyes, she took hold of Kingslanding and marveled at the tall structures and beautiful castles. Arya stuck by your side, her hand wrapped around yours as you both moved through hesitantly. Your eyes caught hold of Sandor’s; quickly, you looked away, following the progression into the Red Keep. You felt a hand gently touch your back; you flinched casting your gaze to your left as you saw an older woman gazing at you. “Why don’t I show you to your chambers, Lady Stark,” Your eyes flickered to your father, who gave a quick nod of approval. You tugged on your bottom lip, praying that he would take him with you to indulge in his political affairs. Ned could see that you were hesitant, and he pressed a sympathetic smile on his lips. His rough hands fell against your shoulder, bringing you closer. You smell him; you inhale powerfully, taking in the familiarity. He smelled of the walls of Winterfell, the crisp and coolness of the North’s air.

“Go, I will check on you soon,” He spoke lowly, his thumb quickly brushed against your cheek before shooing you with one of the handmaidens.

Just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone.

#imagines #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones x reader #sandor clegane imagines #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #smut #GOT smut #requested

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ladyviserra · 9 months

Note

Hey can you write something with Theon were they’re made to marry because like they were caught together (sorry if this doesn’t make sense English isn’t my first language)

Girl from Essos | Theon Greyjoy

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Female!Reader

Summary: Theon was forced to marry a girl he was caught with, only it happens to be a girl whose family is a mystery coming from Essos.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, arranged marriage, bit of fluff

The young wolf, his childhood friend sent him home to do one thing. And before he made any decisions he managed to fuck things up.

With Theon's return came the ship from the far west that has been sailing around the Iron Islands for moons now.

On the ship ran a girl who caught his eye. She was just what he needed to ease his nerves before facing with his father.

The ironborn man was flattering the girl's appearance, targeting her shyness with slow manners. It didn't take long for her to giggle at every move he made closer. As he expected, he was quite soon allowed to linger his fingers all over her.

He took her right there on the beach, behind some rocks, thinking that would secure them from the others and let him do everything fast and finished. However, he perhaps got lost in her and didn't even consider the time he spend enjoying in her body. For Theon to notice it was long would probably take the darkness of the night. Instead, it took him the darkness of the shadow to figure out his plan to be a failure.

The shadow of the girl's mother.

" How dare you sin? " She pulled her off Theon, thinking what overcame her daughter to do such a thing.

" Who are you, boy? You some beggar? " She questioned him, looking him up and down with disgust while making her daughter get dressed.

" My father is Balon Greyjoy, I am his son Theon. " She wasn't thinking he spoke the truth, he didn't look like a son of a Lord, more like his servant or it may have been the sand he was covered in.

" We will see who your father is. "

As Theon said, his father was Balon Greyjoy who would pick any day to deal with this except today and on the first day of arrival.

" So you had that girl on the sand? " Balon was trying his best to be calm, he knew his son wasn't too smart, but to be this stupid and mess up before even given a task is a showing his lack of improvement through the years they last interacted.

" I did. " He hesitated but admitted. What was there to lie about when he knew?

" And I had to hear from her mother and father of your behaviour. Why did you have to choose her? " It was confusing him, why was it such a big deal? Who was she to be so cherished that even Balon Greyjoy was mad of her ruin?

Lord of Pyke saw his son's cluelessness, starting to speak again. " You don't know who she is, do you? " He shook his head at his father's seriousness.

" Her fucking father is some rich man from Essos. No one knows how did they become so wealthy but they did. And you ruined their daughter. " His own words made him choke.

" How can I apologise? " Theon didn't want to start his return home by ruining the mission, so he hoped to do something about his mistake.

" You think you can apologize? " Lord Greyjoy laughed at the thought. " Those Starks made you weak. " He spat the name of the family which took care of his son.

" You will marry her. That's how you will be forgiven. " Demanding voice answered him.

" Marry her? " He asked as if he didn't hear. " I just return. "

" And I already regret it. Don't argue with me, you messed up and now it's time you fix it. " Balon stared further away from his son, glancing at everything except at him.

" You shall marry her tomorrow, the quicker I get her father off my back, the better. " And thus Theon was dismissed with nothing but a quiet insult added to the memories of his family.

He walked out on the beach, the land of his sin and hopped to the place he made his newest mistake. Only a couple of seconds passed before he fell to his knees, and then dropped his head in sand. He smeared his face with the ground, almost as if burying himself so no one can see him.

He wanted to come back to his home and finally show his father he is a worthy son. However, no matter how much he wished to be good, the hard mind of an ironborn seemed to only lead him in bad paths.

Now he was going to marry the girl he didn’t even think much of. She was supposed to be like every else, just another lick of the spoon. But their little fun turned into a serious matter.

He took himself back into his home, regretting his lustful ways of dealing with stress and nerve wracks. At this point, he imagined going back to Robb and finishing the war he lead. His mission for which he was here had no more importance it had at the beginning, he just wanted to go back again, where no expectations were raised for him to reach.

On the day of his wedding, Theon was more out of his head, he barely reacted to anything happening around him, depressed over the chaos he caused.

His bride wasn't of a better face. It was obvious she went through a lot of screaming and crying before stepping into the marriage herself. Both of them looked at the guests with unbothered eyes, barely acknowledging the words people were telling them.

They only waited for the whole situation to calm down, so it could be forgotten and simply moved on from. Thankfully, the torture of remembering their inappropriate act lasted only when surrounded by others.

Left alone by the crowd, both exchanged sympathetic looks. Theon just then thought of how this also must have affected her even more than him. Sheepishly approaching his wife, Theon put his hands on her shoulders, noticing the redness under her eyes and the pain on her cheeks.

" I am terribly sorry for ruining you. It was my mistake for using you for my needs. " The man spoke with honesty and sincere regret.

" You didn't use me. It is my mistake as well. You did not force this upon me. " She spoke, having a hushed voice that at any moment threatened to whisper.

" I have used you, in fear of facing my father, I needed something to relax me. And there you were, pretty and… I just… " He couldn't word out the explanation. He didn't deal with much explaining throughout his life, now struggling when needing to do so.

" Seeing your father, honestly, I understand the nervousness. You ran for the escape from the fear and took the first that seemed effective. "

" That really is how I created this situation. " He half-smiled, remembering it. " What about you, what made you agree to it? "

The girl's pasture calmed, adjusting to her husband's touch. " Well, no deep reasoning there. I was just very bored with the travelling we have done. Jumping from one place to the other. I just wanted to stop somewhere and enjoy myself for a moment. "

Theon nodded peacefully. " It does seem those travels were a burden to you. As has my meeting with my father been to me. " She agreed in silence. They let themselves stare at each other without speaking, embracing no sounds while doing so.

The ironborn first broke the silence. " I believe we have been through enough in the latest time, thus we should for the best let our minds rest in sleep. " The girl followed her husband under the covers. She took his shoulder as her pillow at his request, falling into sleep as quickly as she would in the sand. While observing his wife, Theon noticed he liked to see her this calm and relaxed. It made him think that this mistake of his, isn't as bad as he believed it to be. He might even become fond of it. The positive outlook on the future made the heir to the Pyke fall asleep in the sweetest way possible. Imagining the good things that will come out of this marriage.

#theon greyjoy x you #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf fic #asoiaf imagine #got imagine #got fic

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januaryembrs · 1 year

Text

MASTERMIND | Theon Greyjoy x Bolton!reader

Request: @marsconer says - hii!! hru? the requests are still open? if so i can request for a theon one, with mastermind by taylor swift as a prompt?

description: You knew you wanted him, none of it was accidental. Theon had no idea the Bolton bastards were masterminds.

Word count: 1.1k

trigger warnings: dark!reader. reader is not mentally well and believes Theon loves her even though he doesn't know her. RAMSAY KINDNESS? Ramsay loving the Reader as her brother. hints of Theon's torture.

main masterlist

authors notes: First I'm so sorry this is so late to be published things have taken a turn in my life and writing has had to be put on the back burner. but I'm back! and I'm trying something new, I've never done a dark reader before. I hope this was okay! I feel like its not but I'm trying :)

You knew you wanted him the moment you set your eyes on the Stark’s ward.

He wouldn’t recognise you, how could he? The last time you’d ever seen him he was a teenager, too busy chasing girls in pretty skirts and competing with Robb for the fair maiden’s attention to take note of such a plain, quiet girl like you.

Ramsay noticed you staring almost immediately. Being your older brother, possibly the only person in the world who understood you and loved you since you were both Bolton bastards, he was determined to give his sweet, little monster anything she wanted.

“He’s caught your eye, sister?” His ice-blue eyes followed your entranced gaze to see the scrawny Greyjoy boy, too busy yanking a maid’s pigtails to notice you looking. His eyebrows furrowed, “Are you sure you don’t want someone stronger? Someone who could protect you and whatever babes you give him,”

“He has a kind face,” The maid squealed, and noble Ned Stark leant forward to smack both Rob and Theon across the ears to set them in place. “You will get him for me one day, won’t you Ramsay?”

Ramsay looked down at you from your place at the back of the dining hall. Being bastard children, you were not permitted to sit with your father beside the noblemen. Instead, you were among the last to collect your supper, drank the dregs of the wine the other Stark council did not consume, sat near the chill of the open windows. You had less in this world one might think for those born to a nobleman like Roose, but Ramsay had always made sure you had the best he could get, even if it meant getting his knuckles bloodied as it did most of the time.

“Of course, sweet-hearted. Anything you want is yours. When you’re of age to marry, he will be yours,” He smiled with too many teeth as he always did, making his face look sinister to others, but to you he was your dearest brother. The only one who understood the way your mind worked, in a way that others would call twisted you called unique.

Watching Theon Greyjoy that day, you knew your brother would never fail you.

Ramsay made good on his promise as he always did. A few days after your ten and eighth birthday, he led you down to the lower passages of Dreadfort claiming he had a present for you. You had never quite forgotten about the Stark’s ward. But with the chaos the people were now calling the war of five kings, you had some trouble keeping up with his whereabouts. He had betrayed the Starks, killed the youngest two boys, boys he had grown up with like brothers, all for his own gain of power.

Nothing could make you so certain he was perfect for you. A man who would stab his company in the back in the name of helping his genuine family was exactly the man you wanted.

You had always known he would be special, that he would understand the way your mind ticked. While everyone called you cruel, he would love you the way you loved him.

So when he led you to Dreadfort dungeons, and there was Theon Greyjoy, strung to a flaying cross, you felt your heart swell in excitement.

“For you, my dear sister. Just as I always promised,” Ramsay presented the man, who looked scruffier than the last time you had seen him, just a few months before the war started. Again you had been just a fly on the wall in Winterfell, but this time was different. This time he would know who you were, know just as well as you did you were perfect for each other.

You squealed, squeezing your brother around the waist in a tight hug. “I knew you could do it, I knew you would never disappoint me,”

“Please help me!” Theon begged, though his words fell on deaf ears as you moved closer to him, “Please let me go, I’m not supposed to be here,”

“Of course you are, silly,” You said, reaching up to unbind his arm. You were smiling at him almost too wide, a crazed look in your eye that you shared with your brother, as though this was all a part of a bigger plan he knew nothing about.

Theon was sure he had seen you before, sure he had felt those two eyes piercing his skull many a time before. But he didn’t know you.

“W-what?” Theon asked, as his first hand was let free, and you began to undo the second, “What do you mean? I need to leave, I need to find my father,”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you just got here. We need to arrange the wedding first,” You said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Poor Theon was confused, and his battered face said as much.

“Wedding? What wedding?”

“Ours, of course,” You replied, working away at the knots in the rope. Theon looked over your shoulder to see Ramsay’s face full of a silent fury, as though he was warning him against upsetting the woman who was trying to free him.

But Theon being Theon was lost, curious. He was disoriented and tired and hungry, and you were making no sense. “Ours?” He cried in shock, “But, I have no idea who you are,”

You froze before the knot could be pulled free and immediately Theon felt the mistake he had made fall over the room in deadly silence.

Your eyes snapped to him, and the manic look was gone, replaced by pure hurt. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?” Theon felt Ramsay’s eyes darken in the shadows of the dungeon. If what he had said before had been a mistake, then those two words felt like a death sentence.

Your bottom lip started quivering. All you had ever wanted, ever dreamed of was fading right in front of your eyes. You were supposed to be his, the way he had always been yours.

“Come, sister,” Ramsay jumped in, tucking you under his arm and leading you to the dungeon door, “I will have a word with your dearest fiance, I fear he is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment,” You retreated away from the Greyjoy boy, knowing sweet Ramsay would fix everything for you as he promised. “Let me have a word with him, make sure he remembers to cherish you even in his sickness,”

You nodded solemnly, your sad eyes never leaving Theon’s fear stricken face as he realised the hidden threat in your brother’s words.

And within moments, the door was closed and he was left with the vengeful face of Ramsay Snow, and Theon wanted for nothing more than to have you back near him, promising him the world.

#theon x reader #theon greyjoy x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #Theon Greyjoy imagine #Theon Greyjoy blurb #Theon Greyjoy fanficiton #stars' 1k follower shebang

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sinofwriting · 1 year

Text

A Bastard - Theon Greyjoy (Part One)

Words: 7,203 Summary: She had to do this as much as she dreaded and hated it. But she would never forgive herself if something happened to him, her kraken on land.

Note(s): Thank you so much @nyctophilic0vitnir this fic would have never happened without you sending me a request for Daemon and I can't thank you enough for looking this over for me and all your suggestions.

Get Added To My Taglist | Masterlist

She could feel her hands shaking, fingers stiff as she kept on attempting to do her embroidery, but her mind was racing, stomach filled with dread. She hissed as the needle slips and pokes at her, drawing blood. Setting her embroidery down, she lifts her finger to her mouth, sucking at the spot where blood was rising for just a second. Standing, she smoothes her dress, before exiting her chambers. She had seeked solitude, but mayhaps she was in need of distraction.

She smiled as a half naked Rickon came barrelling down the halls and she could hear Lady Stark's exasperation, she quickly scoops the tiny boy up.

"What do I have here?" She gasps, purposely making her voice loud so Lady Stark can hear her and know that she has the whelp in her care. "Why, I think it's a wolf." "Wolf." He parrots back to her, grinning up at her and she can't help but return it.

Turning the corner, she smiles at Lady Stark, who is looking at her youngest with disapproval.

"Rickon Stark. You need a bath." "No!" He shouts, nearly deafening her ear. "It's alright, Lady Stark, I can give him a bath. Right Rickon?" He nods.

The older woman sighs, but nods. "I hope he'll behave for you. I nearly went to get Robb." "He'll be fine." She tells the woman, before moving inside of the room that Lady Stark normally gave Rickon bathes in.

As she carefully cleans the boy, her mind wanders. Wanders to Theon, to their babe that rests in her belly. It wanders to what she will have to do. For Lord and Lady Stark were kind and fair people for letting her stay with them for so long.

A fostering that had gone long when her parents died, but they wouldn't let her stay once they learned of her being with child.

And Theon, poor Theon. She feared often that he would be killed due to something his father did, but with this, she now feared that Lord Stark would kill him if he found out that he had fathered a child, a bastard, with a girl that was under his protection, his care.

Drying off the boy that's starting to fall asleep, she thinks of the letter that she had received from her uncle, her father's brother, a man she had never met. Offering for her to come home, to meet her father's family. She knew little of them. Her father had left Dorne when he was four and ten name days, and had only returned once, after meeting her mother to introduce her to his family before returning to what he had made his home.

She ached at the thought of her parents, at the little memories she had of them, having joined the Stark household when she was one and ten and now she was eight and ten. Scooping the boy up, she carefully makes her way to the nursery, setting him in his bed and covering him with furs before retreating back to her chambers.

She knew little of her father's family and little of Dorne, but what she did know was that bastards weren't treated like a shame there. Her jaw twitched at the reminder of Lady Stark's treatment to Jon. Her uncle himself in his letter told her of the eight daughters he had, all with the name Sand, the name bastards carried in Dorne.

It would not be shameful for her to have a bastard, her family would welcome her and her child. It's with that knowledge, that she begins to write a letter accepting his offer and telling him that she should arrive there within a moon or two's time, planning on leaving shortly after sending off her letter.

It would be costly to go to Dorne and she would need at least one guard, but she had more than enough coin to afford it. She had been given a sizable amount when her parents had died and she had earned more through carvings she did.

Rolling up her parchment, she moves from her chambers to Maester Luwin's room of sorts, knowing that his helper who mainly deals with the ravens will be there. Handing it to him, she offers a smile to the Maester before leaving to Lady Stark's solar, hoping that she will be there.

Knocking on the door, she waits to hear her say enter, before opening the door. "Lady Stark, I was hoping to have a meeting with yourself and Lord Stark." Her eyebrows furrow, eyes glancing down at the papers scattered on her desk, before nodding. "He's looking over some letters from his bannerman, no better time to talk to us than now." She tells her, standing. She offers the woman a nod of her head, before following her as she practically sweeps out of her solar and to her husband's.

Moments later, she carefully sits in front of the Starks. Lord Stark sitting while his wife stands beside him.

"I can never repay you for the kindness you've given me by letting me stay with your family." Lord Stark's frown deepens at her words. "Is everything alright?" "Of course, my lord. As you know I received a letter from my father's family just a couple of days ago. They asked if I'd like to go to what was my father's home, to stay with them, and get to know my kin."

He hums and she keeps her eyes on his face and not the distressed Lady Stark's.

"They are your family, your blood and kin. I suppose you want to go?" "Yes, my lord. I have loved my time at Winterfell, but I think it's time for me to go home. To go to Dorne." The words leave something akin to ash in her mouth. She had never been to Dorne, but she knew that she needed to call it home, for it would be home soon enough.

"I ask not for coin to get there, but only your helping in procuring a guard on my journey there. I will pay for their services myself, both the journey there and back." He makes another hum. "I can get you a guard, but I will pay for their services. For until you are in Dorne, you are still under my care and protection."

"Ned," Lady Stark hisses, but he pays her no mind.

"When will you leave?" "I hope in a few days time. I have already sent a letter back saying that I'd be leaving soon." "You are eager." He notes. "I am my lord." "I can't stop you, but just know that you will always be welcomed at Winterfell no matter what." "Thank you." She murmurs, standing as he waves a hand to dismiss her. "I'll have someone to be your guard by supper, you will leave in two days time." She nods, another murmur of thanks leaving her before she leaves the solar.

Relief and dread war within her at Lord Stark's easy acceptance of her wanting to leave. And she's ashamed that most of her dread is only because it means leaving Theon.

She loved the Starks and Winterfell. She'd miss the wildness of Arya, Jon's solemness, and Old Nan's stories, but she would miss Theon most of all. She'd miss his stories from home, about his sisters and mother.

The tales from the Ironborn. About the drowned god that he still thought of as his. And his japes that nearly went too far, especially with little Arya, but he always cared to make sure he never made her cry. And she knew that it was him teaching her archery. He was the best in the North, possibly all of Westeros, with a bow. She felt a pang in her heart as realized what she'd be depriving him and their babe of.

It made supper rough as she avoided his eyes and told the Stark children that she'd be leaving in two days. Robb had tried to deny it, Sansa had immediately teared up, and poor little Bran had thrown himself into her arms, soaking her dress with his tears as Arya also attached herself to her, telling her that she wasn't allowed to leave.

Jon had stayed silent but she could see the stricken look on his face at her news. Theon had attempted to ask her what she meant, but she ignored him, using the excuse of soothing Bran, who was surely crying himself dry.

"I received a letter from my father's brother, asking if I'd like to come home. I accepted, I've always wanted to know my father's family, and even as a babe I never met them." She tells them a certain truth in the words.

None of them like it, Arya especially, but a look from their father stills their tongues.

She doesn't however know why - as the castle goes quiet - that she's surprised when Theon slips into her chambers. Her whispered hiss of his name doesn't earn her that cocky grin that it always has.

Instead, he looks at her with pain, a strange solemn look on his face, one that fits Jon much better.

"You never told me you got a letter."

She winces at his words. She hadn't even planned on replying to the letter, at least not this soon. But she had missed her last two moon's blood and her breasts were a bit more sensitive and swollen, something Theon had noticed and enjoyed.

And sure enough, when she snuck away early in the morning to visit the midwife that lived in Wintertown, she confirmed her suspicions and fears, she was with child. And suddenly that letter had become her solution.

"I hadn't thought of it much." Half truths always made better lies. "Just like you didn't think to tell me that you're leaving? You've never spoken of wanting to go to Dorne." "No, but I have of wanting to know more about my father, his family, where he was born. I know only the little of Dorne that has been told to the both of us when learning. That is it. You are lucky enough to know the history of the Iron Islands, your family, the tales that have been around longer than we can imagine. I know none of that. You know who is your uncle, cousin, aunt, because you met them, you have seen their faces, however long ago it was. I have never met anyone in my family. My father married my mother, a ward, who had no family, and now I have the chance to meet family, be with them. Tell me you wouldn't do the same?"

He looks away from her, unable to deny it. She sighs, moving to him and taking his face between her palms, looking in his eyes.

"It's not that I wanted to hurt you, I just feared your reaction. Not because you would ever harm me," she quickly says, seeing his stricken face. "But because of your hurt, your pain. I never wanted to be the source of that." Something softens in him at her words, she can see it in his eyes and the line of his shoulders.

"I wish I could come with you."

She aches at those words, because she too wished it. She wished more that they could marry in the Godswood, could stay with the Starks as they had their babe. But she would even love it if Theon could come with her, could join her in Dorne.

The ache nearly makes her tell him, nearly makes her grab his hand and place where she would one day swell with his child, but she's reminded that for all their kindness, Theon is hostage here at Winterfell with the Starks.

They may treat him well and close to a child of their own, but he is a hostage who needs to be careful of what they do. That knowledge makes her keep her mouth quiet. She wanted him to know, but it would most likely cost him his life if not their babe's.

When she wakes early the next morning and sits where the boys spar, she's not surprised when Jon and Ghost join her, the latter climbing into her lap, still just small enough to do so, but she imagined that soon he'd be too large to fit in any lap.

"It won't be the same here."

She turns to look at him, "I will miss you, Jon. You truly are a brother to me."

And he was. She loved the Stark children, but Jon held a special place in her heart, her little brother though not by bond or blood.

He ducks his head at her words, "As you are a sister to me." She smiles, leaning her head to briefly rest on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, Jon Snow. You'll have to write to me. More than once a moon." She insists, but he doesn't say anything, suddenly looking nervous, and Ghost gives a small whine. "I actually wanted to ask to go with you." Her jaw drops slightly.

"To be your sworn shield. You'll have the title of Princess there, and even if you didn't you'd be on the other side of Westeros, a place where you've never been with people you don't know. I'd like to protect you, to be there for you."

"Jon," she starts, wanting to accept her offer, no matter how selfish it would to accept it, just so she could have someone she knew with her, her brother with her, but she knows of his want to join the night's watch, to be at the wall, though a good measure of that desire is because he is not a trueborn son.

"I can't. You've wanted to go to the wall and to be part of the Night's Watch for so long now. And Lord Stark," she shakes her head. "He already doesn't want you to leave and go all that way to the wall. You think he'd let you go with me to Dorne? And what about Robb, Arya, and Bran? Little Rickon? They'd miss their brother."

"They'll miss you." "They will and I'll miss them." "So you'll let me?" "Jon," she sighs, but suddenly he's standing, a sword at his hip that she hadn't noticed before and then he's unsheathing the sword and carefully kneeling in front of her with the sword in his hands. Ghost leaps off her lap, sitting beside his master, as if he's trying to copy Jon.

"I offer my protection, Lady and soon to be Princess Martell. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I will keep your secrets as my own. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Her eyes are wide and she should urge him to get up, to not offer such a thing. But if she couldn't have Theon with her, maybe she could have her brother.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

He does with a stunned look and his hands shake as he sheathed his sword and she rises with him, quickly taking him into her arms.

"You are my sworn shield now, little brother. Shall we never be parted and you never in harm's way be put." "Aye," his voice is thick.

"I thought you'd say no, tell me off, or go to Lord Stark." She squeezes him tight before stepping away. "I'm afraid for Lord Stark that I'm too selfish and I wanted a comfort from the home I've known for so long to my new one. You are lucky, however, that it will be Lord Stark you answer to and that honor is important to him as are oaths. It is only because of that, that the oath we just made will not be broken by his word." "Aye." He agrees.

With his new oath in mind, she returns to her chambers and quickly starts to embroider a sunspear with the color of Snows and a few spots of yellow thread, signaling his status as her sworn shield with this cloak.

She had intended to give it to Arya, in an effort to help make her actually stay in her lessons with her gone. Hoping that her words of someone needing to provide Jon with a cloak and other clothes would stay her a little bit, but it was far too important for Jon to have this cloak now.

She vows to instead talk to Theon, to strike a deal between him and Arya, where he will continue to teach her archery and even some swordplay as long as she attends her lessons.

She manages to finish just before breakfast begins, quickly giving it to Jon and ushering him to put it on as they make their way to the hall. Slipping into the hall, she makes sure to stand tall, chin out slightly. It wouldn't due to seem ashamed of her decision.

Lord Stark ends up taking it better than she had thought. He even looks relieved when Jon repeats his vow. Lady Stark's mouth is pinched, but there's a looseness to her shoulders. She had been trying to get Jon away from Winterfell for years now, since before she had even arrived, if servants were to be believed.

Arya is upset, blaming her mother for her favorite sibling's departure. Robb is also upset, but he's quiet after Lord Stark tells him that he can't accompany them on their journey to Dorne.

Sansa looks relieved, while Bran looks excited, making Jon repeat his vow over and over, knowing that it's close to a knight's oath.

Theon, though, her Kraken on land, his reaction sends a pang to her heart and tears to her eyes. His anguish and hurt that he had shown before wiping it clear and nudging Robb, trying to distract him from his upset.

It makes her want to reach out to him, to hold his hand in hers, makes her want to reach down and cup the soon to be growing swell of her belly. She wants to explain why she said yes, even though she doesn't have too.

In her chambers later in the day with only candle light to help her as she finishes packing, she doesn't startle at the sound of the door opening nor at the arms that wrap themselves around her middle though it does make her stiffen and she's happy that Theon just registers it as surprise, murmuring an "It's me" in her ear.

"I will miss you." She sighs. He presses a kiss to the shell of her ear. "I will miss you as well."

"Will you write me?" The question leaves her lips before she can think and embarrassment fills her.

"I'm sorry," she begins to apologize, but before she can continue, Theon's turning her around, so they're facing each other, his brow furrowed. "Of course, I'll write you. You must know that I'm fond of you, my lady." "I do." She had never doubted that.

"I just, I know that your correspondence is always read before and I would understand if you didn't want anyone to know that you were fond of me." She rests her hand on his chest.

"I would hate for you to be punished because of me." "I will take any and every punishment if it means I can write to you." He swears and she can't stop the tears that spill from her eyes. "Careful," she warns, ignoring his concern for her tears. "You sound as if you want me as a salt wife." "I'd have you as my only wife." His words have her freezing, the ache in her heart turning to a stabbing pain.

"You can't mean that." She whispers. "Of course I mean it." He scoffs. "Theon, I'm leaving in the morning, you can not tell me that you wish to wed me." "But I do. I do wish to wed you! I would have asked for your hand on your six and ten name day if I could. Make no mistake in thinking that I didn't like sneaking into your chambers in the dead of night and sneaking kisses in the godswood when no one is around, but I will always regret that I could not court you. I wish to marry you, I have since before we first kissed."

His words make her weak, her head spins and her stomach turns. She had thought him fond of her, liking her, but figured that he'd go back to the brothels when she left, much like he did before she turned six and ten.

But he wanted to marry her, something she had thought only she wanted. And more than that, she could feel blood rush to her cheeks, he had wanted to court her, properly court her.

Theon Greyjoy, a nasty boy, who teased Sansa about loving the idea of knights and princesses and true love, had wanted to court her. She wished not for the first time and not for the last that he was just being fostered with the Starks and not a hostage due to his father's actions.

A man who as he had grown older and never heard from, wanted to be the opposite of. He wanted a ship, yes, and to live by the sea, but he didn't want salt wives and more children than he could name.

"I wish for all that too." She hesitates, but lifts her hand to cup his face. "I wish you could come with me. Dorne, I think they would treat you well." "I just want it to treat you well." "Write me, often. And," she pauses, heart aching, but she couldn't ask him to stay true to her, not when she wasn't telling him the real reason for her leaving. Not when now she knew that he would insist on joining her, insist on her hand, and for his insistence, he'd lose his head.

"When I leave, I'd like you to seek out others for pleasure." "What?" "Theon," she pleads. "It is because I love you, that I ask you of this, though it pains me." Tears slip down her face. "We may never see each other again, or it could be many moons. I would not want you to stop seeking pleasure from someone else just because of me." "And if I only want you?" She closes her eyes, "I can not make you do anything. I just ask that if you feel the urge that you don't feel like you've forsaken me by acting on it." "I don't know if I could ever feel want for another woman after lying with you, for I haven't since." "Theon," "I'm telling you the truth, my Lady, that is all." She nods, but doesn't say anything else, exhaustion weighing heavy on her mind and body.

He must see it, because he quickly ushers her into bed and under the covers, not paying attention to her protests of needing to finish packing. He just throws her a look and then does it for her.

And she watches him with heavy eyes, as he goes around her room and makes sure all of her things are packed away. He then latches her trunk before joining her in the bed, ushering her into his arms, and she should protest, but he radiates warmth and she wants one more night of being held by the man she loves.

—

The memory of Theon holding her close and his words of wanting her for more than just the space between her thighs, tempers her through the journey to Dorne.

Her guard's scoffing, his muttered words of "Bastard" to Jon, his fearful looks to Ghost, and his lustful looks to her, finally prove too much as they get to only a few more days of riding to Dorne.

Snapping at him to leave and tossing him a bag of coin, unwilling to hear him call Jon a bastard again. He tries to protest, but a look to Jon has him pulling his sword and the guard leaves, pushing his horse fast.

"Was that a wise decision?" Jon asks, sheathing his sword and pointing for Ghost to sit, as soon as they can no longer hear the sound of his horses hooves. "If I had to hear him call you a bastard again, I would have taken your sword and killed him myself." Jon's eyes go wide at her words and he gives a nod. "Understood, my lady."

She wrinkles her nose at the address, but before she can say anything, she feels her stomach turn, and she pushes away from her horse she was just about to mount again, getting sick in the bushes.

As she heaves, she feels Jon gently rub her back.

"We should find a maester. You are not well." She shakes her head, standing straight and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I am fine." "You are sick." He insists. "I am fine." She repeats, turning to face him. She then lets herself finally place a hand on her stomach, where she has started to swell.

"I'm with child, Jon. It disagrees with travel." His eyes are wide and they flicker between her face and where her hand rests.

"With child?" "Yes." "But," he blinks. "That's why you wanted to leave." She swallows roughly, but nods. "Yes." "You never said." "I wanted to sooner, but I didn't trust the guard that Lord Stark sent with us." "But you are well?" She smiles at him, fondness striking her for his concern over her.

"I am. I will need to see a midwife when we get to Dorne, but I am well." "Why not a maester?" "I trust a midwife more. They usually themselves have had a child. Though, if my uncle isn't opposed and he is the one to meet us, I will ask him if he'd be willing to check me. According to rumors, he trained to be a maester."

"The red viper?" "It would make sense for him to have some sort of training if he's as good with poisons as stories are to be believed." "You would trust the red viper to check on you?" "He is family. And Dorne doesn't hurt children, even while still in the womb."

Her words still his tongue, but as they cross into Dorne and reach Sandstone, they are quickly approached by a man and his guard, and she can see his hand on the pommel of his sword, Ghost tenses by her side, following Jon's orders to protect her.

Lowering into a curtsey, she keeps it a bit longer than she's ever had.

"Prince Oberyn," Jon lets out a little breath, and she can see from the corner of her eye his knuckles turning white as his grip on his sword tightens, but he too bows.

"I thank you for your invitation and hospitality. This is my sworn shield and a man I'm honored to call my brother, Jon Snow." She stops curtseying, but keeps her head tilted down, not willing to believe that just because she was family meant she could get away with disrespect.

She hears him chuckle, a nice sound that has her shoulders relaxing.

"You are much like your mother." He steps closer, using a finger to raise her head so they are looking eye to eye. "But there is much of your father in you." Those words are quiet, solemn and she can't help but reach up and gently squeeze his wrist. "He talked fondly of you, Prince Oberyn, my father. Called you a rascal, but you were his favorite brother." He smiles at her, "I would love to hear you tell that to Doran. He'd refuse to believe it. And please call me Oberyn or Uncle. None of this prince business." He waves his hand at word prince, stepping away from her and she can see Jon finally relax his grip. "Of course, Uncle."

He beams at the title, and it makes her heart ache, remembering the loss of her Aunt, his sister, and her children, his niece and nephew.

She knew Prince Doran had children, but they were older, hadn't been considered children for years. And while she didn't remember everything her father had told her about his favorite brother, he had made it clear that he loved children. To see them just be children, untainted by the horrors of life.

Oberyn turns his attention to her brother.

"Jon Snow, you are Ned Stark's boy." Her eyes narrow at the way he paused before saying Lord Stark's name. It was odd and made her itch to know why he did it.

"I thank you for guarding our Princess back to us. You will be treated well here in Dorne." Jon casts a look at her, but nods. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn." "Of course. Now," He claps his hands together and turns his attention back to her.

"I've rented a few rooms for us, you look like you need some rest." His words are firm but filled with concern and it makes her swallow roughly.

"She's been sick since we left Stoney Sept." "Jon," she warns, "I told you I am well." He goes to say something, but he looks around and stops, jaw clenching. "I won't hold my tongue when we are in private." She reaches over to him and grasps his arm, "I don't expect you to."

She's aware of the keen eyes of Oberyn and his guard, but she doesn't take away her hand. She would not hide her affections for Jon like she had been forced to in Winterfell. He had gone long enough without much affection, and she wouldn't let her words of reassuring that Dorne would be good for him fail.

"Let us get to the rooms where we can talk in private." "Thank you."

Her, Jon, and Ghost follow the Prince and his guard, Daemon, to an inn, and she has to stop herself from giggling at Jon's expression when he realizes that it's next to a brothel.

"Breathe, Jon." She whispers to him, as they enter the inn, after pausing to give coin to a servant from the inn to bring their trunks up. "Dorne is a much different place." "It's the middle of the day." He hisses, eyes darting around. "People want pleasure during all times of the day, not just night." He gapes at her, before his nose wrinkles. "Disgusting." He mutters and she can't stop her laugh at that.

Not noticing how it catches the attention of her uncle and his guard, but Jon doesn't miss it and he doesn't know how to feel about the red viper and the way his gaze rests on his sister.

Was he looking at her in hunger because she was all he had of his brother? Because she was family that he'd never gotten to know, when so much of it had been ripped away? Or was it something else? Something more Targaryen of nature?

She was a beautiful woman and he'd seen many of men look at her with a hungry gaze. Robb had even looked once or twice. He'd have to look to see what sort of relationships the Martells had.

He was sure a marriage to a cousin or two was in practice, as it was nearly everywhere, but he needed to know if they too practiced the wedding of siblings, or if it was only Prince Oberyn who was of unnatural inclinations.

Heading up the stairs, Oberyn gestures to one of the rooms. "This for you, Niece. And there's a door connecting the room next to yours, for your guard. Daemon and I are in this room." He opens the door across from her.

"Please come in and sit while your trunks are brought up and the owner finds a lady to wait on you." She frowns at the words. "I'm quite fine without a maid to help me." "You are a princess. At Sunspear, Doran already has two picked to help you." She has to tighten her hands into fist so they don't go to rest on her belly.

"I've never had ladies to help me. I suppose I'll have to get used to the idea." Her quiet words make him frown and he gestures for Daemon to stand by the door.

"I'd like to talk about your sickness. You say you're well, but you've been sick for half your journey." She looks nervously at the door that's still open.

"Daemon may leave if you aren't comfortable." Oberyn says, misinterpreting her glance. "No," she shakes her head. "It's fine if he stays. I don't mind. I just prefer the door is closed." Before she can finish the last word, the door is closed and Daemon stands just beside it.

"Thank you, Ser." He smiles at her, "Most welcome, Princess."

She looks around the room, bright and filled with color. "May I sit?" She asks, gesturing at the chaise close to the writing desk that sits near the middle of the room. "Please."

Sitting down, she lets out a sigh at the feeling of sitting on something soft for the first time since they had left Winterfell. She smiles as Ghost trots over to her, sitting by her feet.

"I'm not sick." She states, chin out. Oberyn seems amused by her words, leaning against the desk. "Yet, according to the man who has vowed to protect you, you've been sick since Stoney Sept." "I'm afraid I don't take well to traveling at the moment. The movement of the horse makes me nauseated." "I see. And if you were to ride in a carriage?" She grimaces before she can stop herself.

She had only traveled by carriage once, when her parents took her to Winterfell to be fostered and rocky movements of the carriage had made her miserable.

"I've never liked carriages either." He winks, before moving to sit beside her on the chaise.

"I don't know if your father ever told you, but I met you once. When you were just a babe."

She looks at him with wide eyes, not noticing how Jon has stepped forward, eyes glued to them, while Daemon has his eyes glued to Jon.

"You were the sweetest thing; I have eight daughters of my own and I still think you were the sweetest babe I've ever seen. You were quiet, startlingly so, but you always were looking around, eyes open. Your eyes are much like my sisters, your aunts. You have Elia's eyes." "I never knew." "I wouldn't expect you to.” His eyes are sad.

“Elia wanted to meet you, but your father and mother refused to go to King's Landing with you. So she asked me to see you in her stead. I had already planned on it, wanting to see my younger brother and his wife that had lured him away from Dorne. I visited and they still were trying to find a name for you." "Still?" "You were only a moon old, maybe two. They didn't settle on one until after I left. So while I was there, I called you Waterlily."

Her hand goes up to cup the one necklace she wore no matter what. Only taking it off when she bathed. Her father had gifted it to her before they left her at Winterfell. Pressing a kiss to her brow and calling her Waterlily for what would be the last time.

Tears prick her eyes at the memory, at the knowledge of how she got the nickname, and at hearing it after so long. "It was their name for me. Not the one just anyone used, but family."

He smiles at her, "I'm glad that our Waterlily has finally returned home."

Taking a breath, she lets her hand fall from where it was touching her necklace to her stomach. He had soothed her nerves with a story, with talks of her parents, and she felt ready.

"I'm with child." His eyes widen, but his smile doesn't fall or change.

"Ah, yes morning sickness is a strange thing for many women. And traveling on horse makes it worse?" She nods, "I didn't have it until we reached Stoney Sept and after that nearly every time I got off my horse I was getting sick." He frowns and gets up, gesturing for her to lay down.

"How many moons are you?" "I'm unsure. I haven't had my moon's blood for three moons though." "And I'm assuming before your journey you were still active?" Blood rushes to her face at the words, but she nods. "Yes."

He turns to look at Jon, nose slightly wrinkled. "I don't want to assume, but I have to ask, is the child yours?" Jon looks ill at the thought. "No, no. I'm her sworn shield."

His nose unwrinkles and he turns back to her. "I'm going to ask that you strip down to your shift so I can examine you. I want to see how far along you are and just check to see how the babe is doing. Is it alright for Jon and Daemon to stay in the room?"

She nods, but looks at Jon. "You can leave, Jon. I understand." He shakes his head. "I'm your guard, I'll stay." "Nothing untoward will happen." "I'll stay." He insists and she sighs, but gives up. Jon had the Stark stubbornness if she had ever seen it.

Standing up, she carefully reaches behind her and undoes her dress’ ties. Her left arm comes up to her chest, hugging the dress to her as she moves a bit further away from the chaise before taking it off fully. She murmurs a thank you when Oberyn takes the dress from her and lays it on the bed.

Laying back down on the chaise, she breathes a little easier. Her dress was a bit heavy and she knew that she'd have to buy some fabric soon to make dresses better suited for Dorne. She'd buy some more to make Jon things as well. He'd suffer in his current wear.

"How active were you exactly?" He asks, as he kneels beside the chaise, his eyes appraising the small swell of her stomach. "It matters?" "It will help. Activity affects your moon blood as soon as you have it." "I've been active since I was seven and ten," she starts, figuring he'll ask that as well. "As for how active." She spares a glance at Jon who's staring at the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "For the last six moons, once a day about."

"Were you a heavy bleeder?" "Yes."

He frowns and his gaze moves from her stomach to a small box sitting next to him, full of different things she's seen Maester Luwin with.

"Is that bad?" "Not bad. It's common for Martell women. It can make birth a little messier, is all. And before or even after your moonblood stopped, did you notice any changes? In sleep, appetite, anything?" Blood rushes to her cheeks again as she remembers one change she had noticed nearly immediately. "My breasts became very sensitive."

He makes a humming noise and then gestures to her belly. "May I?" She nods.

She watches as he carefully rests a hand over the small swell of her belly, before moving his hand down to rest below it and he pushes up slightly, making her wince.

"Sorry." He murmurs. "It's alright."

He moves his hand up again and presses down just a light. As he continues to examine her, fingers gently poking at the swell of her belly, hand pushing on it from different angles, and fingers gently touching her hips, making them move and turn just a little.

"From experience I'd say you were six moons," her eyes widened at that. "But, from what I can feel and what you've told me, I'd say you're four months and with twins." Her hand comes to rest on her belly. "Twins?" He nods, standing.

"Twins. We haven't had them for awhile in the Martells. I don't know your mother's family." She shakes her head, "No twins." "And the father's?" "From what I know of the Greyjoys, they don't have twins." "Then you've been blessed by the gods. Twins are a blessing whether or not they've been had in a family before. We will have a feast to celebrate in Sunspear." Oberyn tells her, with a smile.

"Did you say Greyjoy?" "Jon," she sighs, sitting up. "Greyjoy? Theon Greyjoy? That's who got you with child?" "Yes."

"I should've killed him." "Jon," she scolds. "I'm a woman grown. I knew what I was getting into when Theon turned his attention to me." "And you wanted his attentions?" "Yes. If I had said no, Theon would've never touched me. He may say nasty things but he's a good man."

"And when will he be joining you? If he is such a good man?" Oberyn asks. Her jaw clenches and she looks away from Jon. "He won't be."

"He doesn't want anything to do with…" Jon trails off and then his features are twisted into a snarl. "And you call him a good man?"

"He won't be coming, because he doesn't know." Her words are firm and she looks at Oberyn, knowing it is to him and later Prince Doran, she will need to explain herself too.

"Theon Greyjoy is a hostage at Winterfell. He is treated well, allowed to take lessons with their heir and to eat with them, but he is a hostage. If his father does anything, he will be dead. And while at Winterfell I was under Lord Stark's protection, he takes honor and vows very seriously. He vowed to my father and mother to protect me like one of his own. If he had learned that Theon had any interest in me and then acted on it, he would've been punished. And if Lord Stark learns of Theon being my children's father, he will take his head. Regardless of what the Ironborn might do due to him taking Theon's head."

Oberyn looks at her, silent and nothing showing on his face before he nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

"You are smart. You love Theon and want him alive, but you also see that war would break out if Lord Stark was to take his head. Doran will like your counsel on a number of matters, I imagine. And neither I nor Ser Daemon will say anything about the father of your children. Doran will be the only other one to know."

"Jon?" She asks, voice quiet as she looks at a boy who looks more like a man than he should. "I vowed to keep your counsel and even If I hadn't I would never share something you want kept secret. No one will hear this from me." "Thank you." She whispers. "Thank you."

#theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy fic #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fic #got x reader #got imagine #got fic #a bastard verse

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welldonebeca · 1 year

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Lookalike (I)

Summary: When Jon Snow’s name day arrives, Theon Greyjoy hires you as a gift for him. But will you awake feelings they’ve been trying to hide from themselves? WC: 2.9k words Warnings: Canon divergence. Smut. Role play. Virginity Kink. Innocence Kink. Dirty talk. Prostitution.

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Masterlist

You were wearing your prettiest dress when you arrived at Winterfell, riding your horse into the gates just as the sun set down.

It was very nice, looking like a lady sometimes, with your hair up and people looking at you respectfully, and not trying to take a bite out of you.

The guards even let you step inside, and one of them showed you a place where your old girl could rest and eat a little bit, and didn’t ask you too many questions.

You weren’t even finished tying her into place when the young ward who’d brought you here arrived to get you.

Theon Greyjoy.

You were very familiar with him. This wasn’t the first time you saw one another - and probably wouldn’t be the last - but your interaction was new. All of the other times, it was he who came to you, visiting your brothel, but tonight seemed to be special enough that he had requested that you came to see him in Winterfell.

“My lady,” he smirked at you, cocky.

“Lord Greyjoy,” you scoffed, picking your bag from her.

Very funny of him.

“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes and gestured to you. “You are wearing away too much for a whore.”

You shook your head, moving to his side, and he slapped your ass, pulling your body close.

“Let me see what’s underneath that under a better light,” he teased you.

You skimmed away from him, slapping his hand out of the way.

“I don’t think Lord Stark will appreciate you groping a whore in his yard,” you remarked. “Much less my presence in his castle.”

He scoffed.

“I told them you are here to assist in the kitchen,” he told you. “And you are going to leave tomorrow because you were intimidated by me. It’s simple.”

Gods, what a mess.

“Oh, yes,” you taunted him. “Intimidated by the big and strong ward of Winterfell. Oh, Lord Greyjoy, don’t seduce me, I’m saving myself for farmboy lover. He promised he will marry me as soon as his father allows it.”

Your words were very quick to sour his mood, and he grabbed your elbow.

“Just get inside,” he grunted. l

You followed Theon through the walls silently. Winterfell was a big castle, and a true fortress. One could walk through it for days and never see all of it.

"What's in the bag?" he threw a look over his shoulder as you walked into his chambers.

When the owner of your brothel told you to come, she said Theon wanted you to look like you were going to stay in the castle, and not spend a single night. So, as to look convincing, you took your trip as a time you could use to buy a few supplies for yourself and the other girls.

"Needles, fabric, some herbs, oils..." you listed. "Nothing you would be interested in.'

He perked up.

"Is it a special kind of oil?" he asked. "Because I want to stretch you out, little whore."

You wanted to scoff but knew not to push it. Theon wasn't the biggest man you had ever had in your life, though he wanted you to act like he was.

"Some of them," you raised your chin. "Some are just to make us smell good."

He pulled you close, and this time you didn't reject him, just stretching your neck to the side so he could sniff you.

"And you always smell so good, don't you?" he ran his nose on your skin.

“I do,” you hummed.

Theon pulled away suddenly, and you watched as he moved to his bedside.

“Well, I need you to smell different tonight,” he loosened his cloak, tossing it on his bed. “You are… a bit of a gift tonight.”

You watched him closely. Of course, you knew this wasn’t a simple visit. You weren’t dumb to think he just wanted to change his usual environment.

“I believe you heard that Lord Stark’s bastard just recently turned 18,” he pointed out. “Jon Snow.”

There was no one in the Seven Kingdoms who hadn’t heard of Jon Snow. Lord Stark’s only fault, the torn in his flash. His little bastard boy.

The event, of course, was overshadowed by Lord Stark’s firstborn’s nameday, just a few days before his dear brother.

“And I’m his nameday gift?” you asked.

He grabbed a little bottle of oil and dangled it in his hands, walking to you.

“And since I’m a good friend, I got him the best whore in Wintertown,” he smirked.

He opened the bottle, and raised it to your nose, so you could give it a little sniff before he dabbed it on the two sides of your neck.

It was a rose perfume - and a very expensive one, considering how strong it smelt.

“So tomorrow, you are going to bathe, and put on this sweet oil,” he closed the bottle again. “You’ll braid your hair all nicely, and wear that pretty dress of yours, and you are going to surprise our Lord Snow.”

Tomorrow.

“And tonight?” you asked.

Theon smirked.

“You don’t think I would have you come all the way here and then not fuck you, right?” he asked.

You simply nodded. It made a lot of sense.

“And you’re going to fuck me in your bed?” you teased him.

“All night long,” he moved his hands to your dress, untying from around your waist. “It might be his nameday, but he isn’t the only one who deserves some fun, right?”

Theon kissed your lips before you could think much more, and you let him guide you along as your dress fell to the floor, and he did the same thing with the shift you were wearing underneath for warmth before pulling you along to his bed.

“You are a very sweet whore,” he touched your chin, raising your chin and moving his thumb over your lips. “But I need you to be an innocent girl for me tonight. That’s how you’ll be for Jon."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

“Innocent?” you asked.

Theon pushed your hair out of your shoulders, caressing your skin.

“An innocent little girl,” he spoke softly. “A virgin whore, if I may say.”

You had never been a virgin whore. A virgin? Yes. A whore? You’ve been that for a long time, but you were already fucking when you decided it was best to be paid for it.

“Milord,” you shuddered. “I… maybe you’ve asked for the wrong woman? I’ve… I’ve never done it before, I’ve never been with a man.”

His face showed a bit of confusion for a moment, but Theon relaxed the moment he seemed to understand.

"Oh, no, I did not," Theon purred, brushing back your hair. "You think I haven’t seen you? Teasing me down the halls? As your bosom blossoms…”

You forced your face to stay innocent as he spoke, and he caressed your neck.

"Do you know how much I wanted to have you for me, pretty girl?" he asked you.

You shook your head.

"I wanted to be your first man," he cooed. "Show you how good you can feel, how much pleasure I can give you."

"But milord!" you gasped. "We aren't even married."

Theon chuckled.

"You are going to be a virgin whore for Jon," he reminded you, very stern. "But to me..."

You waited. Of course.

"We don't have to be married, little love," he spoke softly. "It's alright."

He moved his face to your neck, kissing your skin, and you shivered.

"What about my father?" you gasped.

Theon licked and nibbled on your skin.

"Don’t worry about out that," he whispered. "It won't count."

He took his hands to your breasts, caressing your naked tits, pinching your skin.

“We won’t do much,” he promised. “I won’t spill inside you.”

You rubbed your thighs together, a little more excited than you wished he knew.

It was a sweet scenario, this one. One you had thought about in the nights when you had to warm your own cunt and make yourself wet for clients with good gold, but not much consideration.

Theon wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, carrying you to his bed and tossing you on it, and you were quick to close your legs and pull his cloak to cover your body, earning a lustful look from him.

“It’s alright, my little maiden,” he reached for you, taking your foot and slowly massaging it. “Don’t you trust me?”

You gulped, but nodded, knowing better than to drag this.

“I trust you, milord,” you whispered.

Theon smirked wickedly.

“Such a sweet girl.”

He reached for you, and undressed you once again.

“So pretty,” he purred. “Look at those perky little tits. I can’t believe you hide them away.”

You covered your tits with your half-assedly.

"Mother says I'm still young," you affirmed, feigning embarrassment. "That they'll still grow more."

He hummed along, clicking his tongue.

“I can make them grow for you,” he cooed. “Make your tits big and heavy, if you want to.”

You eyed him suspiciously.

“How?”

Theon smirked and climbed on top of you, kissing your collarbones before moving his lips to your breasts, and kissing your tit before wrapping his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking on it.

You gasped at the sudden touch, but soon it became a moan as he continued to lick, and suck and nibble, pulling on your nipple with his teeth scrapping your skin, and using his free hand to knead and squeeze your free breast before repeating his mouth movements with his fingers.

“You’re such a beauty,” he moved his lips away from your skin, moving his hands to your legs. “Men are going to kill for you, but they won’t know I was the first… the first one you let in…”

Theon kissed your stomach, licking the skin of your navel, and you shuddered.

He wasn’t… was he?

“The first one who ever got to get his eyes on this cunt,” he hummed. “And such a pretty cunt it is.”

You squirmed under his gaze, a little unease. Men didn’t take a lot of time looking at your cunt. Maybe at your tits, and at your naked bodies, but they never gazed at your cunt.

“Look at those fiery red locks,” he exhaled, touching you with his finger, and you sucked in a breath, startled.

Theon looked up at you, but didn’t seem much interested in the reasoning behind it.

“Pretty lady,” he rubbed you up and down, from your entrance to the button above it. “With a pretty cunt.”

You squirmed.

“Milord,” you whimpered. “What are you doing?”

“My Lord,” he corrected you softly.

“My lord,” you repeated.

He hummed along, reaching for you, and his finger reached your entrance, circling it slowly.

“Fingering you, sweet girl,” he said simply.

You panted, eager. His finger was slowly circling you, dipping in and then pulling out, not giving you anything.

“But my maidenhead,” you protested.

Theon didn't seem any detained, once again dipping his finger and pulling back.

"It won't break with just my fingers," he rested her leg on his shoulder.

A blatant lie, clearly.

"Are you sure?" you panted, a little needy.

Would he just fucking put that finger in?

"I am, my little lady," he kissed her thigh. "And you trust me, don't you? Your sweet Theon."

You nodded, looking for the meaning of his words.

"I do," you shuddered.

He slid a single finger into you, and you relaxed in relief, whimpering when he just pushed a second one right after, probably thinking it didn't matter for a whore like you.

"There you go," he purred. "There you go, my sweet lady."

"Theon," you moNed, not stopping to correct yourself.

He squeezed your thigh a little closer, curling his fingers.

"Yes, my sweet lady " he exhaled. "Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes," she confirmed, breathless.

He moved up your body, kissing your neck and chest as he fingered you, spreading you open, so sweet and patient he didn't even feel like himself.

"Theon," you whined as he pushed a third finger.

He angled his hand, and you moaned when the heel of his hand finally came to rub your bud.

Seven hells, you just wanted to peak! Couldn't he be merciful?

"Theon," you whined. "Please."

He nuzzled your neck.

"Please what, my sweet lady?"

You bit back your tongue.

"I... I..." you stuttered. "I don't know, just... Please. Please."

"Here?" he pressed harder against your bud. "This place, sweet girl?"

"Yes," you gasped.

He hummed along.

"And what do you need?" he purred.

You squirmed, and he fucked you harder with his fingers.

"I don't know," you arched your hips.

Greyjoy nearly growled.

"My sweet little lady," he cooed. "Your cunt is squeezing my fingers so much. Don't you know what that means?"

"It's strange," you panted. "I feel strange."

"It's alright," he assured you. "It's going to feel food in just a second. Let it happen, sweet girl."

You closed your eyes, moaning and arching your body, letting the pleasure take you.

"Theon," you cried. "Theon!"

"Peak for me, sweet girl," he hummed into your neck. "Let me feel your cunt squeeze my fingers, my lady."

You finally broke, peaking and crying as he continued to fuck you and play with you.

"There you go," he whispered into your neck. "There you go, sweet Sansa."

And finally, it made sense.

This wasn't the first time someone hinted or outrightly said you looked like Lady Sansa. You were older than her, and she was much prettier, but in the dark, all tall girls with red hair and blue eyes could be the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell.

All men wanted to fuck noble ladies. Many wanted to fuck the young innocent daughter of Lord Stark.

His ward wasn't any different.

He kissed you right after, devouring your lips hungrily, holding you close with his free hand.

“Theon,” you panted.

“Let me show you more,” he settled between your legs, and you could feel his hard cock against your entrance. “Please, sweet girl.”

You rubbed your nose on his.

“Sansa,” you whispered to him. “I’m your Sansa, Theon.”

His cock twitched under you.

“Sweet Sansa,” he held you tighter. “Let me make you feel good.”

You moaned, arching your hips, and he his cock into you, the thick head breaching your cunt’s entrance.

“You want me don’t you?” he hissed into your neck, breathing in deep, sniffing your perfumed skin. “Sneaking glances at me at dinner, letting me listen to your sweet songs?”

“I do,” you panted.

He pushed more into you.

“I want you so much,” you panted. “My Theon.”

Theon pulled your hips up tight, lifting your legs and putting them on his shoulders as he pushed his cock deep into you, making you gasp.

“I’ll fucking show you,” he growled. “I’ll be so good for you, sweet Sansa, I promise I will.”

You put your arms around his body, squeezing him close, knowing he wanted his fanstasy and giving it to him.

His hips moved in a sweet pace, fucking you slowly, as if to a little virgin he wanted to cherish and didn’t want to hurt.

“I’ll mark you as mine,” he nosed your neck, hungry. “Gonna breed you, give you a baby.”

You moaned, holding him closer.

“I’ll make you the lady of the Iron Islands,” he growled into your neck. “Fill that place with little redhead boys, show everyone how I fuck you every night, I’ll keep you pregnant all the time.”

Fucking beast of a man.

“Yes, Theon,” you moaned, and cried when his cock hit your sweet spot. “Please, make me your wife.”

His hand moved to your mouth, quickly covering it up with his hand.

“Careful, sweet Sansa,” he panted. “You father mustn’t know.”

You nodded, though still moaned when his cock brushed against your sweet spot again.

Theon was a fast learner. When he felt generous, he knew exactly when to make you feel pleasure.

And right now, you were his sweet Sansa, of course he would want you to feel the most pleasure.

Your peak threatened you again, and you arched your hips to him.

“Theon,” you panted, innocent, against his hand. “It’s… please… again.”

He growled into your neck.

“You’re going to peak for me again, sweet Sansa?” he asked. “I can feel your cunt squeezing my cock. Such a strong grip, my little maiden.”

“Please,” you panted. “I don’t know-”

“It’s alright,” he kissed your skin. “I can do it for you, sweet girl. Just take it. Keep giving me your sweet moans and I’ll do everything for you.”

You let him, and just rode your pleasure, peaking around his cock and taking it when you felt him trembling over you, spilling into your cunt as you still felt the sweet shocks.

He stayed inside you for a moment, tangled with you, sniffing your neck and holding you close, and you could feel the moment he remembered who he was laying with. Not his sweet Sansa, but just a whore.

“Alright,” he huffled, pulling away from you. “You can go now. Come back before the sun is down and I’ll help you dress up right to go to Jon.”

You frowned, confused.

“Go?” you asked. “Where?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Go down to the servants quarters or something,” he grunted. “They are waiting for a kitchen girl, anyway.”

You sighed, but picked up your things, dressing up and putting on your cloak, grabbing your bag.

“Fine,” you mumbled.

“I’ll pay you when you are done with Jon,” he warned you.

You nodded before leaving.

At least you would have a warm bed for the night.

. . .

"Lookalike" was posted on my Patreon back in October 2022! To read it before anyone else and have early access to my stories, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps a lot!

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myocsfanfictions · 2 months

Text

The Wolf, the Stag and the Snake (Book 2)

ASOIAF Fanfiction

After the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had killed Lord Stark many things had happened. Life is no longer how it used to be, with the War of the Five Kings beginning, follow Antea Stark, Cassandra Baratheon and Cyel Sand trying to survive in a world that is becoming everyday more dark and dangerous.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 2

ANTEA

Her nights had become rather restless. After learning about her Lord father’s execution, Antea Stark had trouble falling asleep. The anger she felt was so great that it made her tremble. The sorrow that she felt was so painful that every time she had the chance to be alone, she’d cry and scream. She had noticed many lords looked at her as if she was crazy.

She is a woman. She is too soft. They liked to say.

But they had no idea what it felt like to be her. Antea had no way to release that fire of anger that had been lit up inside her. She hated the Lannisters, yet she could only hate them. She had no way of getting close to those men. She could not take a sword and twist it in the belly of Joffrey Baratheon. She couldn’t. But she could hate them. I hate that cowardly boy who had no shame in killing her Father with false accusations. She could only hate them. And that was how she spent the nights when she could not sleep. She prayed to all the gods she knew so that something terrible would happen to every living Lannister and that they could lose everything they hold dear and die in despair.

“I feel your anger, sister. But you need to gain back your senses,” Robb had said one night, visiting the chamber that had been given to her. Their journey had brought them all to Riverrun, the castle where her mother had lived her youth, where both Robb and Antea had come into the world fifteen years before.

Antea had turned to him with crossed arms. Shadow was now always with her, sitting at her feet to not let anyone get close. “I’ve got my senses, brother,” she spoke, “I’ve never had my mind more clear.”

“Antea, people talk,” Antea scoffed.

“Let them!” She exclaimed, “My Father had been killed. I’m never going to see him again,” Robb took a breath, looking down, “They have destroyed us, Robb,” she said sadly, “They’ve destroyed us since they walked through the gates of Winterfell.”

Her twin brother, now the King of the North, walked to her, taking her hands. “I swear to you, Antea. I’ll bring justice. I’ll avenge Father.”

Antea felt the tears in her eyes as she observed her brother. Her hands moved, taking his face between her hands so that their forehead could touch each other, “We’ve lost father, Sansa is in the Lannister’s hands, only the gods know what was of Arya, and we almost lost Bran, and you are fighting a war. We are scattered,” she let out a sob, “I’m so angry.”

“My sweet sister,” Robb said, taking her hands to have her look at him, “We’ll be back at Winterfell soon enough, but I need you to keep yourself grounded. I'm king now, the lords holds expectations.”

Antea got free from her brother's hold, “Expectation...”

“My King,” the voice of the guard outside her tent made the two turn towards the entrance, “Theon Greyjoy, my King.”

Antea took a breath, brushing away her tears.

Her brother spoke, “Let him through.”

Shadow nudged Antea’s leg, making the girl look down so that their eyes could meet. Shadow understood her. Like always.

The sound of Theon’s steps made her look at the boy. He was wearing his jerkin. The golden kraken was embroidered on his chest. His eyes traveled between Robb and Antea, indulging on her face longer. Action that made her look away. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

“Lord Edmure is looking for you,” Theon said to Robb. Antea heard her brother take a deep breath before turning to his sister.

“Try to stay calm,” he said, holding her hand, “Sleep. Rest. I’ll see you in the morrow. Agreed?” He asked with a firm tone when she didn’t look at him. “Antea.”

Antea bit her lips, “Yes, my king.” Robb had not appreciated her answer, but he had no time to stay and fight with her. He took a frustrated breath before leaving the tent.

“Am I sensing a tense feeling in here?” Theon said, still not leaving. That was not new to Antea. Lately, he had been observing her closely. She had seen him looking at her at every opportunity that he had. But not only. Since the death of her father, Theon had been by her side more often than not.

“You don’t have to tell me how to behave,” she told him with a nervous tone, pacing back and forth, “The King had already spoken his mind.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to behave,” Theon said with a frown, surprising her when his lips turned up into a smirk, “My lady wouldn't listen anyway."

When they got the chance to be alone, Theon did not use her new title. Being called princess was still a foreign sound to her ears. A sound full of sorrow. If her father were still alive, she'd still be a lady and her brother heir to Winterfell, not the King in the North.

“Yet, it pains me to see you like this,” that made her scoff in frustration.

“Is it a sight so unbearable? To watch a daughter who lost her father?” She asked, clenching her fingers into a fist as she turned her back to the young man, “I’ve lost so much more than just my lord. Yet you all can’t stand it. Why do my feelings bother you so much? Why is feeling considered a weakness by men?”

She knew they all said that. Antea had listened with her own ears. The lord of the North observed her as if she was a twig on the verge of breaking. They liked to underestimate her because she was a woman. But that had nothing to do with women or weakness.

Antea had always been known to be different from her siblings in matters of feelings and expressing them. She had a hard time controlling her emotions, but she managed most of the time. Yet, this was a new kind of feeling. Much greater than she had ever felt. And she felt as if it was impossible to keep it in.

“You’ve mistaken my words,” Theon spoke, “I consider you anything but weak,” Antea dared not to say anything, letting him continue, “I’ve watched you for ten years, and I figured you’ve got a temper, and your stubbornness can be unbearable,” he let out a little nostalgic laugh, as she could hear him moving closer, “But I also know that you are protective and generous and your smile is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever lay my eyes upon," when he gently touched her arm, Antea could not help but let him move her so that their eyes could meet. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, feeling him so close. "It pains me to see you filled with so much sorrow, knowing there's little I can do."

A tear rolled down her, wetting her cheek. Her breath got stuck in her throat when she felt his hand coming to touch her face. Drying her tear with his thumb.

"Theon..." she whispered as her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips. He was so close to her.

"Theon loves you, Antea," she remembered her sweet sister Sansa's voice. Those words made her blush as she looked over to Septa Mordane to be sure she hadn't heard. "Cyel, tell her it's the truth," Sansa said, almost begging the girl to keep with her needlework. But Antea didn't miss her smile.

"Love is a big word, sweet sister," Antea had whispered. But Sansa had looked at her as if she was really silly.

"He always looks at you," she had explained, "And he smiles."

Antea rolled her eyes, "He always smiles," she had answered. But Sansa had shook her head elegantly, like always.

"It's a different kind of smile."

Antea was close to thirteen when Sansa shared her thoughts. And Antea had blushed deeply. Theon was older than her and handsome and charming. She remembered that she hadn't been able to talk to him for the entire day after what Sansa had told her. Suddenly, feeling shy in his presence.

Maybe it's true, she had wandered. Maybe he truly has feelings for me.

She had kept thinking when they had danced together, not so long after.

But that good feeling soon had been replaced by realization when she had heard Theon speak with her twin brother about a girl he had bedded.

Antea had never realized that Theon could indulge in such behavior, but then she heard servant talk, and she had seen girls blush at his passage. That had cut deeper than she thought.

So, she kept on with her life, thinking of Theon as a dear friend. Not sharing her thoughts with anyone, not even Cyel. Theon liked women, but he did not have any interest in her.

But now, what was happening was something that she had not expected to happen. She felt confused, surely due to all those sleepless nights, but at the same time, his touch was so comforting. The same way it had comforted her when she had known about her father's death.

"My lady," he whispered, moving closer. His hand remained against her cheek. Antea moved her fingers to rest on his wrist. But not to move him away, if anything, to keep him close to her. Her eyes were full of tears.

"I'm so tired, Theon," Antea admitted after a moment of silence, "I feel nothing but pain."

His hold on her tightened, "I'd do anything to ease your heart, my lady." Antea let out a little sob.

"Why?" She asked before he could make sure she'd look into his eyes.

"Don't you know?" He asked, making her blush as he leaned forward, slowly pushing his lips against hers.

That was a strange feeling, the one Antea felt when their lips touched. She had never been kissed before, but with ease, she found herself kissing Theon's back. She had been hesitant at the beginning, not knowing exactly what to do. But the more she followed his movement, the more she found herself comfortable feeling his touch. Her hands traveled from his arms to his chest, gripping the cloth of his vest, as she was afraid he would walk away. But he didn't. Theon kept kissing her, holding her close when his hands found her hips. His touch and his lips brought her so much warmth, a feeling that she had almost forgotten those days. Feeling all those judging faces of the other lords. Of her king. But there in Theon's arms, she felt much more safe. Understood.

Soon, her fingers found his hair, pulling him closer. Allowing him to explore her mouth as it pleased him. And she savored every moment, feeling at ease in his arms.

"Antea," he whispered against her lips, "You're crying, my lady," but she took his face in her hands, stopping him from moving away. "Please, Theon." She whispered. He kissed her tears before his lips found hers again.

Antea closed her eyes, getting lost in that pleasurable feeling that was taking over her. She liked how his hand touched her hip, bringing her closer to his chest. She did the same, feeling the need to have him close.

"Princess Antea," the guard outside her chamber spoke, interrupting them. "The lady Catelyn is here for you."

Dread took over Antea as she took a step back from Theon, who looked at the door.

"Yes," Antea had been quick to answer, still short of breath.

"Meet me in the morrow," Theon was quick to whisper.

"What?" She whispered, eyeing the door.

"Meet me in the morrow," he repeated, "In the gardens." Antea found herself nodding her head. Her gesture made him smile.

Theon was quick to turn when the door opened to let Antea's mother enter her chamber. And only by the look on her face, she could see that the Lady Stark was not pleased by what she was looking at.

"My lady," Theon was quick to bow to her mother. Who looked at him rather coldly. "I'll take my leave, now," then he turned to Antea, bowing to her, "My princess," she didn't answer, but she had to do everything that she could not to let her cheek get red when she saw the smirk on his face when he looked at her.

Antea observed him walk away, still feeling his lips against her own. But her memory of the kiss the two had just shared had to be put aside. She had to face her mother.

"Why was Theon here?" The woman asked, with a tone that got Antea a shiver on her back.

"Robb was here as well," Antea was quick to answer, "But then he had to meet with Uncle Edmure." But her answer didn't ease her mother's gaze.

"But why was Theon here?" She asked.

Antea took a breath, sitting on her bed, immediately followed by Shadow, who sat at her feet.

"I was crying, Mother," she answered, "Theon was... comforting me."

Her mother studied her expression. And Antea prayed to all the gods that she wasn't showing any sign of flushing on her face.

"It is not appropriate for him to be in your chambers alone," her mother said.

Antea caressed Shadow's head, "Nothing happened," she lied, "How's grandfather?" She asked, trying to move away from the subject of Theon.

"Not well at all, I'm afraid," her mother's eyes were different from what had happened to Antea's father. She was hiding it well, but Antea fell her close. Sharing the same sadness. And the condition of Lord Hoster Tully was perceived even heavier now.

"As I've noticed your sorrow," her mother spoke, coming to sit next to her daughter, "I know you are suffering," Antea didn't answer, "But it's time for you to get back your strength. Your brother needs you," her mother said touching her hair.

"You know I would do anything for our family," Antea answered with honesty, "But I've felt so angry since my father..."

"I know, child," her mother said, "But since this war is far from over, we need to make the lords see that our house still stands."

"I do not want people to see me as weak, Mother," she said.

"They won't," her mother answered.

Theon doesn't, Antea thought. Feeling again the pressure of the boy's lips on hers. And that made her heart race.

"I've sent a raven to Winterfell," his mother said, getting Antea's attention back. She often wondered about her little brothers and how Rickon was growing up. How Bran was feeling. "Bran is to be wed. Not now, of course, but soon the ravens with words of his engagement will fly in the Seven Kingdoms."

"With Cyel?" Antea asked with wide eyes.

Her mother nodded her head, "It's time for all of us to do our part."

The night had passed with Antea tossing and turning. The expectation on herself, the words of her mother, Theon’s lips. Everything was spinning in her head. There was so much that she felt. The sorrow for her family, the anger towards those judging lords, the weight of reality, knowing that she indeed had to do what was expected of her, and guilt. Guilt because if she thought about Theon’s touch, she had finally felt a moment of peace. But was it fair to her father’s memory?

In the morrow, Antea had joined her brother to break their fast. It had been a quiet meal, and both still felt very sensitive about their argument from the night before. But Antea had another reason to feel queer with her brother. She had never held secrets with him, yet she did not want him to know what had happened between her and Theon.

“They are forging my crown,” Robb said as he ate. “They want to make it look like the crown of the Kings in the North.”

Antea took a sip of milk, “Does it make you eager?” Robb scoffed.

“You’re angry at me for some reason?” Antea lowered her eyes. It was strange. She knew he was her brother, she was looking at her beloved twin. And yet, his new title was heavy on everyone. She had been one of those agreeing with him. But she had not thought about the consequences. Her brother was now more exposed to risk than ever.

“I do not wish to lose you, Robb,” she admitted without rage in her voice, “Loosing father had been a pain so great that I fear I’d lose myself if something like that would happen again,” she felt Shadow resting her snout on her legs, and Antea was quick to caress her head.

Every time Antea felt something very strongly, it was like her direwolf would feel it as well and share it with her. She had been so attached to her pup that sometimes she dreamt of being her, running and hunting with Grey Wind.

In moments of sorrow, Shadow felt the only one who could understand her truly.

“I promise, it’s not going to happen,” Robb said, taking back her attention. “I’m in talks with the lords to look for another solution. One that will not require battlefields and fights.”

Antea’s eyes widened, “Truly?”

Her brother smiled. It was so strange to see his face covered with a beard. He seemed so much older. “I still need time, but I’ll try this solution.”

The girl nodded, feeling relieved that her brother didn’t have to fight anymore. Or Theon.

She remembered how she had feared during the battle to take back Riverrun from the Lannisters, how she had waited for her brother to return and how she felt relieved when she saw him ride back with words of victory, how she had looked at Theon, feeling tears when she saw his usual smirk on his face. All of that was coming to an end. And of that, she was glad. But there was a thought that lingered in the back of her mind.

“What of the Kingslayer, though?” She asked. They couldn’t let him go, even with peace.

“I do not intend to free him,” Robb answered. Antea had no permission to talk to the prisoner. Her brother had forbidden her to. Robb knew how much she hated him for what he had done to Bran. But he knew well how much she hated the Lannisters and how Shadiw was quick to attack every time Antea got angry. Her pup could be very quiet and calm, as she could attack a man without a second thought. That happened when Antea had enough of those lords observing her. She still remembered Lord Bolton’s face as the soldier held his arm.

After she had broken her fast, her brother, the King, was required by the lords. And Antea could not go. But she had somewhere to be.

She walked through the corridors of Riverrun. She had been born in that castle, but she had no memory of it. She had been nothing but a child attached to breast when it had been possible for her to go home. Winterfell.

Riverrun was different from her castle. And its defenses were impressive, by what she came to know. They could easily open the gates to transform the castle into an island surrounded by water on all sides. She knew it would have been a sight. But a sight she did not wish to see.

Antea made her way to the gardens. Her hands were sweating, and her heart was racing at the thought of seeing Theon after what happened. She had no idea what to expect.

When she stepped outside, she saw Theon standing on a side, bowing his head when Lord Rickard Karstark passed. Antea did not know what to do.

What should I say? The girl asked herself. But when Richard Karstark noticed her presence, he bowed, “Good morrow, Princess Antea,” she felt her cheeks burn when she saw Theon turning in her direction.

“Good morrow, my lord,” Antea answered politely.

“Your beauty is a welcoming sight, my princess,” the man said. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice. Antea knew why and could understand. He was still mourning his sons, lost during the Battle of the Whispering Woods. His sons had saved Robb’s life. An act she would never forget.

“The King will be pleased by your presence, my lord,” she said with courtesy. The man bowed one last time before entering the castle. When the heavy door closed at her back, Antea started to feel nervous again as her eyes met Theon’s.

“I’m glad you’re here, my lady,” he said, stepping closer. Antea felt the shyness grow inside of her. Remembering the kiss they’ve shared, “For a moment, I thought you would not be coming.”

The smile never left his face as he spoke to her. “I wanted to meet you,” she said, lowering her gaze for a moment, “I think we need to talk about what happened.”

Theon took a breath before nodding his head. Then he offered his arm to her to take. “Shall we take a walk?”

It would have been more fitting. She didn’t want her mother to know what had happened. So Antea accepted his arm, letting him guide her through the gardens. Shadow had already disappeared. But she was there. Antea could feel her eyes on her.

“What did you want to talk about?” Asked Theon, making her glare at him.

“You know,” she answered, trying to speak with a hushed voice. That seemed to amuse him.

“You are too shy to call it by its name?” He said, righting his grip on her arm when he felt her try to pull back.

“I will not be mocked, Theon,” she argued as the boy tilted his head to the side.

“That’s not my intent, my lady,” he said, the smile never leaving his face, as he leaned forward, “It’s just, you’re so lovely, I might want to kiss you again.”

“Theon…” she whispered, giving a quick look at their surroundings to be sure no one was around.

“You don’t want me to?” He asked, not moving away.

I want you to, she thought. Her eyes moved to his lips so close to hers. She would have liked to feel them pressed on hers again.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked instead. Theon lowered his gaze for a moment.

“Because I’ve wanted to for quite some time,” he answered. For quite some time? What did he mean? For how long? But before she could ask anything else, he kept walking once again. “But I wanted for you to try something this day.” Theon leads her through the gardens, further from the castle. Until she saw a bow resting on the ground next to a target to practice. Something like twenty arrows were stuck on the ground.

“Archery?” She asked, turning to the young man next to her, who showed his smile.

“I wanted to take your mind away from sad thoughts,” he answered, “I meant it when I said my heart ache not to see your smile again.”

Antea looked at him, moved by everything he was doing for her. But a single question came to her mind, “Why?”

Theon smiled, taking her face gently between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, “Don’t you know?” He asked her before leaning forward and pressing his lips on hers once again. And Antea found herself closing her eyes, savoring that kiss that filled her with all those same sweet feelings of the night before.

*************

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